Claiming Carlos

by Rachelle Ayala

  For having hung around only a few days, this guy sure is observant. How the heck does he know my chores? Guess that’s why he’s the highly paid consultant and I’m just Choco the Slave.

  “Oh, wait, I also have to pick up Tita Gloria’s dentures and take her to the game tonight.”

  “Let Carlos do it, and ask your cousin Julia to take his mother to the game. Or are they too busy and important since they’re on their hot date?” Johnny says this with a smooth swipe of his gelled hair. “I’m telling you. You gotta stand up for yourself. First rule of success is to look out for yourself, because no one else will.”

  I can’t believe it. Johnny even knows about the date. Has Carlos been bragging about it? I never thought he was the type to kid around with the guys, but then, he is taking Julia out, and Julia is a former beauty queen at her high school. Why, oh why did that stupid Steve skip out on her? Whatever possessed him to reenlist and go back to the war without his beautiful bride, the supposed love of his life? Men! So unstable.

  Johnny takes my hand to press his perceived advantage. “Looks like you could use a manicure. I overheard your Tita Gloria commenting on chipped fingernails. She said it was unseemly for a waitress to present food without perfect nails.”

  My Tita Gloria? Huh!

  “Seriously? When was the last time you noticed a waitress’s nail polish?”

  Johnny clucks as if I’m a stubborn child. “Image is everything. There’s a reason why your parents let Genie wear the fancy dress and be the evening hostess.”

  Other than she’s pretty, has a pale, smooth complexion, and looks like she’s part white?

  “I like being the expeditor rather than hostess. All they do is greet customers and pass out menus.”

  Johnny leans back and surveys me and my messy appearance: bedhead, robe, scruffy slippers and unshaven legs. If my family hadn’t barged in on me yesterday, I would have been exfoliated, waxed, moisturized, and wrapped.

  “You have potential. I’m sure there’s foundation that can cover some of your pigmentation, and you could look into laser freckle removal.”

  My jaw drops and I cross my arms. “I am not getting my freckles removed. Did you know they touched up my senior pictures and I didn’t look like myself?”

  “Ahh, but that’s your perception of how you look,” Johnny says with a smug smile. “You see a dependable, loyal, sweet, girl next door. One who takes care of everyone’s problems but her own. I see a vibrant, captivating, enchanting woman. An accomplished business woman who is efficient, organized, and on top of her game during the day, but fashionable, desirable, and smoking hot at night.”

  I’m not sure which planet Johnny hails from, but no one, absolutely no one has ever thought of me as hot, well, maybe hot tempered, but hot as in sexy? Short elder sisters are not hot, especially ones who wear sensible shoes and sport no nonsense haircuts, as in stick straight, no need to style or even brush.

  “So, you see,” he says as he paces around me, his fingers on his chin. Oh, did I mention, the cleft chin and a dimple tickling his right cheek? As hot and handsome as a movie star, scented with expensive cologne, no doubt, oriental, spicy with a hint of amber. And suddenly it’s as if his presence is filling the room and sucking all the air from my lungs. He’s broiling hot. As in model, runway, action figure hot.

  And he’s in my room!

  “As I was saying …” Johnny’s voice breaks my hormonal fog. “Let’s get you a makeover. Head to toe, and attitude too. From now on, you’re Concha, sexy, mysterious Oriental beauty. Whenever you walk into a room, you’re going to make a grand entrance. A hush descends from your multitudes of admirers, and stylish, fashionable men will drop to their knees to offer you a light, take your mink stole, and present you with flowers. I can see you coming down the red carpet like a movie star at the Oscar.”

  Except Choco the Slave still has to pick up Papa’s dry cleaning, drop by my parents’ house to walk Hilda, our Great Dane puppy, since they’re out fishing, and then there are those dentures Gloria ordered the last time she was here.

  “If it’s all your slave duties you’re worried about,” Johnny says with a frown marring his deliciously handsome face, “I’ll text my assistant and get it all taken care of.”

  “Really? You have an assistant?”

  Johnny raises and lowers his eyebrows. “When you become an executive, you’ll have one too. Go ahead, write down everything you have to do, and I’ll make the calls while you change.”

