I follow her towards the kitchen, already having a panic attack at what I might find.
It’s worse than a mess… there’s just stuff everywhere. And this is a really big kitchen.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, feeling my heartbeat rise as I step over a pile of flour and almost slip in a dollop of jelly. I catch myself on the worktop, putting my hand in something gloopy.
“Oh dear, are you okay?” Maria asks as I calm my breathing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think it was this bad. Daddy is going to kill me. Are you going to cry?”
“Nope,” I lie. I actually might. “What is it you wanted to show me?”
She rushes to the counter where the cleaner is ready and waiting with a bucket full of supplies. She looks as close to tears as I am.
I give her a toothy smile that probably looks more like a grimace and return my gaze to the child who is approaching me with a cake in her hands. It’s big, and kind of round, covered in rainbow frosting, edible glitter, and sprinkles. And in the center is my name with one candle sticking out of the E.
“I made you a birthday cake,” she announces, looking so proud of herself. The dimple in her chin is so deep with her beaming smile. “Margot helped.”
Margot is the maid, we don’t really speak because we never see each other, so the fact she’s stopped work to help this ten-year-old make me something is so sweet.
“Nobody has ever made me a cake before,” I breathe, choking back tears.
I was raised in foster home after foster home and I got birthday cakes of course but never one that was homemade.
My tears fall as I take the cake from the little brown-haired angel and blow out the one candle.
“Did you make a wish?” she asks, and I nod, still crying. “What did you wish for?”
“That one day I’ll have a little girl who is just like you,” I reply, crouching down so I can hug her. She squeezes me around my neck, almost making us both fall. “Thank you so much, Maria. This is the best gift I have ever received in my entire life.”
Standing, I pay no attention to the fact I’m now covered in flour and whatever else. I’m too emotional. I take a knife and cut into the cake, sharing a slice with Margot and Maria. It’s actually delicious. It’s moist and buttery and sweet. I could eat it all in one go but that would be greedy.
“Why don’t you take a piece to your dad and then come help us clean up?” I suggest and her big gray eyes light up. I put her a piece on a plate and off she goes, watching it carefully with each step. Then I look at Margot. “How did this even happen?”
When she whimpers in response, I grab a cloth from the side of the sink.
“Don’t worry, we got this.”
We start with the counters, washing them down and piling the dishes into the dishwasher. We dump the bigger ones in the sink and leave those for later.
“How many cakes did she make?”
Margot laughs. She doesn’t talk much. I actually wonder if she can talk at all or if she’s just shy.
“Why didn’t you tell me it’s your birthday?” Mr. C’s voice booms as he enters the kitchen through the same door as me. He stops in his tracks to take in the scene, much like I did. “Jesus fuck… MARIA!”
“Don’t,” I plead with him, wiping my hands on my dirty trousers. He looks me up and down, aghast. “She didn’t mean to make a mess.”
“I’m going to clean it up, Daddy,” Maria says, rolling her eyes at him as though he’s overreacting. He’s not. “Margot and Rose are helping me.”
“Don’t ever do anything in this kitchen again without your mother or I,” he says firmly, and the little girl nods her head, unfazed by his anger.
“Me,” I put in softly. “Your mother or me.”
He blinks at me, his gray eyes like storm clouds blocking the sun. “Did you just correct me?”
“I didn’t want Maria to pick up the wrong way of saying it,” I respond, cringing. “Also… nervous tic.”
He mutters a curse in Italian likely aimed at me and snatches the sponge from my hand. I’m surprised when he gets stuck in, helping to clean the kitchen alongside us.
“You’re not doing anything,” he tells me just as firmly as he told his daughter. “This isn’t part of your job and it’s your birthday. Don’t you have any plans? Nothing with family or friends?”
I shake my head. “No family, remember? I’m going out with my friend on Saturday night though, so I’m not a total lost cause.”
Sighing, he takes my bicep in his hand which is damp from the sponge and leads me out of the kitchen.
“Go home, do something… other than work.”
I’m pushed through the doorway as I call over my shoulder, “Best cake ever, Maria.”
“Woohoo!” she cheers from somewhere behind me.
Chapter Two
How much he loves his daughter.
I know I shouldn’t have, but I showered twice. I didn’t have a choice. My brain made me. It was the only way to rid myself of the flour and jelly that wasn’t there.
My hair smells and feels awesome though. It’s a warm, almost natural dark brown, I obviously use red toners and such to keep it vibrant.
I braid it twice too and curl up in my pajamas on the sofa. I’m watching Bumblebee. I love action films, which is funny because they’re so messy on screen. Debris flying everywhere and stuff.
I’m at the part where she’s just discovered him when the buzzer sounds, signaling that there’s somebody at the entranceway to my apartment building wanting to see me.
I press the button and hold it down, “Hello?”
“It’s MEEEE!” Maria cries. “And my dad!”
“Can you stop shouting?” Mr. C. asks his daughter as I mouth the panicked words, “OH MY GOD!”
“Did I forget something? Do you need me to babysit?”
“Nope, we’re here to celebrate your birthday,” Maria replies. “Can we come in?”
