Like Nobody's Watching Read online

  Table of Contents

  EPILOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  GLOSSARY

  SPECIAL THANKS

  Like Nobody’s Watching

  This book is a work of fiction. It is NOT fake news.

  While inspired by real people and events, all characters, events, and some places depicted in this book are entirely fictional.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Copyright © Tara Frejas 2017

  All rights reserved.

  Cover photography | Chi Yu Rodriguez

  Cover illustration and design | Miles Tan

  Model | Fred Lo

  Edited by Layla Tanjutco

  With special thanks to Rix Forto

  To you, who deserves to love and be loved,

  no matter what.

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  GLOSSARY

  SPECIAL THANKS

  EPILOGUE

  ONE

  O nce, during a press launch for WriteNow’s new line of ballpoint pens, Pio Alvez was asked, “If you were to write an autobiography, what would you call it?”

  The actor and brand ambassador replied, “I Wasn’t Thinking Straight: The Pio Alvez Story.”

  He didn’t mind that he gave the press people a good laugh, but he wasn’t trying to be funny. Because if Pio were to be completely honest about one thing, it’s that he had a knack for making decisions without thinking them through.

  Case in point: Pretending to be a woman’s boyfriend minutes after seeing her for the first time.

  Smashed drunk he wasn’t, but he was tipsy on account of a few beers he’d had at the birthday salubong his friends threw him at Carbon Bar. That was where he was—seated on the pavement fronting the bar, legs stretched out carelessly in front of him, nursing a half-consumed bottle of Stella Artois while checking his phone for birthday messages—when the woman walked past him, wobbling in her high-heeled shoes.

  She was headed in the direction of the taxi stand.

  Even amid the cacophony of sounds seeping into his consciousness, Pio heard malice in the voices of the two men who tailed her. The taller of the two wolf-whistled at the woman and further confirmed his suspicions.

  It should have been easy to flag a cab at three in the morning, but it seemed this part of Ortigas had a scarcity of them. And because this woman’s escape plan didn’t look like it was going to work, Pio decided he could be her plan B.

  Leaving his beer bottle on the pavement, he rounded the other side of the taxi bay, eyes fixed on the two wolves approaching their prey. Punching the lights out of a groper got him in trouble with the media the last time, so the next best thing was…

  “Babe!” he called out, jogging toward the woman. “Babe!”

  Dumbfounded, the two men stopped in their tracks and stared at him. The woman spun on her heel and did the same. In three hurried strides, Pio closed the distance between them and reached for her hand. “You weren’t answering your phone, babe,” he said, playing to his audience of two. “Didn’t I tell you I’d pick you up?”

  This close and under the light of the street lamp, he noticed an ugly streak of mascara running down her left cheek. Seeing her puffy eyes staring back at him in confusion caused his throat to tighten. Avoiding her eyes, Pio’s gaze fell on parted lips that trembled, unable to make a sound.

  “Look, I’m sorry.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, wishing so hard she would play along, just for a little while. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have said what I said. Let’s go home. Please?”

  Please. Nod. Just a nod is enough.

  The lone tear that rolled down her cheek as she nodded put a lump in Pio’s throat. He looked away, the perfect opportunity to glower at the predators who backed off like dogs with tails between their legs.

  It took Pio a few seconds to realize he was still holding on to her. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out, fingers relaxing around her wrist. “I saw them following you and I thought maybe you needed—”

  “I did,” were the first words that came out of her lips. He barely heard it. “T-thanks.”

  The red wrap dress that fell a little above her knee hugged her tiny frame in all the right places. Even in her high-heeled shoes, Pio was almost a head taller, and her smallness made it easy for him to study her face under this light. Drenched cheeks and messed up mascara aside, he thought her beautiful the way 1950s Hollywood actresses were beautiful. Dark tresses cascaded in beautiful waves, framing her face, reminding him of the Sophia Loren portrait his mother owned back in the day. The beauty mark above her upper lip was a distraction, one he had to stop staring at, and now, please.

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  As another tear fell down her cheek, Pio fought the urge to look away. Very few things fazed Pio Alvez, but at the top of that shortlist was a woman’s tears.

  “I don’t know,” she sobbed.

  “Did you have a lot to drink?”

  She nodded and buried her face in her hands, as though embarrassed to have brought this upon herself because of her carelessness.

  “Let’s get you sobered up first.” He offered and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Then we can find you a cab so you can go home.”

  And Audrey was her name.

  She now sat in the passenger side of Pio’s black Ecosport, a box of Kleenex balanced on her lap and a cup of black coffee settled between her hands. Gone were the unsightly streaks of black mascara on her face, but the waterworks were still on.

  When he asked her if she wanted to “talk about it,” Pio expected a curt reply, a rejection, something along the lines of “No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine.” But the universe said “Not today,” and for the past half hour, he listened to Audrey’s disjointed stories and played connect-the-dots with them.