  “You’d do that for me?” I’m tickled that someone cares enough to set me free from my drudge tasks, especially someone that young who has a personal assistant.

  “Definitely. I’d do that and more for you, my dear lady.” He lifts a hand to my face and brushes my cheekbone. “You have wonderful features and the bone structure of a model. Beautiful eyes, a delicate nose, elegant lips.”

  Wow, I love the flattering, even if it’s from the lips of a professional consultant—someone who’s job is to make clients feel special and well consulted. Especially one who’s admiring me like a rare find on an archaeological dig.

  Gulp. His thumb caressing my palm sends tiny zaps of electric currents through my body. His gaze flickers between my eyes and my lips. Oh no. I’m not falling for the telegraphed kiss trick. Not again.

  Even though I pull away, I can’t help but return his smile. I jot down all of my duties, tear the paper from my notepad and hand it to him. “Go ahead, make my day.”

  He smirks as he slips his phone from his pocket and starts texting.

  Ha, ha. I strut to my bedroom. Today is Choco Freedom Day. This slave’s about to get a makeover.

  On Rodeo Drive.

  Chapter 11

  “Want the top down?” Johnny wakes up a shiny, spanking-new sports car. Somehow it knows him. The side lights blink a greeting as the door handles slide out. “Remember how I told you to bring as much luggage as you want?”

  “Said no man ever.” I shrug toward my two large suitcases, mostly empty so I can fill up the goods. I haven’t had a decent shopping trip since I graduated from college and started working at my parents’ restaurant. No time and no place to wear anything other than the wait staff uniform, black on black, or occasionally, the hostess outfit, the traditional Filipino terno, also known as the baro’t saya, a form fitting dress consisting of an intricately decorated collarless blouse with bell shaped sleeves.

  Johnny presses a button on his controller and the front hood pops open. Yanking one of my full sized suitcases, he smirks. “Throwing it on top of the engine.”

  “Wait, what kind of car is this? There’s nothing in here.”

  “Tesla Model S, electric,” he replies smugly.

  I gape at the large compartment, big enough for me to climb in if I wanted to. Johnny tosses in one of the suitcases and shuts the compartment. “Oops, I forgot to ask you, were you going to ride in the front trunk or the rear?”

  He waves a hand and gestures me to the back of the car, while pressing the key fob, which actually looks like a toy car, to raise the trunk lid.

  “Very funny, mister.” I peer into the rear, which is actually a hatchback, although there’s nothing boxy or dorky about it at all. The sleek lines and integrated rear spoiler scream speed.

  Johnny lifts my second suitcase and his Hartmann Herringbone hardside into the trunk. “Look, there’s even room for Hilda, your Great Dane.”

  “Uh, I’m not sure you want her slobbering all over that fancy leather interior.” Speaking of which. “Is your assistant strong enough to walk Hilda? She really pulls hard.”

  “Not to worry.” Johnny presses the key fob and lowers the trunk. “Let’s get in before we take the top down.”

  I take some time to gawk at the aerodynamic lines of his futuristic shaped bullet. It’s shiny black and sports huge golden wheels with thin, low-profile tires. “Is this the newest version? I didn’t know they came in convertible.”

  Johnny opens the driver’s side door. “Yep,
model S and a custom convertible conversion. Get in.”

  “Me? Oh, I don’t know how to drive this.” I slide in anyway. Somehow the car knows I’m there. The displays light up and shows the car with one door open.

  I feel around the right side of the steering wheel for the ignition push button, but can’t find it. “How do you turn this thing on?”

  Johnny dangles the key fob and hands it to me. It’s completely smooth. There are no buttons and no place to plug it in, anywhere.

  “Uh? What am I supposed to do with this?”

  I can tell Johnny is highly amused at my ignorance. The center console is made up of a huge touch screen tablet, but I don’t see an ‘On’ button.

  “Place your hands on the steering wheel and depress the brake before moving the transmission from ‘Park’ to ‘Reverse.’” Johnny gets into the passenger seat and sounds like a driver’s training instructor.

  I step on the brake and a row of lights blink on the top. The car graphic flips around and flashes “Hello Johnny,” before settling into a digital speedometer display.

