Crossroads
ESTELLE
The black Cadillac is nowhere to be seen. I stand in the driveway wondering if Ross finally decided he’s done babysitting the chef and quit.
Just as I reach for the encrypted phone to call Carlos, one of the six garage doors slides open; a shiny black sedan emerges and drives toward me. I recognize the trident logo on the front: Maserati.
The car stops in front of me and the dark tinted windows roll down.
Carlos peers over the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose.
“I’m your ride today,” he says casually.
My heart stutters.
“For real?”
He nods once, and the passenger side door magically opens. I lower my head to slide inside. The smell of a new car greets me again. Either he has an amazing cleaning service, or he never keeps a car for long. I vote for the latter.
We drive to the gate in silence, and I try my best not to glance sideways at him. He looks too good behind the wheel.
When we turn onto the main road, I spot the black Cadillac parked on the opposite side, waiting for us to pass it before swiftly following.
I decide the silence is getting too heavy, at least for me.
“This is new,” I say.
“You don’t like new?”
I associate new with unstable, which says more about my upbringing than anything else.
“Not particularly,” I sigh.
“Hmm.”
More silence.
“Are you scared I’ll drive into the forest and have my way with you?” he asks.
I chuckle. “Why a forest of all places?”
“Just trying to see if you’re afraid of being alone with me.”
I consider his words for a moment. “No. I’m really not,” I tell him honestly.
“So you’re not afraid of me taking you into a dark forest. Interesting.”
“What is it with you and dark forests? Is that where the bodies are buried?” I blurt out. I regret the words immediately. “I mean—”
“No, actually. An incinerator does a much better job,” he says coolly.
My gut tightens.
I’m too stunned to speak.
“I’m kidding, Estelle. Breathe.”
I laugh nervously, but I don’t fully believe he really is kidding.
“I want to ask you something.”
“Sure.”
He turns left onto a posh neighborhood, and as usual, I look over the houses dreamily. I always dreamed of living in a neighborhood like this, and I was well on my way to it until three months ago.
What I had saved went into paying off my student loan for culinary school, fixing my car, covering rent, bills and groceries. The good news is that I’m debt-free, but the bad news is I’m broke.
Until I get my first pay check at the end of this week.
“Estelle?”
I snap out of my thoughts and turn to look at Carlos. “Sorry. I zoned out.”
His thumbs start tapping on the steering wheel.
“Can’t say anyone’s ever zoned out in the middle of a conversation with me,” he grumbles low.
“What did you want to ask me?”
He picks up speed as we turn onto Highway 101, but he doesn’t say anything for a long time. The silence between us now is comfortable, unhurried, as I wait for him.
“I want us to have a sexual relationship,” he says.
My brain freezes for long seconds. I’m intrigued by how he said sexual relationship as opposed to just sex.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
His fingers keep tap, tap, tapping.
“I can arrange for you to live in a better apartment, or even a house, and you can do whatever you want. Cook or don’t cook—it’s up to you.”
To say I’m shocked would be an understatement. My mouth opens and closes like a fish as I try to process what he’s proposing.
“You want me to be your...sugar baby?” I ask slowly. “Or your mistress?”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“The relationship would be purely for sex. You will be available whenever I want.” His voice is so cool, so composed.
If it wasn’t for the nervous tapping of his fingers, I would think this conversation wasn’t affecting him at all.
“So a chef with benefits?”
His fingers still on the steering wheel.
“You wouldn’t be my chef anymore,” he says coldly. “I don’t fuck my employees, despite what the NDA stipulates.”
I swallow hard and turn to look outside the window. Toyota, Tesla, Nissan, BMW, Nissan, Mercedes, Mercedes, Nissan—
“Estelle?”
“What?” I snap, without turning my head.
“Why are you mad?”
Because you’re an idiot.
Silence consumes the car again, this time heavy with tension.
“You can give me your answer next week.”
The fuck I will.
“No,” I say.
Silence.
“You’re ready to give me an answer now?”
“No—I mean yes.” I let out a shaky breath. “My answer is no.”
More silence.
More tapping.
In fact, we don’t say a word to each other until he parks in front of my building. I reach for the handle, anger coursing through my veins.
His warm hand closes around my wrist. Electricity zaps between his palm and my skin, causing a tremor to run up my arm.
“Estelle,” he whispers.
I finally turn to look into his handsome face and piercing eyes. His jaw is tense, and lips are pressed together in a firm line.
“I thought you would be happy. I know you feel the tension between us. You want this, too,” he says.
“Yes, I do, Carlos, but not as your personal whore,” I grit out and yank my arm out of his hold, then open the door.
I don’t look back as I walk briskly to my building. The elevator doors are almost shut when a hand grabs one of the steel doors. They slide open with a screech.
Carlos steps inside, standing beside me wordlessly. The already small space is suddenly claustrophobic. He doesn’t say a word until we start to move.
“Why does it make this sound?” he asks.
“Because it’s crap.”
“Why did you tell me no?”
My feet start tapping against the steel floor, the sound reverberating around the steel box.
“You’re not used to people telling you no, are you?” I say.
I don’t have to look at him to know the answer.
“Why did you say no, Estelle?”
He comes to stand in front of me, blocking my way as the doors start to slide open. I stare up at him, and anger gives way to a dull ache somewhere in my chest.
I want to tell him why his offer both hurts and offends me. Did he take one look at me and misjudge me so badly, or was I so desperate for the job that he translated it into easy?
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Mr. Fuentes,” I whisper.
“No.”
The doors close, and we go back down to the lobby, neither of us yielding in our staring match.
The doors slide open.
“Dude, you’re blocking the way.”
I stiffen.
Shit.
Carlos shifts to my side, then turns to face the person.
Elsa is holding Micah’s hand, both of them holding an ice cream cone. She is staring at him hard until Carlos turns and she sees his face. Her eyes widen, the whites showing all around the iris.
Then her gaze lands on me.
I can see the moment she starts adding two and two together, eyes quickly shifting back and forth.
“Aunty Estelle! We got ice cream,” Micah says cheerfully. Then he looks up at Carlos. “Is he your friend?”
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