CHAPTER FOUR
Matt
Teresa was delicious to behold, even trembling and fearful. The brunette’s hair had pulled loose from her ponytail, tendrils framing her face, her denim shirt molding the contours of her breasts. I could sense her generous cleavage, ripe and luscious, straining against the buttons, envisioning each nipple to be a pretty pink, perfect for suckling.
Okay, so this girl wasn’t exactly supermodel type or even the kind that you see at parties I frequent. First, she was far too short. For some reason, the women at society soirees are always so fucking tall, six feet or over. I don’t know how but those bitches must be wearing stilts at all hours, comfort be damned. By contrast, Teresa would never be more than shoulder-high on me … five five at most.
Plus, she was curvy in the most delicious ways. Her hips, ass, breasts … fuck, my cock was stiffening just looking at her. But first things first. The girl was sobbing furiously, her head twisted away from me so all I could see was the cascade of hair.
“Hey he didn’t do anything right?” I growled. “I got to you in just the nick of time.”
There was no answer. She was crying so hard that her shoulders heaved painfully, the breath catching in her throat with every gasp, almost choking in desperate anguish.
I tried again. “Hey honey,” I said, gently touching her shoulder. “It’s going to be alright.”
But Teresa ignored me. By now, she’d curled up into a ball on the sidewalk, almost in fetal position as she keened mournfully, her face hidden by arms thrown over her face. Seeing no other options, I picked her up in my arms and carried her through the front door of my townhouse, kicking it shut behind me. Neighbors be damned, I had a real-life damsel in distress in my charge.
I gently placed her on a couch in the living room, the blue fabric instantly soaked by her tears. Teresa was still weeping wildly, her hair askew, glossy as it spread across the cushions. I was at a loss. Most of the time women who cry want something and are trying to wheedle it out of me. The smallest promise, or a token of affection like jewelry, seems to shut them up pretty quick.
But this was a completely different situation. For some reason, the other man’s come-ons, ridiculous as they’d been, had triggered something in Teresa and she was experiencing a rush, a welling of emotion from deep inside which I didn’t understand. I sat next to her, helplessly, wishing I could do something for this beautiful brunette as she cried out her heart and soul.
Finally, the sobs subsided a bit and Teresa managed to sit up, her face tear-streaked, lashes wet, and yet utterly captivating.
“Mis- Mister Sterling, I’m so sorry,” she said, with the faintest hint of an accent. “I’m so sorry you had to see that.”
“Jerks are everywhere,” I drawled. “You gotta be careful in this beautiful city by the bay. You okay? You seemed really disturbed by that asshole.” I thought about it for a second. “Or did he do more to you than I saw?” I asked ominously, my rage rising again. I’d just happened to glance outside from my home office to see the struggle in the car. How long had that been going on before I noticed? How much had she endured? “Tell me if hurt you,” I growled, my expression fearsome.
Teresa looked embarrassed for a moment but held her chin up high. I studied her clothes and noted with relief that they were in one piece, nothing torn, nothing bloody or ripped.
“I’m much better now, thanks,” the girl said. “Just give me a minute to get ready and I’ll get started cleaning your home straight away.”
I didn’t bother to tell her that there was no need. She’d been coming twice a week for the last few years, which was highly unnecessary given that I barely touch anything but the microwave. The place doesn’t get messed up, Teresa’s just eye candy to ogle as she putters around. But she didn’t need to know that.
“No worries,” I drawled. “Why don’t you take it easy today? You need a day off.”
“Oh no I couldn’t,” she rushed. “I couldn’t take advantage of you like that,” she said, as she walked to the guest bathroom, bag in hand. Little girl, you can take advantage of me any way you like, in any way, shape or form, I wanted to smirk. I’m ready, bring it.
But again, this didn’t seem like the best time to come on strong, given that Teresa’d just been manhandled and had some kind of serious emotional reaction. Instead, when she came out I asked casually, “So who was that dude? Someone you know?”
“Um, sort of,” she demurred, biting her lip. “I’m taking classes at City College, it’s just a guy who offered me a ride,” she said stiffly. “Orlando thinks he’s such hot stuff, but,” she said, shaking her head, “he’s so … ugh, I don’t even know how to describe it. No one’s brave enough to tell him though because his aunt’s a high roller in the city.”
“Oh?” I asked, my eyebrow raised. I’d probably know her because it’s my business to know everyone with influence in the City. “Who’s his aunt?”
“Mercedes Diaz,” Teresa sighed. “The mayor of our lovely town. Evidently Mayor Diaz has her eye set on another term, but god, I hope she doesn’t win just to put the kibosh on Orlando. With him, everything is my Aunt Mercedes this, my Aunt Mercedes that,” she added ruefully.
