I’ve done the math over and over again, and without the tips and with all the debts I have from my mother’s treatment, there would only be two options if I hadn’t received this offer: either find someone to help me with the rent for this tiny room—which would be practically impossible because I can barely fit here, let alone another person—or I would have to sleep in a homeless shelter every night—which would decrease my chances of getting a job, as interviewers ask for a fixed address and in those shelters, you never know if there will be a vacancy.
How do I know this? Because in the first month after my mother’s death, I slept in several of them. After paying all theexpenses for the funeral, there wasn’t a penny left, and I had no choice.
People were nice enough. It was just annoying to carry my suitcase wherever I went.
I raise my head to look at the man who seems as out of place in my home as a prince shopping in a fruit market.
Yes, I know. I’m terrible with analogies, but I think you get my point.
Guillermo Caldwell-Oviedo doesn’t act as if he’s uncomfortable here, even though I’m sure he’s never entered a place even remotely like this in his life. But come to think of it, I guess a man like him wouldn’t be uncomfortable anywhere.
“Today,” he finally answers my question.
It’s not the urgency or the commanding tone in his voice that surprises me—since that first day in the cafeteria, he made it clear that he’s used to giving orders—but because suddenly all of this becomes a bit too much.
I feel like pinching myself. Just half an hour ago, I was wondering how I would manage to eat next week, and now he’s not only offering me a great-paying job but also a place to live.
“Why me?”
“Your coffee—”
“I got that part already.” I interrupt him this time because I’m not going to leave behind the life I know, no matter how poor it may be, in the blink of an eye, without being sure of what I’m stepping into.
Looking at his masculine face, I feel ashamed for even asking if there was another interest behind his offer other than just hiring me for the job. It’s not just because we live in different worlds but also because men like him aren’t interested in simple women like me, not even for casual sex, I don’t think.
“Look, I’m just asking for an honest answer. As I said, I’ll accept your offer. I just want to understand.”
“I want to help you. Besides liking the coffee you served me, I want to help you. This place isn’t suitable for a young woman to live alone in.”
He speaks as if he were a hundred years old. I’d guess he’s in his thirties, but still, he’s a good few years older than me.
“It was the only place I could afford,” I reply without any embarrassment. I’m not ashamed of being poor. I’ve been like this forever, and I’ve never stopped being happy because of it.
“Okay. I’m not criticizing you. Just stating a fact. How much time do you need to move?”
“I have to notify my landlord.”
“Did you sign any contract?”
“No. It was all informal. It’s easier to evict tenants that way, I guess. Turnover here is high . . .”
He looks away, seeming embarrassed. “How much time, Olívia?”
“About two days . . .”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“No, meaning I won’t allow you to spend another night here.”
How can he be so annoying?
I have the response on the tip of my tongue. I’m dying to say that he doesn’t have to allow anything, until I remember that I’m talking to my future boss.
“I think I need at least two hours. I’ll have to clean the place and go to the landlord to make the final payment.”
“Forget about the cleaning. I’ll arrange for someone to take care of that. Let’s talk to your landlord first. Then, you’ll only gather your personal belongings. You won’t need everything else.”
