Falling for Her Read online

  Music, fashion, and the vibrant landscapes of Rio de Janeiro set the stage for an uncommon love story.

  Mariana Costa’s life is good. She has fantastic friends, is close to her family, and works a dream

  job at the internationally-renowned fashion magazine, Be. There is only one problem … she’s

  madly in love with the one man who is not only out of her league, but is completely unattainable: her boss.

  Carlos Eduardo is confident, sexy, and established. He dates supermodels and runs a successful

  magazine. His life is perfect; or was perfect until he admits he has feelings for the most unlikely

  object of his affection. His assistant is smart, sexy, and everything he ever wanted in a

  woman—but she’s not only nothing like the women he usually dates, she is his employee, and

  therefore untouchable. But touching her is the one thing he can’t seem to resist.

  Outside the office, Cadu and Mari explore tenderness and passion. But they are from completely

  different worlds, and when those worlds collide and threaten to destroy not only their fragile

  bond but the very magazine they work for, they must decide whether falling in love is worth risking it all.

  This book is dedicated to the Mari within every one of us. Never forget how beautiful you are, dear readers, no matter your shape, hair or skin color. Be proud of who you are, for you are special!

  Mari

  Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!

  Oh, shit! I twist and turn in bed. Reaching to hit snooze on my phone, I try to wake up. I hate waking up early. Getting up is so hard that I have eight—yes, eight—programmed alarms, one every fifteen minutes, just so I get myself out of bed and get to work on time.

  I get up slowly, stretch my body, and take a nice warm shower to prepare for another day at Be, one of the most respected fashion magazines in the country.

  I’ve been the personal assistant to the CEO, Carlos Eduardo Moraes, for the past three years. It’s a challenging and tiring job that demands lots of creativity and compromise from me. I get to work at the same time every day, yet I never know when I’m coming home. But, I learn a lot and I can put lots of what I’ve learned in my business courses to use.

  Be is a great place to work. I make great money, have lots of benefits, and I was able to get a master’s degree at a good university—all paid for by the company. I love my job, even though a few things still bother me—like the way most people there treat me.

  Okay, maybe saying most people is kind of unfair. Most of my coworkers are actually really nice. The models, their agents, and the people connected to them are a different story. Although I try to be nice to everyone, I’m clearly different from the majority of those who work in this field.

  I get out of the shower and go back to my room to get dressed. I stop in front of the mirror and look at myself for a few moments—at my long brown hair, my ordinary face. My body doesn’t fit the beauty standards I see on a daily basis in my work, let alone the standards generally imposed by society.

  Well, not fitting the industry stereotype doesn’t bother me—quite the opposite. Lais, my best friend, says I’m like one of the women from the Dove soap commercials, a regular or “normal” woman. I’m exactly typical for Brazilian women with bodies that curve in all the right places. I’m one of the majority who instead of a size two, wears a size twelve. But alongside models and their artificially perfect images . . .

  I shake off these thoughts—they won’t get me anywhere—and I focus on getting ready for work and arriving on time. My boss is great, but he hates delays. And don’t even get me started on his morning ritual.

  I turn on my music and my favorite singer’s melodious voice fills the room. I sing along as I dress in a black pencil skirt that does wonders for my curves and a white silk shirt with short sleeves.

  I finish the look with nude stilettos, a nice pair of earrings, and a bracelet. If there’s one thing I’m proud of, it’s my style. I may not be one of the models from the magazine, but I’m always well-dressed and elegant, ready for anything.

  I’m applying my makeup as my cell phone rings. My friend’s amused face shows up on the screen.

  “Hey!”

  “Good morning, Mari! I’m here. The van won’t wait for us!” She uses that same line every day.

  I smile, grabbing my jacket and purse. “I’m coming!”

  We live in Méier, a suburban neighborhood of Rio de Janeiro. We work on the opposite side of the city and are lucky enough to have a van that drives from Méier to Leblon, which is rare. Lais gets off before me, in Botafogo, and I stop in Ipanema where Be is located. The office is very fancy and modern and it has an incredible ocean view.

  I take the elevator out of my apartment building, still straightening my clothes, and when I reach the ground floor, Lais is talking to one of my neighbors, Marcio. Hot, twenty-five years old, he owns a men’s clothing store at the local mall. He also happens to be a super man-whore.

  “Look who’s here, beautiful Mariana,” he says, smiling in his womanizing way. Although he takes our breath away, we know he’s not the right type of guy to get involved with. Those eyes and that smile may draw us in, but his tendency to go through women like most men go through socks is a recipe for a broken heart.

  “Hi, Marcio, good morning! Let’s go, Lais. We’re late,” I say in a rush.

  “Oh, Mari, he’s so hot!” Lais looks back toward the man-candy as we hurry toward the van.

  “I know, but he’s not for us. Come on! Let’s go.” I urge her along, a smile on my lips. She laughs, knowing that if I let her, she’d chat up Marcio and we’d miss our ride.