Well, this was certainly an interesting spin. Mercedes Diaz is an up and coming politician, someone I’d certainly gotten to know in a professional capacity. A middle-aged, charming Latina woman, she was currently spearheading a drive to reduce homelessness in San Francisco. She was the darling of alphabet groups, especially the Latino vote which always turned out in masses to hear her stump.
And I was interested because I’ve been considering a political run recently. Like I mentioned, Sterling Pharmaceuticals has kinda hit the skids for me. I’d hate to desert my brothers at the helm, but let’s be honest, Sterling is on a stellar track, the darling of Silicon Valley. My brothers would be able to hire five replacements to do my job if needed. Heck, I’d even pay for those replacements myself.
So why not a shot at the mayor’s seat? I certainly knew all the right people, knew the issues inside out, and had the requisite “Sterling” name recognition. I seized on this snippet of political information, stowing it away to synthesize and use to my best advantage at a later date.
But for now, I wanted to know more about this charming girl.
“So Teresa,” I said, deceptively calm. “You feeling better? Wanna tell me about it?”
“Oh no, Mr. Sterling, I’ll get started on your house,” she rushed, going over to the closet and pulling out some cleaning supplies.
But I demurred. “For now, why don’t we just relax a bit. Here, I’ve got some whiskey … you do drink, don’t you?” I asked.
She gulped, looking at the amber liquid in front of her.
“I- I don’t drink on the job,” she stammered, her face flushing. I could see a sweet, hot tide rising on her cleavage, and man, was I tempted to rip of her shirt right then and there and fondle and squeeze those boobs.
But I was a model of decorum. “How about water then?” I drawled. “Surely that’s not off limits.”
She took the glass gratefully, her slim throat lovely as she swallowed.
“Now tell me more,” I rumbled, settling back onto a couch and gesturing for her to do the same. “Tell me how you got that accent … and please don’t call me Mr. Sterling anymore, it reminds me of my dad.”
She looked ill at ease but did as I asked, perching on the edge of the loveseat and demurely crossing her legs.
“Well,” she said hesitantly. “I work for Krystal Kleaners, my aunt’s business, and take classes part-time at City College,” she said slowly. “My mom and I, we came from the Honduras ten years ago when I was thirteen. We didn’t have many options because neither of us spoke English. My mom still doesn’t,” she said in a rush. “I mean, my mom can understand better now, but we speak Spanish exclusively at home.”
Hmm, very interesting. A real Cinderella.
“And why did you leave the Honduras?” I asked gently.
Her face grew clouded. “It’s dangerous there,” she said slowly. “The bandas, the gangs controlled our city and it wasn’t safe anymore. We had to go,” she said, looking away.
“But you were just a little girl,” I asked. “Wasn’t the move traumatic?”
She nodded. “I didn’t want to come, but we had to,” she said uncomfortably. “There was danger everywhere,” she murmured, her eyes still on the ground.
Hmm, there were obviously things she wasn’t telling me but I didn’t want to push it during our first real conversation.
“And what about your father? Where is he now?” I asked gently.
Now her face grew clouded. “My father and brothers Herberto and Gonzalo are still in the Honduras,” she said, “as well as other relatives. They’ll come when they can,” she said quietly, looking at her folded hands.
Okay, again something rang untrue. Usually a family sends its male members first to eke out a living, remitting money to their female relatives back home until they can afford to bring everyone to the U.S. So something about Teresa’s story was a off, but again, there was no point in pushing.
Instead, I could feel my curiosity growing. Teresa was so different from the other women I knew, a girl with a difficult background, a mother who didn’t speak English, and who worked to put herself through school. The women I knew had everything handed to them on a silver spoon, spoiled and whiny if they didn’t get exactly what they wanted.
But being the bastard that I am, my mind was already a million miles ahead. I decided to stop with the preliminaries. Interesting yes, but my body had hit its limits.
“Teresa,” I said slowly. “You’ve been working for me for three years now, right? Somewhere around there?” I asked.
“Yes, Mister Ster- I mean, yes,” she finished lamely.
“It seems that you could use some help,” I said slowly.
“No, I don’t need anything,” she said quickly. “I’m fine,” she reiterated, a new wariness creeping into her eyes.
I respected her for that. She was clearly a smart girl, one whom men had offered to “help” before. But my help would be a little different.
“Teresa,” I said slowly. “I’ve been considering a run for mayor. You didn’t know I was in politics, did you?” I asked.
“Mis- Mister Sterling, I mean,” she stopped, pausing to gather her thoughts. “We’ve never had a conversation before. I don’t know anything about you,” she said emphatically.
“Well, it’s time you did,” I said. “I’m running for mayor and single guys generally don’t do well in the polls. I could use someone … appropriate,” I continued. “You would be the perfect partner, at least until the election is over,” I stated.
A look of confusion crept over that beautiful face. “What do you mean, a partner? Like your vice president?”
That made me laugh. “No, like my girlfriend,” I said emphatically.
And Teresa’s look of shock was all the answer I needed.