Hired

by Zoey Castile

  I don’t want to give him too much credit for being decent. But in my experience, another guy would have crawled in bed with me and tried to wake me up with a boner breakfast.

  “What’s wrong with you, Faith?” I say aloud and head for the bathroom.

  I pass by a note.

  “Thanks for last night, Aiden,” I read out loud. Ugh, what was I expecting? His phone number and a promise ring?

  We both knew what this was. I think about texting Angelique but I know what she’d say. “At least you got yours, honey.”

  And she’s not wrong.

  Today might be the first time that my first thought upon waking up wasn’t poll numbers. Though now that I’m going down that spiral, I wonder what the poll numbers are. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow for the Sunday papers.

  I don’t know how long it’s been since Aiden left. Part of me wishes that I could see him again. But I know better than this. That was a one-time thing. I wouldn’t call it a mistake, because it wasn’t. Just before I started college, my mother told me, “Young ladies do not pick up men.”

  Is that why I did it?

  I look at my watch. It’s eight in the morning. I have to go to headquarters in two hours for my mother’s briefing. My stomach rolls at the thought of walking in there, my heart twists in a not-so-good way before I realize that no, I don’t have to. I see myself telling my mother that I was taking the week, my petty, bratty reaction to her asking me to cool off. I run my hands over my face, try to calm my breathing.

  A few months ago I saw a therapist. I was getting panic attacks and such bad anxiety that I couldn’t even leave my house. I stopped after two sessions, but the most useful thing she told me was to break up my tasks into the smallest possible sections. I get overwhelmed with the big picture, so if I see things as a bunch of little pictures, then, just maybe, I can get through the day. Then another day. Then a week. A month. And so on.

  I need to get out of here. I’ve only done the walk of shame a couple of times in college. To be honest, the only person who makes it feel shameful is me. I haven’t done anything that I wouldn’t do again. Well, except fall asleep.

  I mean, I feel this way right now, but we’ll see about later.

  My mouth tastes like old whiskey, and my hair is all out of sorts. I grab my purse and take myself to the bathroom. I plug my phone in the wall outlet to charge. I scroll through a few messages from Maribelle asking where I am. One from Dad telling me he loves me. One from my mom asking me to stop being dramatic. A last one from Angie sending me water and eggplant emojis. She has no idea what really happened here last night. It’s a good thing I didn’t get Aiden’s number, because that way this is a clean break. He made that clear by not being here in the morning.

  Though, it would have been more convenient if he left a time with the note. It could say something like, “You’re welcome for the cunnilingus. Be back in 15 minutes.”

  I run the shower, and there’s one of those bathroom kits. Thank God this is a fancy hotel. I find the shower cap and tuck my hair inside. There’s a bottle of men’s body wash in here. It’s one of those three-in-one things. How do men use the same product for their bodies, hair, and face? Meanwhile, all women products are like, “here’s a special lotion for your elbows.” There’s marketing for you.

  I get out of there as quickly as I can. I’m the kind of person who can take a bath for hours. It’s the only place that gives me true peace and quiet. But for now, I have somewhere to be. Anywhere but here.

  I hop out and use a towel. If he wants more, he can call room service. I slip back into the same clothes I wore yesterday. I can’t bring myself to wear the same underwear, so I stuff it in my purse.

  My bag is always complete with a first aid kit. Though it wouldn’t help in any kind of survival setting, I have everything my mother would need throughout the day. Lotion, face wipes, Q-tips, coconut oil, and lipstick.

  When I was a little girl, I used to watch my mother apply her lipstick in the mirror. She’d always get it precise on the first try. I don’t have the same skills.

  I press the home button on my phone. Eight fifteen a.m. No Aiden.

  I realize that I’m stalling. That despite all of my talk of this being the perfect escape, a part of me wants to see his face again. Even if it’s just for a little bit. Even if it’s awkward as hell. There’s something about him that’s possibly too pretty, too sly. Heartbreaker. I said it myself, didn’t I?

