Celeste Peters

After googling ways to not throw up, I take a couple of deep breaths. I hate that my stomach gets so fucking sensitive like it's Louisa watching those talking dog movies. I shouldn't be nervous. Marc probably looked me up, like I looked him up. What else could he possibly want to know?

I guess it makes sense, since I did offer to show him my boobs– a very unladylike proposition that should carry a bright red flag for any future employer. Yet he hadn't kicked me out on my ass yesterday, so that's something. Maybe he just wants to talk about the job? Or see my face when he tells me I didn't get the job?

Last night I tossed and turned in bed, praying I'd get the position. Kristina's tour of the house was just the cherry on top of my desperation akin to a high schooler who "accidentally" texted their crush. When I say that the house is unreal, it's a fucking understatement. There's a jacuzzi and a huge pool at the back with a freaking water slide leading from one of the overlooking patio decks. I thought only cruises, water parks, or celebrities were allowed to have water slides. Apparently lawyers are allowed too. And it's not one of those pathetic inflatable water slides reserved for peasants. It's a premeditated waterslide, likely with the signature of the architect on the underside. On top of these water features, the property also has a tennis court, a beautiful creek, and an indoor movie theater.

I don't normally ask for many things in life, but just once I'd like to work at a place that's giving more Miami Coast Resort than Greasy Furnace.

Stepping into the coffee shop, a little jingle signals my arrival and I'm instantly hit with delicious aromas of coffee and pastries. I look around the fancy, Gatsby-esque space, with its modern, gold and dark green velvet furnishings and décor, but don't see Marc here yet. I'd decided I'm going to be on my best behavior no matter how rude he gets. That means being polite and thinking about the words I choose to let out of my mouth before letting them out.

I shuffle to the ordering station. "Hi, I'd like two small coffees, please. One with milk and sugar, and one without anything." Everyone likes free things. Maybe this gesture will soften him up somehow.

"We don't have sugar or any chemically formulated syrups here. If you want to sweeten your drink, we can put some agave in it," the young, brunette barista says with a disdainful inflection, like I offended her for even asking.

"Oh my God. What is it with people and sugar these days?"

"So, do you still want the coffee?"

I can feel a line start to form behind me and sigh. "Yes, please. Two coffees, one with agave," I stress the word like I'm British royalty, "and with whatever is closest to regular creamer you have. And the other one, just plain black."

"That'll be nineteen dollars and sixty cents."

"What the fuck? Are you serious?"

Her brows furrow. "Yes. Each small coffee is nine dollars and with tax that comes out to be nineteen sixty."

I glance behind me and see that there is indeed a line of people waiting to order. My stomach whirs when I catch sight of Marc through the glass window crossing the street toward the coffee shop. "Fine. Here." I hand her my card and cry a little on the inside.

After she charges me, I grab the receipt and turn to the man of the hour walking in and looking around. When our eyes lock, my stomach flips and I quickly step out to meet him. "Hey," I say with a slight lilt, somehow making the word two syllables instead of one.

"Hey, Celeste," he says in his deep voice that straps around me like it's one of those dog harnesses. He could easily ask me to do whatever he wanted. Sit. Lie down. Roll over.

"I, uh." God, why am I being so awkward? And why does he have to be so fucking mesmerizing? I stand up straighter. "I already ordered us some coffee. We can find a table to sit at."

His head tilts ever so slightly. "You did?"

"Yeah, I heard you take your coffee black, so that's what I got. Is that okay?"

"Yeah. I mean, yes. Of course. That's very kind."

After smiling politely and nodding, I lead the way to the closest table. "You'll be happy to know they do not have sugar here," I say over my shoulder.

Fuck, don't remind him about yesterday.

To my surprise, Marc simply laughs. We take our seats at the table and he leans back in his chair, unbuttoning his suit jacket. "That's one of the reasons I like this place."

I smile again and take him in. He's in a dark blue suit today with a grayish tie, looking just as drool-worthy as before. I look down at my jeans and plain, black t-shirt and all of the sudden feel stupid for not at least trying to look more presentable for this interview with one of Louisa's button-down tops.

"I apologize for yesterday," he says.

My head jerks up to look at him as my muscles go rigid. "What?"

"I'm sorry I came on too strongly about the sugar. I know how my daughters act when they have some and I didn't mean to be rude about it."

What in the politeness is this?

"I-uh. No need to apologize. If anything, I overstepped. They're your daughters and you get to raise them how you want to raise them."

He nods and remains quiet. My eyes are glued to his whiskey-colored irises. It's almost like we're both trying to figure out how to proceed from here.

"Here you go, two coffees, one black and one with agave and coconut cream," says the barista who appeared out of thin air, making me jump. She sets down the white ceramic mugs and leaves to probably attend to her agave harvesting duties.

"You really didn't have to treat me. If anything, I should be treating you," Marc says.

"No, no. It's alright. I'm just trying to buy your approval." I honestly don't know why I say things sometimes. I hope he knows I'm semi-kidding.

He laughs, causing my shoulders to relax. "Well, it sounds like you might not need it after the earful I got from my twins and the rest of the staff yesterday."