  His starting point was a bad breakup.

  Two months ago, Audrey’s boyfriend put an end to their on-again, off-again relationship. They lasted ten years, until the guy (henceforth known as “The Douche of Makati”) decided she wasn’t “there for him” enough and dumped her.

  Unsurprising plot twist: the Douche was already seeing someone else behind her back. Someone younger, more spontaneous, and who “looked like she leapt out of a magazine centerfold.”

  “More like someone who’s always at his beck and call,” she added bitterly and blew her nose into a tissue. She chucked it into an empty McDonald’s paper bag nestled in the car console between them.

&nbs
p; “I’m sorry,” she squeaked. “I just don’t have anyone else to vent out to.”

  Perhaps a look of incredulity appeared on his face, because Audrey seemed to find the need to explain herself.

  “We went to college together and have the same circle of friends. Some of them think I ‘had it coming’ because I wasn’t good to him. I don’t know what he’s told them or what they’ve observed, but I felt so betrayed hearing them say that.

  “And I’ve been avoiding my family since the breakup. How could I tell them without breaking their hearts? My parents treated him like their own son, and my siblings had shown him nothing but love and respect. If I told them everything, I wouldn’t put it past our bunso to punch my ex in the face.”

  He deserves it, Pio mused, tamping the sentiment down so it doesn’t escape him. Sitting here and listening to Audrey didn’t necessarily mean he was entitled to an opinion, did it?

  Still, her story drew in a rush of familiar, unwanted memories. He almost wanted to laugh. He had stepped out of his own birthday party because the crowd felt suffocating, only to walk into a situation that made it difficult for him to breathe.

  “Anyway—I don’t think I should be keeping you any longer.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Thank you for listening. And I’m really sorry to have bothered you.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Audrey.” The way her name rolled off his tongue felt so natural all of a sudden, like he’d been uttering it all his life. Like he was meant to.

  When Audrey placed the box of Kleenex on the dashboard and prepared to leave, disquiet slithered its way up Pio’s heart. Treacherous, this feeling. Faint and inexplicable, but there.

  He cleared his throat, an attempt to ignore the unwelcome guest. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Not exactly. But I think I can manage.”

  “Right.”

  “I hope you forget about all this tomorrow,” she mumbled, fumbling for the door lock. It seemed like the alcohol in her system had finally worn off, replacing her brazenness with embarrassment. “We won’t be seeing each other again, anyway. And there are better things to think of.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Bacon. Music. Puppies? Whatever works.”

  Pio laughed quietly, the first time since meeting her. “Those do sound better.”

  The bag of used tissues made a crisp, crunching sound when Audrey grabbed it on her way out of the car. She ducked her head back in a second later, lips parted as though trying to come up with something to say.

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re a dead ringer for that actor, Pio Alvez?”

  “I...do get that a lot, yes,” he replied, laughter springing up his throat. He had introduced himself to her earlier, but the information probably went in one ear and out the other.

  “Well. Congratulations on your face.”

  “Thanks,” Pio said, amused. “Hey, uh—be happy.”

  “What?”

  He allowed himself a moment to admire her face one last time, convinced she would look even more radiant if she wore a bright, genuine smile.

  “Be happy,” he repeated. “It’ll be the best revenge.”

  TWO

  “Y ou’re kidding me, right?”

  Audrey drummed her fingers over her evaluation sheet and glowered at her boss, Luigi Blanco, who sat across the table. “You know exactly why my performance has been dismal these past few months,” she muttered between gritted teeth. “You handed me difficult clients but took away my creative team. You replaced them with interns I’ve had to train half the time—”

  —and you had to break my heart on top of everything too.

  “Aji, calm down.”

  She drew her fingers into her palm and slammed her fist on the table. “And how do you expect me to do that? You basically just told me my days in this company are numbered. Just because my past three months were less than stellar.”

  Luigi tugged at the cuffs of the blue dress shirt he wore under his coat and leaned forward, a posture Audrey knew only too well. He would be clasping his hands together next, thumbs meeting and parting and meeting again in a calculated rhythm. Then, he would give her that look. The one that made her feel stupid. The one he used on her whenever he insisted that she was wrong and he was right.

  “Look, Aji.” The hand clasp, the movement of his thumbs, the look. All on cue. “It’s nothing personal. The quality of your output has taken a nosedive—”

  “Because you took my team away!”

  A sigh. A pinch to the bridge of his nose. Luigi’s body language was so predictable, and Audrey hated herself for knowing this much.

  “I’m not happy about this either. But frankly speaking, I expected a lot from you and you’ve disappointed me. You practically founded Same Feather Media with me and Ayo and Crissy. You should’ve been able to adjust. We’ve been doing this for years, Aji. Years!”

  Audrey wanted to laugh. This was classic Luigi Blanco, foisting responsibility on everyone but himself. That she never realized this—among other things—was her tragedy.