My mouth flaps open and closed as I look around my apartment. It’s clean. It’s always clean. But something might not be.
“Sure,” I reply and press the other button that opens the entrance door. “I’m the only door on this floor, just on your left by the stairs.
I hear it buzz-beep (that’s a thing) and rush around to ensure that everything is in its place.
I don’t often get visitors; I can’t relax with visitors and this is my boss… I’ll never be able to relax around him. I didn’t hear Mrs. Conti. I really hope she’s not here.
I pace twelve times, because six add six, and then open the door when I hear Maria’s loud chatter getting closer and closer.
“I’m in my pajamas,” I say the second it opens. My pajamas are baggy and plaid that I love so hard.
“Awesome!” Maria’s excitement soon fades when she sees what I’m wearing. “They’re boys’ jammies.”
Mr. C. who looks as uncomfortable as I feel stands in my doorway that I’m still blocking. His lips twitch when he checks out my sleeping outfit of choice. “A boyfriend’s?”
Shaking my head, I reply, “No. I got them from the men’s section in a sale at Macy’s. They’re so soft though. How could I not?”
Then I hold out my arm to him and he actually pats it with an awkwardly muttered, “Nice.”
What is wrong with me?
I push on the bridge of my glasses and finally stand to the side. “Come in, please. Make yourselves at home.”
“Your apartment is so small,” Maria says with childlike innocence.
“I like it small. There’s just me.”
She kicks off her shoes and jumps on my sofa. “We want to take you out to dinner, but you have to get dressed first.”
I look at Mr. C for confirmation but he’s eyeing my certificates on the wall. Dark frames hold my degree and other conquered projects.
“Unless you made plans?” he asks, still eyeing my belongings with a disinterested look on his face.
“I didn’t but——”
“Then get dr
essed, we’ll wait,” he orders, using the same tone he uses at work. Firm and to the point.
After six months I should be used to him, but he still makes me nervous.
“Well… actually…” I chew on my lip. “I already ordered Chinese food. They do the best duck ever.”
He clicks his tongue against his palate. “Too late to cancel?”
“Definitely, but I ordered loads. Enough for all of us, if you want to stay and join me?”
He looks around my apartment once more. I wish I knew what he was thinking. Then he kicks off his shoes, takes off his jacket, sits on my sofa and asks, “What are we watching?”
Is it bad that I was hoping he’d say no, thank you and leave?
This is weird.
“Bumblebee.”
“Haven’t seen this one yet,” he comments and restarts the movie.
“Wine, whiskey, or soda?” I ask, moving to my little kitchen space.
“Whiskey,” he replies.
“Me too,” Maria jokes.
I stick my tongue out at her and pour the drinks. Pouring myself two fingers of whiskey and mixing it with a dash of water. I add ice to his and give it to him neat. I get Maria a grape soda that I buy for when Laurie comes. She loves sugary drinks. They both do.
“Thank you, I’d have brought something with me had I known we’d be staying in.”
“That’s why phones were invented,” I remark playfully, sitting on my favorite recliner seat and bringing my feet up to my butt. I hold my glass and tap my fingernails against the side. I know it annoys him when I do that but my house, my rules.
He still gives me a look of irritancy though and I just smile and smile and smile.
Maria wanders around my first-floor apartment for a while, looking at trinkets but not touching. She’s good like that. Well, I say apartment but really, it’s a house that has been separated into two. I share an entrance door with my neighbor but the second apartment is above mine, so I rarely see her. I’m on the first floor.
I sip my whiskey and water in an awkward silence. Mr. C. sips his whiskey in his own awkward silence. The movie plays but nobody is really watching it.
“Why don’t we play a game?” I suggest, chewing on the corner of my mouth. “I have cards. We can play Go Fish?”
“YES!” Maria cheers.
“Why not?” Mr. C mutters, putting his phone away after checking it for the hundredth time.
I sit cross-legged on the sofa, moving to the space beside Mr. C because Maria took my space on the recliner. I don’t mind, she’s a guest and I’d look like a dick if I asked her to move.
After dealing out the deck we play two rounds before food is here. Mr. C retrieves it, muttering about me being indecent despite the fact my body is probably draped in more fabric than I have bedding in this house.
He pays for it too and refuses to take my money when I offer it. That’s sweet but he always does that when we eat together. Money isn’t an object for him.
I get the plates and spread them on the dining room table, pouring us both more whiskey as Mr. C serves it.
“You really did order a lot of food,” he comments quietly, his lips twitching with a smile.
“I usually save it and eat it for breakfast.”
“That’s gross.”
“Meh. Each to their own.”
“Did you know that cold rice houses more bacteria than almost every other food?” Maria asks excitedly and I make a mental note to check that fact out later.
“Kids just know things,” I say, sipping more of my whiskey.
This is so entirely awkward still, even after two boring rounds of Go Fish. Either Mr. C just has no personality when it comes to games, or we have zero chemistry in any way. And I don’t mean romantic chemistry, just chemistry in general. Like if I was sitting here with Laurie right now, we’d be laughing so hard we’d have tears and snot all over our faces.