  “Pretty cool. Did you program that?”

  “I’ve a special build, since I know someone high up in the company. Go ahead and put it in ‘Reverse,’ and give it some gas, oops, I mean electrons.”

  I shift to ‘Reverse’ easily and the tablet screen shows the rear camera view. It’s hard to tell if the car is moving since there’s no engine noise. It floats back and as soon as I let my foot off the accelerator it stops.

  “Different, isn’t it?” Johnny says. “You can drive most places without using the brake, since it goes into charge mode as soon as you take your foot off the ‘go’ pedal.”

  “I get it, no gas, so no gas pedal.”

  “Good girl.” Johnny grins as if I’m a super gifted toddler or something. “Go ahead, drive it.”

  The fun begins when I drive down the road. The car goes from standing still to serious speed. There’s no delay from shifting gears or revving an engine. It just goes.

  Johnny directs me to a long freeway ramp. “You want to see how fast you can go from zero to sixty? Hang back, go real slow so that all the cars are way ahead of you.”

  I glance in the rear view mirror. “Look, the guy in back’s getting mad. He thinks I’m a turtle.”

  “Don’t worry. His jaw’s about to drop, but you have to have room to speed up. Okay, now, step on it.”

  I punch my foot down, and the car shoots forward, pressing me back with some serious G-force. “Whoa!”

  “Keep going.” He looks over his shoulder. “That guy’s way back there and he has a Porsche. Ha, ha.”

  “I’m doing eighty. I can’t believe it.”

  Fortunately the freeway isn’t crowded, so I ease off the accelerator, and the car immediately slows back to sixty. The quick, heart-pounding acceleration and deceleration is fun.

  “YOLO!!! This is more fun than the go carts at Bombers.”

  “And a heck of a lot quieter too. Want to take the top down?”

  “On the freeway? No way.” I tap the touchscreen for music. “Cool. It has Slacker Radio.”

  “We’re on the internet right now,” Johnny says. “I can check my email all the way to L.A.”

  He splits the screen and puts Google maps on top and enters the address to a hotel in Beverly Hills.

  I hope he reserved two rooms, but I’m afraid I’m going to go broke paying for it. That, on top of all the clothes and beauty supplies I’m going to splurge on. “Oh well, you only live once.”

  “Yep, and at the speed you’re going, this might be it.” Johnny chuckles. “When we get on Rodeo Drive, you’re going to put the top down so everyone can see us.”

  I wonder who everybody is, and why it’s important for them to see us. But then, maybe Johnny’s well known in Hollywood. He does have that cachet, and this car must be worth well over one hundred grand, especially with the customized convertible top.

  Suddenly I feel powerful. The Tesla is so responsive it’s like an extension of my body. I ease into the diamond commuter lane. Imagine Carlos’s face when he sees me tooling around town in this baby. Since Johnny has a reserved spot at the restaurant, this going to work in the morning with Johnny thing might work out well. Instant glam. Just being around this beautiful man rubs fairy dust off on me.

  I shake my fist and twirl it around. “Eat this, Carlos.”

  # # #

  Later that evening, I strut with Johnny through the lobby of an extremely high class hotel, one which looks like a movie set of an opulent French palace. Valets and bellhops step aside and bow as if I’m royalty. Doors open automatically, and there’s a man inside the elevator who saves us the chore of pressing a button.

  “I can’t believe we did all this.” I saunter with Johnny into my hotel room, empty handed. “You sure the concierge will bring up all my shopping bags?”

  “Definitely. Someone will go to all the shops and collect them.” Johnny slips a hand around my shoulder and turns me toward the full length mirror behind the bathroom door. “Will you look at yourself?”

  “That’s not me!” My mouth gapes as I press my palms over the pearly iridescent sequined party dress which hugs my figure, except for the deep V neck showing the slight cleavage I got from the pushup bra.

  “Turn around, all the way.” Johnny’s eyes sparkle, clearly liking what he sees. “Now, look back.”

