The-Spanish-Love-Deception-www.indianpdf

C H A P T E R T W O
I
wasn’t late to our meeting.
Ever since that day a year and eight months ago, I was never
late.
Why?
Aaron Blackford.
One time. I had been late one single time in Aaron’s presence, and yet he
kept flaunting that fact every chance he got.
He never chalked it up to me being Spanish or a woman. Both unjustified
stereotypes when it came to being notoriously unpunctual.
Aaron didn’t do nonsense. He pointed out facts; he stated verifiable
truths. He had been disciplined to do that, just like every other engineer in the
consulting company where we worked, me included. And technically, I had
been late. That one time all those months ago. It was true that I had missed
the first fifteen minutes of an important presentation. It was also true that it
had been Aaron leading it—during his first week in InTech—and it was again
true that I had made a miserably loud entrance that might have involved
accidentally knocking over a coffee pitcher.
On Aaron’s stack of dossiers for the presentation.
Fine, partly on his pants too.
Not the best way to make an impression on a new colleague, but tough
shit. Things like that happened all the time. Tiny, unintentional, unexpected
accidents like those were common. People got over them and went on with
their lives.
But not Aaron.
Instead, week after week and month after month ever since that day, he