  Get out of here while you still have the chance, the voice in my thoughts says.

  I take a look at myself. I should add dry shampoo to my first aid kit. That’s going to be my takeaway of this whole ordeal.

  I grab my purse and exit the bathroom, making sure to do one last sweep for my clothes.

  The balcony. The bedroom. The bed in the living room. Here the sheets are rumpled and smell like his cologne and something else—oranges.

  That’s weird, Faith. Step back away from that pillow.

  I stuff my feet into my heels again and run the hell out of the room.

  Thankfully, Saturday mornings in the Quarter are quiet because of the amount of people nursing hangovers. I look at my reflection in the elevator’s mirrored walls. I don’t look terrible for someone who spent last night being eaten out. I close my eyes, and the thought of Aiden’s mouth between my legs brings a tiny pulse there.

  Heartbreaker.

  Is that truly what I think or what I want him to be so that it’s easier to walk away like this? There’s nothing to walk away from. We were two ships passing in the night, that’s all.

  Stepping outside of the hotel feels like I’m wading through mud. Every step comes with aching muscles. I suppose that’s what it’s like being close to twenty-nine. One night of hard drinking, and my body revolts. Though I slept eight hours for the first time in months! I should be well rested. Thankfully, I have nothing else to do today except to catch up on sleep and try to avoid my mother. I step into the taxi waiting at the curb.

  “Where to, darlin’?” he asks.

  “1230 Harmony Street,” I say, reaching into my purse for my phone.

  My phone.

  My heart spikes, sending a hot flash across my body.

  Not in the taxi. Not in my purse. I don’t even have any pockets in this dress.

  My mind goes back to the place I was trying to leave without a trace, where I left my phone plugged into the bathroom wall outlet.

  “Stop! I forgot something,” I shout at the cabbie. I get out and ignore his shouting at me. I feel terrible, but he only drove half a street.

  The doorman smiles at me and lets me inside. I get to the elevators before I realize I can’t get to the penthouse without a key. I palm my forehead and think of what I can say to the reception desk that might get me upstairs.

  A tall man stands in front of the elevators beside me. The sweet smell of powdered sugar reminds me I’m hungry. I didn’t have dinner.

  “Rough morning?” a familiar, playful voice asks.

  It was a rough morning, but that smile Aiden flashes tells me it’s about to get a whole lot better.

  6

  No Me Ames

  AIDEN

  We ride the elevator back to the suite. Fallon was right. She’s still here. But she’s only here because she forgot her phone.

  Still, seeing her, being around her, fills me with a strange satisfaction. Comfort. I might have been tipsy last night, but right now, I’m stone-cold sober.

  Faith is stunning. Her hair is rumpled and her mouth is plump and pink from all of the kissing we did.

  I so badly want to kiss her again, but I don’t know how she feels after last night. Does she regret it? Does she want to keep running? Does she want to laugh in my face?

  My life’s work is being able to know how to talk to women. How to say the right things to make them happy, make their days better, make them feel like I’m worth the price tag.

  Then why is it so hard to find a way to talk to Faith?

/>   I know if Fallon were here, he’d tell me some woo-woo shit about being honest with my feelings.

  Feelings get you hurt. It ends in breaking the people around you.

  “I’m sorry I left this morning,” I blurt out anyway. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “Plus you thought it would be easier to make a clean break,” she tells me. She doesn’t look at me, but at the numbers lighting up as we climb to the top.

  This elevator ride is less fun than last night’s. But there’s something about being in the same space with her that makes me want to stay right where I am.

  Of course, that’s when the doors open and we walk back to my suite. Ginny’s suite.

  “Are you having a party so early?” she chuckles.

  “Hm? Oh, this?” I let us in and lead the way to the living room. “I wasn’t sure what kind of coffee you liked. Just in case you were still here.”

  I set the greasy bag of beignets and tray of coffee on the table. She sits down on the armchair, and I busy myself with putting the sofa bed away.

  “Milk and sugar,” she says.