  The back has a plunging V-necked drop, exposing my almost burnt skin from yesterday. The masseuse at the day spa rubbed it with aloe cream and said I was fortunate not to have suffered second-degree burns. Guess Tita Gloria’s twenty minute water torture regime saved me. Needless to say, I skipped the hot stone massage while Johnny enjoyed the works: deep tissue, hot and cold detox, and we both got the sugar foot scrub, which I’ve never heard of before.

  “I still can’t believe it. My skin’s radiant.” Not just that, the Dermablend cream they applied covered up all my freckles. “My face looks naked.”

  “Absolutely enchanting.” Johnny tips my chin so I’m looking up at him. “Now you know what porcelain skin means.”

  He’s not going to try and kiss me, is he? I mean, my lipstick’s so thick it’ll smear all over both of our teeth, and the foundation? I’m sure he doesn’t want his expensive silk shirt stained. He licks his lips slowly and his eyes lower, a look of desire etched in his pupils.

  My stomach knots, and my heart skips. I’m not sure I want him to kiss me right now. Sure, I insisted on paying for the five-hundred a night room, and I don’t even want to know how much I charged to my credit card for the clothes, shoes, makeup, hairstyling, massage, and skin treatments.

  Let’s just say, I don’t owe him anything. But then, it’s not every day that a hot, totally put together, sexy man’s leaning toward me in the bathroom of a luxury hotel room. My eyes aren’t even accustomed to the dark walnut stained wooden cabinets and marble surrounds on the sink counter and shower.

  He dips his head so close I’m practically nose to nose with him. Is he waiting for me to make a move? How strange, since the first time he kissed me, he practically ambushed me. Besides, we haven’t even had dinner yet. I’m not that easy.

  “Uhm, Johnny,” I mumble. “I’m not sure you’d want me to mess up my makeup.”

  “Okay,” he agrees. “Maybe later, after dinner, we can check out the hot tub in my room.”

  Grrr … sure, got it. Obviously he has the upgraded room. He’s not even being subtle about wanting to hook up. Is this really happening? Am I about to get swept off my feet in a cloud of bling?

  I glance in the mirror at our reflections. We do look like a glam couple, the type you see in the fashion magazines. His tie is loosened just right, hair slightly out of place, and despite the facial we got earlier in the day, small pinpoints of a beard shadow dot his smooth foundation covered skin.

  “We should take pictures before all our makeup comes off,” I say to distract him.

  Of course, I do look fabulous,
if I may say so myself. Either that, or this is a trick mirror and there’s this creamy skinned Chinese actress on the other side pretending to be me. “My mother would be surprised to see me so pale.”

  “The magic of Dermablend,” Johnny says, rolling up his sleeve.

  Ohh. Emm. Gee. His arm is a shade darker than his hands. The stuff’s expensive and so is the fixing spray, but I’m surprised Johnny didn’t go for total body coverage. Wouldn’t he be vain enough to rub it on his dick?

  A giggle slips from my lips and I shake my head, looking away. The image of a dark cock on a white body is too funny, but if he lightened it, it would come off anyway during sex. I wonder what color his condoms are, gold plated?

  Johnny reattaches his cuff links and pulls his hair up to center the spikes. I can barely stop myself from laughing. He looks like some overgrown Kewpie doll.

  He scowls as he checks himself out. My giggles bust out of me. He’s like that devilish Kewpie doll, the mad, grumpy one. Oh, my sides are splitting. I wonder what color a Kewpie doll penis would be.

  Vain Johnny stops his preening. “What’s so funny?”

  “My mom used to comb our baby hair up like that.” I’m holding my sides, my belly aching.

  He rolls his eyes. “You’re so behind the trend. I’ll have you know, this is a quiff.”

  “Quiff? That poufy cone in the center. Ha, ha, ha.”

  He yanks his hair to the sides with both fingers. “So you don’t like the center spike? How about this?”

  Uh, even worse. Because of all the product he had the stylist apply, he now resembles a mad scientist troll doll.

  “Oh gawd, no, Johnny. You look positively trollish.”

  His eyebrows quirk. “Huh? Are you calling Zac Efron a troll?”

  He does resemble Mr. Zac, but I can do without the standup hair. I reach up and pat Johnny’s hair down to a reasonably, messy, indie rocker style. “Much better. Now, you’re almost sexy. Zac’s scruffier than you.”