When her husband threw the folder with documents onto the table, Valeria flinched and looked up.
In front of her stood Roman – perfect in every way, his dark blue, precisely tailored jacket buttoned all the way up, a faint shadow of displeasure on his face.
His scent carried the strong woody, piney notes of aftershave and the sharp aroma of polished shoe cream.
— Get ready. Put on that closed white blouse and the longer black skirt. Tie up your hair, wash off your makeup — he also threw a thin, cheap spiral notebook onto the table. — We leave in forty minutes.
Valeria blinked in confusion and set aside the tablet she had been studying. She taught languages at the university and had taken the day off to finally get some rest and work on her dissertation.
— Roman, are you sure you’re not confused? What skirt? Today is my only day off. I’m not going anywhere.
Roman leaned on the table with his hands and bent over her. In his eyes was that impatience that always appeared whenever someone interfered with his plans.
— My assistant is sick. In two hours, I have a meeting in Madrid with partners about technical deliveries. It’s an important contract. I can’t go alone.
I need someone by my side. To make it look serious. You’ll sit, nod, and pretend to take notes on everything I say.
— You want me to go with you and work silently, like a piece of furniture? — Valeria felt a cold sweat run down her spine at his words. — Your company is full of people! Take someone from the sales department!
— They ask too many questions — he snapped back, glancing at his watch. — You can stay quiet. And they’re Spaniards. If needed, you’ll help.
— Really? — Valeria smiled bitterly. — So my knowledge is useful to you after all? When I asked for help with my book, you said it was just a hobby that doesn’t make money.
— Don’t start, Lera! — he slammed his hand on the table, making the spoon clink against the edge of the cup.
— My work supports both of us. All I expect from you is to sit there next to me. Say nothing. Got it? No independence.
Valeria looked at her husband and barely recognized the man she had married eight years ago. Back then, Roman only had an old laptop and a rented apartment.
Lera had spent nights translating his papers, helping write proposals, looking for suppliers. They worked as a team. Now, however, he treated her as if she were household staff.
Sighing, she silently got up from the table. Arguing now would be pointless.
The drive to the city center took an hour. The car’s radio played softly, but the tension in the air was palpable. Roman nervously drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, muttering English phrases under his breath.
He was proud of his English, although Valeria had corrected his mistakes many times.
The restaurant was on the top floor of the tower. The aromas mixed: freshly brewed coffee, roasted meats, and the faint gleam of clean glass surfaces. The waiters moved silently.
They were already waiting. At the spacious table sat two people: Señor Álvarez – gray-haired, with calm features, and his assistant, Carlos.
Roman smiled broadly and extended his hand.
— Mr. Álvarez! I’m glad to welcome you. And this is… my assistant, Valeria. She will take notes.
Álvarez nodded politely at Valeria. She sat down, placed the notebook in front of her, and did exactly as instructed: she followed every word carefully.
The meeting began. Roman spoke confidently in English about the warehouses, distributing folders. The Spaniards listened attentively, Álvarez occasionally asking questions.
Meanwhile, the appetizers were brought. Carlos took a bite, then leaned toward his boss.
— Es demasiado confiado, ¿verdad? — whispered the young Spaniard.
Álvarez smiled faintly, took a sip of water, and replied in his native language:
— Just a young upstart, Carlos. He has a solid foundation, but he doesn’t understand planning. He thinks we’ll sign everything on his terms.
Roman, thinking they were talking about the food, smiled proudly:
— Excellent choice, gentlemen.
Valeria sat motionless. She heard every word perfectly.
— Yes, the food is fine — Álvarez nodded at Roman, then turned back to his assistant.
— We will include clause 4.12 in the contract: penalties for delayed deliveries exceeding one day. With his machines, he certainly won’t meet the season.
— And then we can terminate the contract with profit — Carlos chimed in. — Or he will hand over part of the business in exchange for the debt. Excellent.
— The important thing is that his people don’t read the fine print — Álvarez set aside a fork.
— But it seems he brought this quiet girl who is afraid to make eye contact to the meeting. He doesn’t have proper assistants. He will sign without thinking.
Valeria felt her face flush. “Quiet girl.” “Upstart.” She sat across from her husband and heard openly how they planned to deceive him.
She glanced at Roman. He looked completely satisfied with himself.
Álvarez switched back to English:
— Mr. Roman. Your numbers look good. But there is a question about deadlines. If there are difficulties entering the country, what guarantees do you provide?
Roman faltered slightly. This was his weak point. He started speaking incoherently, tangled in terms, and eventually gave vague, confused answers about his connections.
Álvarez smiled politely, but there was a spark of joy in his eyes. The trap was closing. As soon as the foreigner asked if he was ready to sign the papers today, Valeria slowly put the pen down on the table.
— Ningún documento será firmado hoy, señor Álvarez, sin una revisión detallada del punto 4.12.
For a moment, there was complete silence.
Carlos dropped his stylus. Álvarez stiffened. His calm face changed.
Roman sharply turned to his wife:
— Lera… what are you saying? Be quiet! — he hissed in Russian, trying to intimidate her under the table, but it didn’t work.
She didn’t even look at him.
— If you plan to take part of your company through artificially created debts — she continued in clear Spanish — you will need to find other partners. My supervisor is aware of the risks. We will discuss the terms again.
Álvarez set his glass on the table.
— You… speak the language — he said in English.
— I teach it at the university — Valeria tilted her head slightly. — So your remarks about me personally… were unnecessary.
Roman was completely disoriented. He looked at his wife, then the investors. Only now did he realize what had happened.
Álvarez exhaled and suddenly began laughing:
— Forgive me. We should learn manners. Bringing such a professional disguised as a secretary to the meeting — that was a strong move. We will remove that clause. You will receive the standard contract.
Valeria closed her notebook.
— Discuss the details with my supervisor. My time is up.
She stood and walked toward the door. Her back straight, her steps confident.
Roman caught up with her downstairs and grabbed her hand.
— Lera! Stop! What was that?! They could have left! You almost ruined everything! — his voice trembled.
She looked at him calmly until he released her hand.
— They were trying to take your company, Roman. In six months, you would have had nothing. I just saved you a fortune.
— Who asked you to?! I would have checked it myself! You made me look bad!
Valeria looked at her husband and felt calm inside. There was no anger, no desire to argue.
— You set yourself up that way when you thought people were just your background.
— Where are you going? Let’s go back!
— You go back. I’m going home for my things — she adjusted her bag. — I’m tired of being treated as your assistant without a voice. Good luck, Roman. Learn languages. They’ll help you.
She stepped onto the street. The autumn wind brushed her face. Valeria called a taxi and felt that a new, beautiful life was beginning.