  I sit across from her. Why am I so fucking awkward right now? I grab the black coffee and add a packet of sugar to it. I make a face when I drink it.

  “You don’t like chicory coffee?”

  I chuckle. The stuff is slightly sweet with a burnt aftertaste. “I’m more used to the Colombian coffee my mom always bought.”

  “Is that where she’s from?” She helps herself to the bag of basically donuts. Her hands are graceful. Long fingers. I can picture her now wrapping those same fingers around my dick. As she brings the beignet to her lips, I am fully erect.

  Then, I frown. She shouldn’t be here. She should go about her day so I can go about mine. I haven’t been to the gym in two days. Ginny could come back. Housekeeping could barge in.

  But when I picture her leaving, I feel irrationally angry.

  “She was from Medellín,” I say. I look into my coffee. What is it with this city that it has me spilling all the things I never share? No, not people. Just Faith. “My mom left for New York when she was twenty and met my father there. He was Colombian too but from Barranquilla.”

  She licks her lips. I wonder what she’s thinking. “You were born in Colombia?”

  “It’s actually a crazy situation.”

  “Tell me.”

  And I do. My mouth opens, and this thing I have locked in my chest climbs out. “This was right before I was born. My parents were together for about six months and he’d just put a ring on her finger. But, he had to go back to Barranquilla to visit his ailing mother. Then he went missing.”

  Faith watches me, her rapt attention giving me the feeling that I’m telling someone else’s story instead of the series of events that led to my mother’s heartache.

  I clear my throat and continue. “So my mom went to Barranquilla with her brothers, and my grandfather drove all the way from Medellín to see what was up. Like showed up with machetes in case he’d been taken or whatever. My dad always seemed to owe someone money. But when they got there, they found that he was totally fine. My grandmother was the picture of health. He just wasn’t planning on coming back because my mom was pregnant.”

  Faith’s mouth is a perfect O with surprise. It’s not the right time, but the image of her wriggling against my mouth last night pops into my mind. I’m the most fucked up, if that’s what I’m thinking of while reliving my family history.

  “What happened?” she asks.

  “Well, my grandfather wouldn’t have it.”

  “Shotgun wedding?”

  “Machete wedding more like it.”

  She shakes her head but smiles at my twisted humor. “And I thought my family had stories. Is that why you were born there?”

  “Yup,” I say. “We were supposed to go back to New York but my mom went into labor a month early. Then we just stayed for about nine years.” I clear my throat and then drink more of the bittersweet coffee. “That’s my origin story in a nutshell.”

  When Faith smiles it feels like sunshine after a long bout of rain. “I bet there’s a lot more to your origin story.”

  “What about you?”

  “My parents didn’t have a machete wedding. They almost didn’t have a wedding at all because my mom is so stubborn.”

  I hold the coffee in my hands because I have the impulse to pick her up and gather her in my arms. Relive the kiss we shared on the balcony. She looks down at my mouth, and I know, I know, she’s thinking the same thing.

  “So what happened?” I ask.

  “My dad was in environmental law. He comes from a long line of lawyers.”

  I chuckle. “I knew it.”

  “I’m not a lawyer,” she says defensively. “Anyway, my mom’s side comes from farmers in North Carolina, but they lost everything when my uncle sold his plot to land developers. My mom was the only daughter and they left her nothing. So she moved here at sixteen. Started waitressing, cleaning, doing it all. She met my dad when he was lost trying to take the bus. Can you believe a twenty-one-year-old man hadn’t been on the bus before? Love at first sight, but I never believed that.”

  “Yeah, I say. Me neither.” But when I look at her, really look at her, I feel a strange sensation beneath my ribs. If it’s not love at first sight, it’s definitely a deep want. Or heartburn.

  I should ask her to leave.

  But when she drains her coffee, I say, “Help yourself to another one.”

  Her laugh is as sweet as the sugar packets she takes and pours into the second coffee with milk. “I’m actually going to need something with sustenance.”

