Me?

Returning from another interview, Paulina entered her room exhausted, threw her leather briefcase on the bed, and walked to the vanity mirror. She stood back from the object to be able to analyze her reflection from head to toe, looking for any imperfection in her attire. It wasn't sophisticated, just a white long-sleeved shirt, a long skirt, and a discreet dark blue suit. She wanted to look responsible and older than she really was, and the outfit theoretically provided that image, but in practice, obviously, it didn't achieve the desired effect.

The day started well, but it became overcast when the hotel selector, where she wanted to work as a housekeeper, looked her up and down and turned up his nose. It only took a few minutes to hear the well-known "you do not fit the desired profile." It was the third interview just that week where she had to hear "does not fit the profile," and she began to wonder what the damn "profile" was that everyone said she did not possess.

The problem could only be in her appearance because, in her opinion, her resume was impeccable. She had been in contact with this profession since childhood, accompanying and helping her mother in the administration of the Salvatore mansion day and night. When Soraia Perez died, she began to accompany Núbia Santos, a housekeeper who was hired to replace her mother. She graduated in hotel governance, took several courses to perfect herself in the profession, and during the last two years, she worked and lived in the house of a lady who passed away three months ago. Experience was not lacking.

There was only one blemish on her resume, one that forced her not to put a reference contact from her old job, reducing the evidence of her experience. Unfortunately, along with the house and money, the son of her former employer thought she was part of the inheritance. She trembled at the thought of his bold proposal and how she ran away before he could try anything more than disgusting proposals.

She took a deep breath and pushed the memory of that man away, focusing again on what could be delaying her hiring. Maybe it was her hair, she imagined analyzing the waist-length strands, partially tied with a ribbon. She should have done a more elaborate, sophisticated hairstyle. She reached for her black hair to make an improvised bun but released it soon after hearing a knock on the door.

She hurried to open it, not surprised to see Mirela Salvatore - the owner of the mansion where Paulina returned to live with her father and younger sister - standing in front of her. The Salvatore matriarch treated her employees and their children as if they were part of the family, especially her and her sister. Her mother and Mirela had been best friends since childhood in an orphanage.

"Good morning, dear. How was the interview?" Mirela asked, entering without ceremony into the small room.

"Not very good," she confessed, saddened by the missed job opportunity and compassionate for the kind Salvatore's consideration, until she heard her exclaim satisfied:

"Great!"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry, dear, let me explain," Mirela held her hands in hers. "I found the perfect job for you. It pays well, and if you accept, consider yourself hired."

"What kind of job?" She asked curiously. As far as she knew, the mansion did not need a housekeeper and would not accept less than that.

"Simon is looking for a housekeeper who can work and sleep in his apartment. The salary is practically the same as I pay your father, and it has several benefits."

The high salary and all possible benefits disappeared.

"Working in Mr. Simon's apartment... Sleeping there... Me?"

Not that Simon Salvatore, Mirela's youngest son, was a bad person - not entirely - but if there was someone in the world who represented everything that Paulina abhorred, it was him. Simon was arrogant, presumptuous, and for a long time, had made fun of her sex life, or as he liked to point out, the lack thereof. Moreover, a few days ago, he had called her an oyster and sarcastically wished her luck with whoever hired her. The luck he wished upon her only brought her misfortune.

"Dear, it will be great to have someone I trust taking care of my baby, looking after his well-being."

Baby? Simon could be called many things, but not a baby.

"I can't, Mrs. Mirela... Simon doesn't like me..." "Nor do I like him," she added in her thoughts. "It will be a disaster."

"Oh, you were friends when you were little," Mirela chuckled softly. "Soraia and I used to spend long hours making plans... You can rekindle your old friendship," she said with a smile full of hope.

Paulina didn't remember being friends with Salvatore, and as far as she remembered, her mother told her to keep her distance from the bosses. She saw no reason for Mirela to lie about it and even involve her mother, but she supposed it was to convince her to accept the job. Not that the past could change the present.

"At least try, Lina," Mirela begged, squeezing her hands in hers. "If you don't like it, you can quit, there won't be any fines or anything like that. Please, try it for me."

Sometimes, like at that moment, Paulina condemned herself for having a soft heart and being too obedient. She was easy to manipulate.

"Okay, Mrs. Mirela, but I'm doing it for you."

Mirela enveloped her in a tight hug.

"Thank you, my daughter. I'm sure you won't regret it."

Paulina doubted it, but said nothing, just accepting Salvatore's warm embrace, which, in a way, reminded her of her late mother's embrace.