  She stared at the note scrawled at the bottom of her evaluation sheet and gritted her teeth. Sure, breathing the same air as Luigi felt stifling now, so unlike the time his presence was enough to calm her, but there were more pressing matters to concern herself with. Like employment.

  She could not afford to lose this job. At least not in the next six months.

  “Are we done?” she asked, cutting his admonishment short. Him speaking of her inadequacy just made her want to strangle him with his tie. “I have a storyboard meeting in an hour.”

  Luigi paused and flashed her a photo-ready smile she immediately wanted to wipe off his face with a stapler. How is he allowed to look this good while I’m feeling like absolute shit? Fire rose in Audrey’s throat.

  “Right. Abracadabra Coffee,” he said, eyes darting to his ringing phone. Audrey couldn’t help but notice how his manufactured smile became instantly affectionate. His voice was still flat, though. “I hope you deliver this time, Aji. I’m rooting for you.”

  She scoffed. “I find that hard to believe.”

  At the storyboard meeting, the way actor Pio Alvez looked at her reminded Audrey of an enthusiastic puppy. His eyes gleamed with a light of joy and fascination, his wide smile hopeful. If Pio had a tail, she’d bet it would be wagging like crazy.

  Pio Alvez can’t be that excited about this project, can he?

  “Your brand name exudes magic, and we want that magic to jump off the screen with a choose-your-own-adventure style web series set in a magical café.” Audrey nodded at Marj, prompting the mousy intern seated at the back of the room to play a proof of concept—a short, interactive film she produced with her old creative team years back, but never finished.

  Her audience of five—three client representatives (including Albert Tanchangco, Abracadabra’s brand manager), Pio Alvez, and his handler, Cleo Gascon—seemed receptive, but Audrey knew not to count her chickens before they hatched.

  Find your calm, she recited in her head, fighting the urge to fiddle with the pen in her hand. Her attention gravitated to Pio’s side of the room and saw him watching the screen with interest.

  Audrey returned to the center of the room as soon as the video ended. “We’re calling this web series ‘Six Magical First Dates.’ That’s one mini episode for each of the six variants you are launching. At the beginning of each episode, Mr. Alvez here will be playing a charming barista who serves whichever Abracadabra Coffee variant a viewer will choose.

  “At the same time, Mr. Alvez will also be ‘The Date.’ We will be setting up various date scenarios and dressing Mr. Alvez in styles that match a certain coffee variant’s ‘personality.’ For example, a sleek, black-tie concept for Classic Black Magic, casual and preppy for AlohoMocha, and a sporty look for Abracadabra Slim.”

  Storyboard slides were projected on the screen while Audrey fleshed out more details about the web series. At the end
of the presentation, Audrey held her breath for her audience’s reaction.

  “The concept is great, Ms. Alonzo!” Mr. Tanchangco said. “I think we may be a little in love with it. Shall we begin crunching numbers for this?”

  Audrey breathed out slowly, all too suddenly feeling exhaustion and relief seeping from her bones. She nodded. “Of course, sir. Whenever you’re ready.”

  The next few minutes quickly went by in a blur. It had been a while since Audrey landed a project this big, and she knew this was the break she needed to get her out of her slump. Just you wait, Lui. I’ll slap your face with a fricking—

  “Hi.”

  When did Pio Alvez get here? Wasn’t he sitting way over there just now? Why isn’t he leaving the room like everybody else?

  “H-hi.” Audrey managed a polite smile before turning her attention to her things on the table. With trembling hands, she gathered them one by one, preparing to leave.

  “You...don’t remember me, do you?”

  His words were a jolt that caused her to drop her pen, and they both went to reach for it at the exact same time, shampoo commercial meet-cute style.

  Unfortunately, the choreography for this meet-cute was off. So off that instead of a swoon-worthy moment, it ended with Audrey’s forehead crashing against the top of Pio’s head. She yelped.

  “Oh no, I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

  Close. Too close. Way too close. Audrey’s heart froze as Pio leaned in to check the offended spot on her forehead. A gentle brush of his fingers moved her longish bangs to the side, and at the slightest touch, she pulled her head back. The sudden movement compromised her balance, however, and with a dull thud, her ass met the wooden floor.

  “Oh dear.” Pio seemed as flustered as she was when he held his hand out to her. He uttered apologies while pulling her to her feet, to which Audrey responded with a bunch of “It’s okays.”

  It wasn’t. Parts of her throbbed like heck.

  “You really don’t remember me?” The actor’s eyes were still hopeful when he asked again.

  What was there to remember? Even if Pio Alvez had become a hot commodity among advertisers since starring in that afternoon teleserye two years ago, she had never worked with him. The closest she got to the actor was whenever her daily commute allowed her a glimpse of his billboards along C-5 Road and EDSA.