Chevelle's Story

chapter 25

"Are you sure you don't want me to work tomorrow?"

Julian nodded, flashing Chevelle a dazzling smile. "Yes," he said. "Take the day off, Chevelle. You work too hard."

Yeah right, she thought.

If only he knew just how much of her time she spent lounging around doing nothing—even while she was supposed to be working.

As soon as Julian stepped foot out of his house, it became Chevelle's house. She put on her favorite music in the surround sound speakers, she changed out of that itchy ass maid's outfit, and she got a taste of what it was like to live life in this tax bracket. Took a dip in the jacuzzi, watched a movie in his home theater, even cooked a little bit of his wagyu beef if she was feeling frisky.

If Julian had noticed that Chevelle liked to help herself to the many luxuries of his home, he had never mentioned it. Chevelle figured that he didn't care. That this stuff was insignificant to him anyway. Or maybe, that he enjoyed knowing she found it all so opulent. Maybe, like with most wealthy men, it satisfied something deep within Julian to know how different their realities were. How much power he really held in his hands every time she entered his house.

Chevelle knew it too. She knew that Julian was involved in some questionable shit. She knew that she could walk into his house on any given day and not walk out. That nobody would come looking for her. Nobody would ask him any questions. And although she trusted him enough to believe that would never happen, the thought still remained lodged somewhere in the back of her mind at all times.

Chevelle wasn't sure if Julian knew she had entered this country illegally, but she assumed that he did. It was safer that way. She figured that after having worked for him for so long, he must've looked into her background at some point. He'd probably done it before she started working, because he was the one who suggested she be paid in cash, and she knew that wasn't normal for most jobs. He'd also never reported any of her earnings to the IRS and so she didn't have to pay any taxes on her income. It was a sweet deal, and although they never spoke of it, Chevelle hoped that Julian knew how grateful she was.

"Hm. It sounds like you just don't want me around for your little party," Chevelle joked.

Julian sighed, placing a hand on his heart. "Wow. You wound me, Chevelle. Do you really think so little of me?"

"Please," Chevelle laughed, bending down to pull out the tray of home fries from the oven. "Do you actually care what I think?"

Julian didn't respond, and so once Chevelle had set the tray down on the counter, she turned around to face him. He had a small frown resting between his brows and she matched it with one of her own, folding her arms across her chest as she looked at him.

"What?" she asked, her voice playful.

Julian gave Chevelle a pointed look, as if to say, 'you know exactly what.' And when Chevelle simply raised a curious brow at him, he spoke.

"You know I care," he said, looking at Chevelle intently. With the same gaze that had brought many a woman to their knees. In his voice was something electrifying—something that thrilled Chevelle.

She smiled, sauntering over to the dining table and setting Julian's breakfast down before him. She leaned forward on the table, very aware of the way her dress dipped around the bust, giving him a more than generous view.

"Do I?" she asked, meeting his gaze evenly.

Julian cocked his head to the side and Chevelle leaned in even closer, gazing up at him through her lashes. "You're a very mysterious man, Mr. Carter," she said. "What should I think?"