“Don’t get your hundred dollar bills in a twist, Vanilla, I turned him down. I’m just not super sure I want to see what his next offer is going to be if I go back to work there. Why don’t you think about another job placement while we hammer out the details of my goodie sack?”
I mentally add firing the coffee shop manager to my to-do list today. He’ll be lucky if that’s all I’ll do.
“I need someone to clean my house.” I blurt out and I don’t know what on earth possessed me to say that. Number one, I clean my own house because I’m obsessive and like things a certain way. Number two, I don’t like people in my home. Only a handful of people even know where I live. The thought of strangers in my space makes my stomach turn, but I just offered it to her freely.
“Oh,” she says, and starts walking around my office again. I should be concerned about the items she broke, but when she’s near me I don’t know that I have any cares in the world that don’t revolve around her.
“Yes. And I need someone to cook for me as well.” What am I doing? My food is another control issue for me, and letting that go to her should have me crazy with anxiety. I don’t like to go out to restaurants because I’m terrified of the potential problems. I can’t handle the stress that comes with it. Yet here I am asking her to cook for me. It’s like my brain and mouth can’t get on the same page.
“So, I would go to your house to clean and cook? That’s it? How much?” she asks, eyeing me suspiciously. As she should. If she knew the thoughts I’ve had of her since I spotted her in the coffee shop, she would run. At first I was happy when she stopped talking to me and started up her rude attitude. Good. She needed to push me away, and it was for the best, but by the second day it was already wearing thin. I needed her smiles back. I craved them. Who craves a smile? Someone who could become obsessed, that’s who. Someone who knows what obsession could do to a person.
I mentally calculate what she was making before, and then throw that out the window. What’s she worth to me? That’s a question I haven’t been able to answer. I have to think about what I can reasonably offer her without looking like an asshole throwing money at her, and not have her turn me down.
“A thousand dollars a week.”
“A week?” she shrieks, and I immediately regret not going higher. I hurriedly revise my offer so she can’t turn it down.
“I heard you mention you have a brother staying with you at the motel. This deal will also include my paying the motel bill. However I’ll need you to stay in my home for the majority of the time so that I can ensure all of the work I need completed is being taken care of. I work odd hours, so having you at my disposal is crucial.”
I try to convince myself that I need her close. The idea of her staying at some rent by the week motel pisses me off. If I’d known that’s how she was living before I would’ve done something sooner. But she was so beautiful and perfect. I assumed she belonged to someone. Someone was keeping her safe from men like me.
I watch her walk around the room as I say all of this, hoping she doesn’t see through me. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. One second I’m telling myself to push her away, and the next I’m pulling her closer. I just asked her to sleep in my home. No one has ever slept there except me. What was I thinking? You’re thinking she yours, I hear the whisper in my head. No, not mine. I’ll just keep her safe. I won’t touch her. I’ll keep her at a distance but still get to see her. Maybe get those smiles back.
She stops her circle around the room and locks eyes with me. “Deal.” She says, and walks back over to my desk. A feeling of victory runs through me. She stands on the other side and crosses her arms. It pushes up her breasts, and my eyes go directly to her cleavage.
“But this price doesn’t include the va-jay-jay. Got it?” she says, and cocks an eyebrow.
I think she means her vagina. “Agreed,” I say, hoping that’s what she meant. No, I’m not going to touch her, so that’s not part of the deal. I just get to watch her. Keep her close.
“When do I start?”
“Today,” I blurt out and mentally reshuffle my to-do list. The sooner the better the voice in my head says. “Now, actually.”
“All right,” she says, and looks at me suspiciously. “I’ll meet you there. Write down your address for me and I’ll be there.”
“I’ll text it to you. What’s your number?” I ask, pulling out my cell.
“Don’t have one. Just write it down and I’ll find it.”