A gross picture but such truth.
We eat in silence, listening to Maria yammer on about something to do with romance and the Mayans. I didn’t know those two things were related but, apparently, they are. And aliens. Aliens are involved in some way too.
We finish our dinner and I start to clear the plates away. Mr. C helps, wiping down the table and taking the trash to the garbage shoot down the hall. I’ve almost finished when he returns and smiles at me. Still awkward.
Fuck, I wish this night would end.
Maria screeches with glee, holding up a microphone that connects to the TV. We both jumped at her sudden screech, my wet hand goes to my heart and Mr. C looks at it and rolls his eyes, smiling with amusement.
“OMG, you have Sing IT!” She actually said O.M.G. instead of oh my God like the rest of us losers.
“I do,” I reply.
“You sing?” Mr. C asks, disbelief marring his handsome features. He really is very handsome to look at. Not that I’m being creepy or anything.
I compare it to going to a museum and looking at a piece of pretty art. It’s great to look at occasionally, but I don’t want it in my apartment within touching distance.
“I don’t,” I reply using the same tone as when I said I do, and he chuckles.
Ha. I made a funny.
I drain my whiskey because I just know she’s going to make me sing with her. She sets both microphones up and starts flicking through songs.
I need more whiskey.
I pour myself three fingers’ worth and smile when Mr. C’s glass, hand, and arm appear over my shoulder. I pour him some too.
A Disney song starts… eff my life.
Approximately fifteen minutes and another whiskey later.
“A WHOLE NEW WORLD!” Maria sings at the top of her lungs.
“A new fantastic point is through!” I continue, slurring my words a little, swaying on the spot, ignoring Mr. C as he laughs and falls sideways onto my sofa.
“NO ONE CAN TELL ME NO!”
“Or where I’m going!”
“Those aren’t the words.” He’s laughing so hard now his eyes are squeezed shut.
“OR SAY I’M ONLY DREAMING!”
“Unbelievable sights…”
“You already sang that part!” He sits up and wipes his eyes on his sleeve, still laughing and choking on it. “You’re supposed to read the words on the screen.”
“I can’t see the words on the screen,” I yell at him, playfully angry. I push my glasses up my nose and collapse on the sofa beside him. The song hasn’t ended yet, so I shove the microphone into his chest, making him grunt. His chest is so firm.
I want to poke it with my finger.
I don’t. But I want to.
“Your turn. I’ve done like three.”
“Pick a song I know,” he tells his daughter who is still singing her heart out.
“I’m doing a solo, Daddy,” she snaps and goes back to it.
“My head is spinning.” I giggle, watching the little girl bend her legs and yell out the words to Let It Go. “I drank way too much whiskey.”
“Me too,” he agrees, eyes on his daughter too. “I don’t normally drink.”
“You work too much.”
He laughs at me incredulously. “You work just as much as I do.”
“True,” I reply, feeling giddy and less uptight now. “Maybe more these days. I can’t stop.”
He stretches his body, waiting for Maria to pick something he can sing to us.
She instead yawns really loudly and stretches her body just like her father just did.
Mr. C looks at his watch and blinks. “Yikes… I best be getting her home. It’s getting late.”
I almost feel disappointed.
“Just one more song, Daddy,” she begs, pouting at him.
He glances at me through the corner of his eye and holds his hand out for the mic. “Not tonight, Maria. Rose wants to sleep.”
“Are you trying to say I look bad?”
He laughs nervously. “I feel like no matter what way I answer this, I’m
chancing a slap around the face.” Standing, he stretches again and puts his phone to his ear. So does that mean he thinks I’m ugly? Not that I care. “Bring the car around, we’re ready to go.”
“I’ll walk you out,” I say, catching Maria who throws herself at me to hug me. We both stumble because I’m a little tipsy and she’s a solid little lump. “Thank you so much for coming.”
“Maria insisted,” he answers, scratching the back of his head. “We were in the area already visiting family.”
“Your sister?” I ask because I know that she only lives a couple of apartment buildings down from me. He nods in reply. “She’s nice, I like her.”
I’ve met her a few times, they work together but she’s more sexy science geek and not really interested in the sales side of the business so it’s rare we end up all working together. I know her mostly from when she’s come to take her brother for lunch, or he has needed me to call her to set up an appointment for something or other.
He clicks his tongue against his palate and points his thumb at the door. “See you at work tomorrow. Sleep in. I won’t need you until one.”
“You underestimate how much work I have to get done. I’ll be in at eight like always.”
“Fine, but I’ll bring the coffee this time.”
“No!” I blurt, placing my hand on his bicep but then I quickly release it because ewww. Touching is flirting to men… isn’t it? I don’t want him to think I’m coming on to him. “Don’t… I have to have it a really particular way.”
“It’s coffee.”
“But if it’s not the right coffee then my day is wrong.”
He blinks at me and sighs, but he still looks amused. “Okay then, you get the coffee. But don’t say I never do anything nice for you.”
“I wouldn’t even suggest it,” I reply.
Chapter Three
Becoming His Mistress Page 2