  Lais and I have been friends since kindergarten. We grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same schools, and our mothers are friends to this day. When we decided to move out of our parents’ homes when we turned twenty-two, nothing felt more natural than living close to each other. We’re such close friends that we can tell what each other is thinking with just one look. I know everything about her and she knows everything about me.

  Or almost everything.

  “What about that hot boss of yours, huh? Is he still dating that Fashion Barbie?” she asks. I can’t help but laugh.

  Lais knows almost everything about me . . . but not this. Carlos Eduardo is indeed a hot boss, but what Lais doesn’t know is that I’m actually head over heels in love with him. I know, I know. I’m fully aware that Carlos Eduardo is not into me. He normally dates Barbie dolls and I’m nowhere near his usual perfect, plastic type. But I can still look, right? And I certainly can’t help what I feel.

  “No, now he’s dating some sort of Gisele Bundchen wannabe with even bigger boobs,” I answer, laughing. Though I’m attracted to him, I go on with my life and don’t get my hopes up. He’s gorgeous, but he only dates models. He will always see me as his assistant, and never more than just that.

  The van arrives and we ride to work chatting the whole way. The same group has taken this van to work every day for the past three years, so it’s always a fun ride. That quality time is essential for my well-being in the morning after waking up so early.

  When we reach Botafogo, Lais hugs me and pecks my cheek.

  “Text me when you arrive!” she says and waves goodbye. We talk every day during our work hours. It has never stopped us from getting our jobs done, but talking to each other is a part of our routine.

  About twenty minutes later, we reach Vieira Souto Avenue, one of the richest streets in the city, and also home to Be.

  “There you go, little Mari. You
’re here!” says Ruan, the driver, with a smile. I get off in front of the building, breathing in the ocean air as I get ready to leave Mari, the ordinary girl, behind, and transform into Mariana Costa, the competent assistant to Carlos Eduardo.

  Cadu

  Today will be a tough day.

  Three meetings, one of them with the team, to talk about the preview of next month’s issue—which sucks. Pages and pages are complete but good for nothing but tossing straight into the garbage can. I know I have to find a new editor but I’ve been postponing it. Renée has been with us forever and I knew the dismissal would come as a shock to her.

  I park in the garage of the building where Be’s office is located. I “inherited” the fashion magazine from my father as a punishment for all the antics I put him through during my teen years, instead of one of the more serious magazines from our portfolio like I expected. Now Be is my whole life.

  I put on my suit jacket before getting in the elevator. I take a look at myself in the mirror and I like what I see. The tailored suit and the silk tie help form the picture of a successful businessman.

  While I wait for the empty elevator to take me to the twelfth floor, I check my watch and smile at the thought that Mariana, my super-competent assistant, will make me my coffee and bring it to my office exactly three minutes after I arrive.

  She’s been working with me for three years and she’s excellent. She’s got good ideas and she’s a reality check in the somewhat plastic world we live in. Man, I’m so poetic today. We have a nice professional relationship and I’m lucky to be able to count on someone who, more than anything else, is able to put up with my moods and keep my routine in check.

  When the elevator stops on my floor, I take a deep breath and get ready to leave Cadu behind me—the man who’s passionate about music and the beach—and become Carlos Eduardo Moraes, the editor in chief of one of the biggest magazines in the country. I walk into the office and the receptionist flashes me a large smile. She’s a beautiful girl, but her brain is as big as a nut.

  “Good morning, Mr. Carlos Eduardo,” she greets me; I smile and nod. I walk to my office, answering the many greetings I hear along the way. Halfway to the office, my brain has already switched to work-mode and I walk down the hall thinking of everything I need Mariana to do before the meetings today. I’ll also ask her to take a look at the editors at our competitors. Maybe I can bring one of them to us?

  I enter my office and what I see rocks my world. Mariana is crawling on the floor near my desk, her back to the door. She seems intent on collecting a pile of papers. She grumbles and mumbles that the papers seem alive, but all I can see are those amazing legs and her body in a way I have never seen it before. Geez, where has she been hiding all that? She suddenly gets up, and when she turns around, she’s flushed. Her hair, usually tied up, is loose, making her look seductive, to say the least.

  “Oh, Carlos Eduardo, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were there. I dropped these,” she apologizes. I can’t help but smile at the sight of her so embarrassed. Mariana is the definition of perfect, and seeing her like this makes her seem almost . . . human!

  “That’s all right, Mariana. Should I expect my coffee to be here soon or am I risking you dropping it all over me?” I can’t resist joking.

  She looks baffled. We have a good relationship but we rarely joke with each other. I’m a funny man, amusing, but not at work. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but the comment just seemed . . . right. She smiles shyly, and I can’t explain the reaction I have, but it feels like the time Rodrigo punched me hard in my stomach during jiu-jitsu practice. The hit was unexpected. He’d missed the punch and nailed me, leaving me breathless, just like now.

  “No.” She smiles and her face turns bright red.

  Who still blushes nowadays?

  “I promise your coffee will be undisturbed,” she answers, still smiling. Then she pushes a lock of hair behind her ear. I watch her every move. She blushes again, maybe from the intensity of my stare, and I shake my head, trying to step out of the trance I seem to be in.

