“Wait,” he calls just as I open the door.
I turn around, expecting him to try one last time to get me to cancel all this and return to the apartment with him.
“I love you,” he says instead, surprising me.
The urge to kiss him one last time and maybe ease that crease between his brows is too strong to resist. So, hurriedly, I lean toward him again and press a quick kiss on his wet lips. “I love you too, baby. See you tonight.”
This time, he doesn’t hold me back as I exit the car. We’re two blocks away from Becker’s building, and I use the walk to hype myself up. I’ll be alright. Nothing will happen to me. What the hell could go wrong anyway? The Beckers are away, and I’m just a maid among many others. I’ll be fine.
Paola arrives at the service door about two minutes after me. She greets me with a brief nod and a smile. “Are you ready for this?” she asks in Spanish.
“I think so. Do you have any advice?”
“Don’t talk too much.”
It’s good advice, for sure, but the way she says it has me asking, “Why?”
“You have an accent.”
“I do?”
“Yes. The housekeeper won’t notice you’re not just Mexican. She doesn’t speak Spanish well enough. But the other maids, they might pick up on it.”
“Oh, okay …”
I’m having some kind of existential crisis as she rings the intercom by the door. I have a noticeable accent? My mother and abuela never pointed it out. And it’s not like I could have noticed it on Rafael in comparison. But I suppose it makes sense. I grew up in a predominantly white neighborhood, and the establishments I went to for my education were also very white. Plus, I haven’t been able to practice Spanish as much as I used to when I lived at my parents’ house.
Still, it hurts a little to think I very much feel Mexican, but I don’t fully sound the part.
When a male voice rises from the interphones, I shake myself out of it. “It’s Paola. And this is my cousin, Perdita,” she explains in Spanish. “She’s starting today. La Señora Reed should have left a note for you.”
The man doesn’t answer, but after about ten seconds, he rings us in.
I do my damnedest to contain my nerves as I follow Paola through the service hallways. She leads me to an elevator, and using a badge, she gets us to the floor before last.
That leads us to yet another security check and a grille door. There’s a booth there, where a man awaits. Jesus, this really was our only way in. Becker’s security is bordering on paranoia at this point.
The man checks who I am with Paola, and then lets us in. Before we can continue, though, he makes me stand in front of a white wall. When he returns with a small electronic camera, I bite the inside of my cheek to contain my panic.
“Why the picture?” I ask in Spanish.
“So we have your face on file and know to let you in.”
“Oh…” Lex and I will have to delete it as soon as my work here is done. No way we’re leaving breadcrumbs.
I only start breathing normally again when Paola leads me into the service quarters. Phew, the hardest part is over. Now, all I have to do is pretend I’m a diligent maid and search the shit out of the office as soon as I’m in there.
“You need to talk to Señora Reed,” Paola explains.
“What?!”
“It’s the normal procedure. She’ll ask a few questions, then she’ll send you back to me, and we’ll start working.”
Fuck. I didn’t realize I’d have to go through an interview. Paola walks me up to a closed door, then she knocks on it three times. When anaustere voice invites us in, she opens the door and encourages me to enter first.
Mrs. Reed’s office isn’t small, but it isn’t large either. Shelves contain countless binders, there are little to no personal items, and in the middle of it, a large desk with a chair in the front, and one with Mrs. Reed sitting on it on the other side.
She’s typing something on her computer, which we hacked into as well. Nothing compromising in it, only schedules, notes, and emails. I’ve seen Mrs. Reed countless times in the security feed, and it seems she manages the staff with an iron fist. Which doesn’t help my anxiety.