  “Do you have any plans today?” I ask. I shove two beignets in my mouth because maybe food will shut me up.

  She seems to consider this. She’s thinking about how to get out of here. This is it. She’s going to leave, and I’m going to take another cold shower because breathing the same air around her makes me hard, and I’m going to crawl into bed and think about how amazing and beautiful this woman is as I jerk myself off.

  “I do,” she says.

  I swallow the lump of sugary dough. “Yeah, me too.”

  “Oh yeah, what?” The tilt of her head and the smile on her lips tell me she doesn’t believe me.

  “Let’s see, get breakfast. That’s it. That’s my whole plan for today. I suppose I should walk around and see what the big deal is about, but I doubt I’d be impressed.”

  She knows I’m fucking with her. That’s why her eyes beam like lasers and she makes a tiny grumbling sound. I want to kiss the pout of her mouth and lick the remnants of powdered sugar that cling to the left corner.

  She looks out the window, like she’s considering her options. Then, at her purse open on the floor. I realize the pink bunch at the center is her underwear. Then that means she’s sitting there wearing nothing. My heart spikes to my throat, and my traitorous dick threatens to rip through the fabric of my sweats.

  “Aiden?”

  “Yes, Faith?” I’m startled by her voice because I am so hard I can’t see straight.

  “I asked, would you like to have breakfast with me?”

  * * *

  Cafe Fleur De Lis is on the relatively quiet Chartres Street. Packs of brunchgoers gather outside different restaurants. Some of them still wear purple, green, and gold beads. Some of them look like they never sobered up from last night.

  Bars are wide open, and small strip clubs are rocking the day shift. It makes me think of my boys of Mayhem City. I wonder if they’re touring yet. I take out my phone with the thought that I should text Ricky. But that’s not what today is about. Today is about having a nice brunch with Faith. After I accepted her breakfast invitation, she went home to change. But I saw those panties in her purse, and I know she needed to go and clean up and so did I, though I’m not sure if she had quite as much fun as I did. I covered myself in so many suds I had to stand under the rain shower for five minutes before I was soap-free. A series of images
flashed before my eyes. Faith on the balcony biting her lip. Her dress slipping off her shoulder and onto the floor. My tongue parting her lips. Her mouth on the swollen head of my cock.

  I grabbed my dick. Each stroke dedicated to a memory of Faith. Her mouth, her nails raking my neck, her sexy fucking laughter, those eyes looking only at me, that precious little freckle on her jaw. I rode those memories as I came into the shower drain.

  I thought I was done.

  Here, in the middle of the street, I see her turn the corner, and my body lights up like New Year’s at midnight, and I know I’ve only just gotten started.

  Faith is in a bright yellow dress that gives her light-brown skin a golden sheen. Her heels are a deep-red leather. Even on the uneven paved streets, her powerful legs strut toward me with the confidence of a reigning queen.

  Her shoulders are bare, a simple gold necklace catches the light at the center of her chest. Her hair is half up and half down, pinned in an old-fashioned look. Her hands are covered in white lace gloves.

  “Wow, you—” How do I even finish this sentence? You look like a dream I didn’t even know I had? You look like ice cream on a hot summer day? You look like the thing that might break me if I let it?

  “You too,” she says, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I have to go to church after this.”

  “Aren’t you and your mom fighting?”

  “Still have to show.” She keeps her hands to herself and so do I. It’s like we both know that when we’re too close, we won’t stop until we’re pushed together. But maybe the streets of New Orleans are used to people devouring each other in public.

  I go in for a kiss on her cheek, but she turns her face, and I catch the corner of her mouth.

  She backs away quickly. “Did you get a table?”

  “No, just got here.”

  She’s unusually skittish. Though I’ve known her for about a day, so I’m not sure what her usual is. It was the same at the bar last night, like she was afraid of being caught. Before we walk into the restaurant, she gives the street a good once-over. I can’t think why she’s that suspicious. Maybe she’s just paranoid. Or she’s truly married and I have a type.