  “Thank you, Mariana. I’ll be in my office. No need to hurry with that coffee.” I’m trying to understand what the hell is happening to me. I close my office door and go straight to the window, praying that the beautiful ocean view of Ipanema Beach will erase the enticing image of Mariana out of my head and calm me down.

  I have a meeting with advertisers in half an hour, and letting them see how flustered my assistant suddenly has me will do me no good.

  Mari

  Oh, my God! Of course something like that would happen to me. Did Carlos Eduardo have to walk in just in time to see me on the floor picking up those files? And what was that comment about the coffee? He’s always been nice, but he’s not the joking type. He’s a consummate professional, just like me.

  The telephone is ringing nonstop when I get into the office. I had no time to tie up my hair before he got here and as I walk to the small kitchen annex I almost faint when I see my reflection in the glass cabinet. I turn on the coffee machine and run to the bathroom. My hair is a mess and I’m flushed. Shit. Of course he was looking at me funny. I don’t resemble his assistant at all. I take a deep breath and go back to my office, grab my purse, and lock myself in the bathroom. I tie my hair in a high ponytail—simple, but professional. I touch up my makeup and straighten my clothes. There! Now I look a lot more like the way the Big Boss—as I like to call him—sees me every day.

  I leave the bathroom and run to my office to put my things back where they belong, then go back to the kitchen. I set up a tray with coffee, water, and butter cookies. Big Boss, despite looking very serious, has the appetite of a teenager. He loves cookies. And sometimes, in the middle of the afternoon, he asks me to fetch him a pack of peanut M&M’s from the vending machine on the second floor. I don’t know how he manages to be so thin the way he eats.

  I breathe deeply, plaster on my most professional smile, and knock before opening the door slowly. He’s standing in front of the window with an ocean view, rather than sitting by his desk, working his ass off.

  I walk in and go to his desk, as I always do. I pour him some coffee, some water, and serve the cookies in complete silence, fearing I’ll disturb him. Maybe he’s thinking about something important that might change the Brazilian fashion industry as we know it. God forbid I should be in his way. Carlos Eduardo is a good leader, but I wouldn’t like to cross him. He’s nice, but only to a point.

  I hear him sigh as I’m ready leave. When I’m near the door, his low and husky voice halts my movements.

  “You should keep your hair down, Mariana. Tying up something that beautiful is criminal,” he says. When I turn around he’s sitting and sipping his coffee, eyes on his computer, as if what he’d said was no big deal.

  Maybe I’m losing my mind. I shake my head and go back to my office. I think I’m the one in need of some coffee now.

  I grab a cup, and finally turn my computer on. I have barely started on Messenger and there are already six texts from Lais:

  We have a habit of scoring Big Boss’s hotness on a daily basis.

  I close my Messenger when I see Fernando and Miguel. They are my coworkers but I don’t like them very much. They work here just like me, but are constantly trying to force some kind of friendship with the Big Boss, especially Miguel, who is kind of clueless. He’s not particularly selective and he hits on everyone in the office. He’ll take whatever he can get.

  “So let’s do it like that . . . I’ll give you the moon. You’ll give yourself to me . . . Mari Mariana . . .” Miguel sings a song that has my name in it, like he does every time he sees me.

  Fernando laughs and tries to hide it by coughing, and Miguel tries to come closer, but I’m quick to pick up the phone to let Carlos Eduardo know that they are here.

  “Carlos Eduardo, Fernando and Miguel are here. Okay, thank you.�
�

  He tells me they may go in, and I stand up to take them back.

  They make a gesture, directing me to take the lead, and when I reach the door I turn around to let them in. That’s when I catch them taking a good look at my ass. I glare at them and they don’t even try to look embarrassed. I motion them into the office and just before I close the door, my eyes meet Carlos Eduardo’s. He is frowning.

  I assume I look upset, because he shoots them a disapproving look and says, “Have you two been harassing my assistant again?”

  “She’s a total hottie,” says Miguel, and Carlos Eduardo interrupts him.

  “Stay away from her. Mariana is not like those airheads from the fashion department,” he snaps back, sounding deadly serious. I close the door, shocked. The company’s environment has always been playful and flirtatious like that. Lots of young people and pretty women work here. But that never includes me. And definitely not to the point where the Big Boss got involved.

  I go back to my desk and reopen the Messenger.

  The morning goes by quickly with a series of meetings. And the afternoon is heavily stacked as well. We’ve got three big meetings scheduled, and I’ll take part in all of them.

  At noon, Carlos Eduardo leaves his office and for the first time that day, I allow myself to take a better look at him. He’s gorgeous, as he always is. His dark hair is messy, as if he passed his fingers through it several times, and is a few inches longer than is probably appropriate for the editor in chief of a magazine. He wears a gray suit that perfectly fits his strong tanned body. I can see the slightest hint of a beard on his face, and though that would make any other man seem sloppy, it makes him look sexier.

  “Mariana, I’m off for lunch,” he says, dragging me out of fantasyland. “I’ll be back before two o’clock, okay?”