I tuck my lips in to keep from smiling widely but it doesn't work. "So, is this meeting just a formality then? Did I get the job?" My insides start to vibrate in anticipation.

He laughs again and shakes his head. Even though the anticipation subsides into disappointment, a small little zing of heat travels through me when his chuckle jostles the invisible dog harness. "Not so fast. I wanted to meet to," he pauses and leans forward on the table, "to get to know you more. Since you'd be living on my property and would be around the twins, I need to know what to expect."

His expression is now serious and my skin tingles. "Sure, what do you want to know?" I ask.

"Everything. I don't want any surprises down the line."

I'm holding his gaze. Something deep in his eyes is telling me he won't judge me for whatever I decide to tell him. On the one hand, he already knows a lot of incriminating things about me, like the fact that I lied and that I offered my "virtue" to get out of a potential auto shop payment. On the other hand, I need to make a good third impression to help secure this job. I'm already focusing on being better, and maybe he'd be able to see that? I take a deep breath. I have no control over the outcome, so all I can do is state my case in his courtroom and speak nothing but the truth so help me God. "Well, it sounds like you already know some things about me, but I'll just say whatever comes to mind.

"I was born and raised in Atlanta. As I mentioned, my dad skipped town when I was young. My mom was around a lot at first, but then got caught up in drugs, leaving me at home to take care of my younger brother. Life has been difficult for my brother and I and he's caught up in some stuff that I'm currently trying to help him with." Something about telling Marc that my brother is in prison feels too personal, especially since Marc is a lawyer. I don't want to get into that until I'm one hundred percent certain he can be trusted. It also doesn't feel that relevant to what he'd likely want to know.

"Do you do any drugs?" he asks.

"No. Well, not unless you count alcohol. I like to go out in the evenings, especially after a long day at work, but have never really been interested in weed or anything hardcore. I saw what drugs did to my mom and I'm not interested."

"Do you ever drink at work? Or drive after having too much to drink?"

"No. Never on either. If I'm being honest, I usually let a guy I'm interested in take me home or go to their place if it's within walking distance, or if they're grabbing an Uber."

Am I being too honest? While my cheeks heat up, I remind myself– he wants honesty.

Marc shifts in his seat. "So, does that mean you will be bringing random men onto the property after all? I just," he pauses, looking like he's collecting his thoughts. "I don't intend to interfere in your personal life, Ms. Peters. I just want to keep my family as safe as possible."

"No, no you're right. I understand. I promise I wouldn't bring any strangers there. I'll keep those types of extracurriculars to outside the home or with my vibrator."

His eyes grow wide and my whole body clenches. This is going fantastically.

He tugs at his collar before shifting his tie. "I, um, right. Yeah. O-of course."

"Sorry, I totally should not have said that." I briefly place a hand over my forehead to check if I have a fever.

He laughs, breaking the tension. "No, no. It's alright. I already know about your pierced nipples, so what's a vibrator in the mix going to change?"

Now it's my turn to stare at him wide-eyed.

"Fuck," he mutters while shifting in his seat, like he can't get into a comfortable position. "Sorry, let's just keep going."

How often does Marc think about my nipples? A surge of heat swells in my abdomen and I quickly clear my throat. "All good. Um, wait before we move on..." I take a deep breath to try to steady my nerves. "I want you to know I never had in the past and will never in the future make an offer like the one I made when I hit your car. I lost my job that day and was dealing with stuff with my brother all at the same time. And you were so...anyway, I wasn't thinking clearly." Oh my God, I'm so glad I didn't blurt out that he was so fucking sexy I wanted to show him my boobs that day.

He nods and then says with finality, like a judge giving a decree, "I believe you."

I smile weakly and clasp my hands together. Okay, maybe this truth telling thing isn't so bad. "What else? Hmm. My best friends are my sister-in-law, Louisa, and my nephew, Theo. They live close by and are the recipients of all my trial recipes. The meal I made for your girls yesterday is something I make every now and then for my nephew who's a little younger than they are."

The corners of Marc's lips tilt upwards and small little wrinkles form around his eyes. "Ahh, I see. No wonder they were singing your praises. You've already been to Toddler Food University."

I giggle at his corny joke. "Right. Exactly," I say before taking a sip from the mug in front of me. Nutty flavors with a hint of sweetness grace my tongue and I'm so relieved that I didn't pay ten dollars for a cup of crap.

"Thanks for sharing all that. I appreciate your honesty," he says. 

When he's quiet for a moment, I lift a brow. "That's it? No more questions? Don't you want to know if I'm secretly a pimp or if I'm a part of a cult?"

He smiles and shakes his head. "As you said, I already know some things about you."

I squint in mock annoyance. "Right. Well, now it's my turn."

"Your turn for what?" he asks before taking a sip of his coffee.

"Well, I need to get to know you more. Since I'll be living on a stranger's property and will be around people I don't know, I need to know what to expect," I echo Marc's earlier sentiment back to him.

He smirks, creating the cutest fucking dimples on his cheeks that I hadn't seen before. "What do you want to know?"

I bite my lower lip to try to stifle my smile. "Everything. I don't want any surprises down the line."