Chapter 11
We’re inside my car, heading to the hotel apartment I’ll be letting her stay in.
Olívia settled her accounts with her landlord and, as she expected, only needed a suitcase and a few bags to gather all her things.
Oh, and the precious coffee maker.
She looked like a little girl holding it.
I don’t usually hang around with people who value simple things like a household appliance, except for my mother.
The women I’ve dated were interested in jewelry, shoes, handbags, but Olívia wrapped the coffee maker as if she had something sacred in her hands.
She takes pride in having acquired it through her own work. The girl is happy with little, even with all the adversity in her life. Once again, I find myself thinking about the injustice she was subjected to, and I am outraged by everything she had to go through.
“Tell me about yourself,” I say. Her chatter disappeared when I arrived at her house. What I thought was irritating me on the first day is now something I miss.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
“Everything is a lot. I’m not one to talk about myself.”
“That’s not the impression you gave me at the café.”
She looks up from her hands in her lap. I also noticed that she sat as far away from me as possible inside the car. “There, you were my customer. Outside of work, it’s my personal life. My mother used to say that I’m too open and that I need to be careful not to let people get close too quickly.”
“Your mother was right, but you don’t need to be afraid of me. I give you my word.”
“I’m not afraid of you. If I were, I wouldn’t have let you into my house. I’m not experienced, but I have faith in my intuition. When I went to work at the café, from the beginning, I knew Thomas wasn’t trustworthy.”
“Thomas?”
“The manager.”
The molester son of a bitch. It’s a pity she’s found space in her heart to forgive. I wish I could teach him a lesson.
“I don’t want to sound repetitive, but why are you helping me? I mean, I’ve accepted what you told me about the job and everything, but why did you choose me to help?”
“I have a sister only two years younger than you. Despite what you arouse in me being nothing fraternal.”
Her cheeks instantly redden, and she looks out the car window. “How do you know my age?”
“You told me at the café when you thought I was some sort of inspector.”
“I see.”
“I think you’re not understanding me.”
She looks back at me. “What do you mean?”
“I said I want to be your friend, but I also want to get to know you better.”
“Better how?”
“Everything. You said you’re alone. Tell me about your life. You mentioned your mother a few times. Tell me about her.”
“You’ll be my boss.”
“Technically, I’m everyone’s boss, but that doesn’t stop me from being your friend too.”
“Do you have friendships with other employees?”
“Usually, no.”
Her whole body now turns on the car seat to look at me. “This friendship you’re offering isn’t very likely.”
“Why?”
“Just look at us.”
Unfortunately, I am looking, Olívia. I would really like to avert my eyes, but they don’t want to obey my brain’s commands.
“You have this aura of power. I’m just ordinary.”
I disagree. There’s nothing ordinary about her. I’ve never met a woman so full of life.
“Is being different a bad thing?”
She seems to think for a moment. “In our case, I don’t think so. It’s not like we’re going to get married,” she says, laughing. “Okay. I won’t go crazy trying to understand why a man like you saw me and wants to be my friend. Since we’ve ruled out the main reason—”
“Main reason?”
“Uh . . . the possibility of you being interested in something more than just helping me.”
I stay silent. I can’t deny out loud again the attraction I feel. “I’m not trying to seduce you. That’s not why I offered the job.”
“But . . . ?”
“No ‘buts’. Is it so hard to believe in a good deed?”
“Yes, it is. When do I start working?” She changes the subject, suddenly seeming interested in the entire interior of the car and no longer looking at me.
“How many days do you need?”
“None. After I settle into this place where you said I’ll be staying, I can start as early as today.”
“No. Take the rest of the week off.”
“Will I wear a uniform?” she asks, catching me off-guard once again.
“No.”
“Oh!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“I need to know everything you’re thinking.”
“Not everything,” she replies, cheeks flushing.
“I meant you should always be honest with me.”
“I’m always honest.”
“You argue too much.”
“And you’re too bossy . . .” she blurts out and then adds, “Sir.”
Damn, I shouldn’t find her insolence funny, but the truth is, I haven’t had such a stimulating conversation in ages.
“Yes, that’s me. A bossy and controlling boss. Now tell me why you seemed upset about not wearing a uniform.”
“In movies, hotel girls always wear a uniform,” she answers, and I have no doubt she’s dodging the subject.
“And would you like to wear one?”
“It would be more practical.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Fine.” She sighs, seeming to surrender. “I don’t have formal clothes. That’s why I asked about the uniform. I don’t even know what people wear to work in a hotel.”
I don’t either, I think as I try to remember what my secretaries wear.
If I’m not mistaken, they always seem to be in knee-length black dresses, but the truth is, I don’t pay enough attention to any of them.
Contrary to what I told Olívia, I don’t deepen ties with employees, to avoid the same kind of problem I had with nannies—not blurring the lines of our relationship.
“Dresses.”
“Huh?”
“The women who work in my office usually wear dresses.”
“I only have one, floral.”
“Then go shopping. You’ll have a corporate credit card, and expenses will be a job benefit.”
“I don’t want charity. I can pay for my own clothes.”
I don’t even bother to respond. “I’ll have someone look for you tomorrow. They’ll take you to buy what you need. You said you can start soon? I arrive at the office around eight. Be there in three days.”
“And I thought I was quick . . .”
“Quick?”
“Nothing. I was just thinking out loud.”
“Speak.”
“You seem like a bulldozer,” she says and then quickly adds, though she doesn’t seem at all repentant, “No offense, sir.”
Not for the first time today, I suppress a smile. Olívia is unbelievable, and I’m still not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
I grab my phone, unlock it, and hand it to her. “Save your number here.”
“Once I go to HR tomorrow, you’ll know what it is.”
“No, I might need to talk to you before that. Save it.”
I could swear she rolls her eyes, but she quickly masks it. “Done. Now, can you explain a little more about what you expect from me?”
It’s time to get creative.
“Your role will be . . .”