Chapter 6

   

THAT  BITCH 

ELLIOTT

      "What the fuck took you so long, you imbecile?"

The gatekeeper, Charles, nearly trips over his own feet, scrambling out of the security booth.

"Mr. Sanchez, I-the system flagged at the service entrance, I was just_."

"I don't pay you to think." I shove the door open. "I pay you to stand there and look competent. You're failing at both." So many fools everywhere around me. 

"Yes, sir," I hear his muffled whisper through the glass. Pathetic.

    My penthouse is just like a tomb. Of course, expensive, the best of its kind, but cold. Too cold for my liking. Everything exactly the way I left it this morning, which is how I left it yesterday, and the day before. No life, none of importance.

I hate it. But I'll prefer this to surrounding myself with fools.

My briefcase slips from my hand, hits the marble island with a crack that echoes through the goddamn floor. I loosen my tie. Still uncomfortable, I rip the fucker off completely and throw it on the couch. 

"You're late."

The voice comes from the kitchen. Margery.

 She stands at the kitchen door with her hands clasped in front of her apron, her brown hair pulled back into a knot so tight that it looks painful. She's been the family chef since I was 18 and seems to age backwards. Heaven knows why she never left after mom and dad passed.

"I'm aware of the time, Margery."

"Dinner was prepared an hour and thirty minutes ago, it's currently_."

"Then I suppose you'll be throwing it away and preparing it again." I walk past her toward the study. "And next time, don't wait up. I eat when I eat."

"The nutritionist says_"

"I don't recall asking what the nutritionist said."

I stop, turning swiftly. She doesn't flinch. Brave woman, stupidly brave. "If I wanted a mother, I'd call the grave and ask for a resurrection. Until then, you cook, you clean, and you shut your mouth. Understood?"

Her jaw tightens. She nods. "Yes, Mr. Sanchez."

"That's what I thought." 

   I drop into the leather chair behind the desk in my study. Spin once and again.

I hear a soft clicking sound on the marble, then a weight against my ankle 

"There you are."

 I reach down without thinking, scooping her up. She's small, almost like a toy poodle with her fur, the color of wet sand, and her eyes that look at me like I hung the moon. Of course, I didn't, but she doesn't know that. 

"Hello, M****a."

She licks my thumb, wagging her tail. 

"M****a." Spanish for shit. Mother cried when I named her that. Said it was beneath the family's dignity. Exactly why I did it. She doesn't care what you call her; she wants to feel loved.

I settle her in the crook of my arm, lean my head back against the chair, and stare at the ceiling.

"I should have made her wait in my office."

M****a tilts her head and blinks.

"I know. I want to punish her, but that's not the point." I scratch behind her ear. "The point is, I told her she would be my PA  everywhere, laid out the terms clearly. And then I just... let her walk out without making her follow through."  "What if she doesn't give a flying fuck and would resign tomorrow?"

M****a yawns.

"Don't you judge me."

I set her on the desk and stand, pacing around.

"She thinks she's clever. Imagine, she pulled out crusty, dirty notes to pay me?" "You should've seen her, M****a. Standing there in cheap clothes, trying to pretend she wasn't terrified, like it wasn't the best sex that she ever had. Like, I didn't get to her. But I did, even today."

M****a watches me. She's unimpressed.

"You know what I think? Something is wrong with her. She's broken, and I like it. Broken things are easy to control."

M****a sneezes.

"Fine. Not easy, but very possible." I walk back to the desk, scoop her up again, holding her at eye level.  "She'll come around. Losers always do. I'll make sure she leaves with me tomorrow. Gosh! I need to teach her a lesson so bad."

She licks my nose.

"That's disgusting, young lady."

  I set her down and reach for the decanter on the corner of my desk for whisky, drinking from the bottle. The first gulp burns its way through my chest. The second, a lot better, and by the third, I could swear the knot in my chest isn't there anymore.

"You know what father's lawyer said today at the office?"

M****a curls into a ball on the Persian rug. She must be tired of me already, but who else would I rant to?

"He said I have two months. Two months to 'demonstrate good faith' or the board votes on the remainder of the estate." I swirl the bottle, watching the amber catch the light. "He said I need to present as stable. 'Marriage appropriate.' A man capable of continuing the Sanchez legacy, else, everything goes to a brother I never knew existed, not like I care, though.

I laugh loudly. Repeating his words sounds hollow to me.

"Legacy," I take another gulp. "My father's legacy is nothing fascinating to me. And now, I have to find a wife to get the rest of it? like I'm some fucking prince in a fairytale?"

The thought makes me sick. Actually, not the marriage part-that's just paperwork. It's the performance of it. Fake smiling and holding hands, pretending to care about someone's feelings when all I care about is whether they'll do what I say?

"I should just pick someone. Anyone.  Sign the papers, get the properties, and be done with it. But even as I say it, I know I won't. at least not yet. Because the idea of some empty-headed socialite warming my bed while I count down days until I can divorce her...

No.

"That's why I'll keep her." I look down at M****a, and she's already asleep. "Not just to punish her, she's a distraction and appears to be a challenge. I love challenges. Let's see who bows."

I take the last gulp and set it down on the desk harder than necessary. The sound echoes.

"Margery!"

She appears in the doorway with a blank face. Does she even have a life? Mess.

"Yes, Mr. Sanchez?"

"The guest room, east wing, make sure it's ready."

Her eyebrow twitches. The closest she gets to surprise.  "For a guest, sir?"

"For my new personal assistant. She'll be staying indefinitely." I look away.

"And Margery?"

"Sir?"

"Don't speak to her longer than necessary. She's mine to manage, not yours."

"Yes, Mr. Sanchez," she replies after a long pause.

She has to be at the office tomorrow with a proper explanation. And if she doesn't show up, I'll make her life miserable.