The Chauffeur [Complete]

Chapter 15

Rade's POV
I was going to kill him. That bastard made her fucking cry. As soon as I pulled up to the front of the building, I saw the tears. It wiped away at her makeup, droplets staining her dress.

She didn't give me a chance to get out of the car as she hurriedly got in. The door was slammed shut, more tears spilling from her eyes.

"What did he do?" I growled, unable to hold back my rage.

When Celeste was crying, she wasn't smiling. And when she wasn't smiling, I was pissed. I no longer gave a fuck about her icing me out. She was crying and that fucking husband of hers was the cause.

"I don't want to talk about it," she sniffled. "Please, just take me home."

As much as I wanted to find out what he'd done so I had an excuse to bash his smug face in, I did as she requested.

She didn't say a word to me. And I didn't say a word to her. I didn't want to upset her anymore than she already was. 

I have the tendency to say the wrong thing and make shit worse. I'm not good at the whole comforting thing. I would blame that on my father like I do everything else, but this was all me.

My eyes kept darting back and forth between her and the road. She'd stopped crying, filling the silence with an occasional sniffle as she stared out the window.

I don't know what happened in there, but she seemed exhausted. One thing I have noticed while working for the Hendersen's is that the husband seems oblivious to his wife's feelings. And if he does notice them, then he's a dick.

They argue a lot. While I haven't actually seen them argue, I can tell. I'm not one for all the spiritual shit, but being in that house once was enough for me to notice how off the energy was.

I know it's not any of my business, but I've seen him come home late. And it's not like a ten at night kind of late. No, it's one or two in the morning kind of late.

The only reason I even knew that was because I didn't want to leave Celeste and her daughter alone in the house. Even though they live in a gated community surrounded by people as wealthy as they are, evil shit still happens. So I usually stay until her husband gets home.

I slowly pushed down on the brake with my right foot, the vehicle pulling to a stop just as the light turned red. My eyes were back on Celeste. Her cheeks reddened when I caught her staring back at me, and she quickly looked away.

She's so cute when she blushes. Kind of makes me wonder what other facial expressions I can draw out of her.

"You weren't supposed to see me cry," she murmurs, breaking the silence.

Her soft voice is shaky, her Spanish accent barely peeking through. It's at its strongest when she's mad at me. I like her mad. It turns me on.

I don't like her sad, though. It makes me feel emotions I wish didn't exist. Makes me feel vulnerable as fuck. Especially because I'm not really the emotional type.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" I ask softly, trying to control the anger that hasn't quite yet settled since I saw her beautiful face covered in tears.

"We're not friends, remember?" 

The sudden sharpness in her tone caught me off guard. Of course she's still pissed off about that. She'd made her feelings known when she refused to talk or even acknowledge me for three fucking weeks.

Which honestly had been total hell. No smiles. No snappy attitude. Not even a glance in my direction. 

She will never know how fucking badly I wanted to grab her face and make her look at me. I hate being ignored. I prefer being the one doing the ignoring. Not the other way around.

"We don't have to be friends for you to tell me whose ass I have to beat."

A laugh so contagious and so genuine escaped her. It wasn't a cute laugh or anything like that. Though it was pretty fucking cute to me. Her laugh was deep, uncontrolled, and straight from the pit of her stomach. There was even a little bit of a snort in there.

Her head was tossed back, her eyes closed, and her mouth wide open. She'd clearly found humor in my comment. Even though I was being dead serious. Her tears had provoked a desire in me that was out for blood.

When she finally stopped laughing, her face pinkened from embarrassment. "I'm sorry for laughing. I just find you so interesting. I don't know a thing about you other than who your dad is. And you barely know a thing about me. And yet, you're so quick to jump to my defense. You act like a bodyguard even though you're just my Chauffeur."

My foot shifts to the gas pedal, and I speed past the red Ram truck on the right of me as soon as the light turns green. "Chauffeur... Bodyguard. Same fucking thing to me."

"They're not the same," she snaps back, only there is a smile on her face. "Your job is to drive me around. Not break a person's nose for upsetting me."

"I was going to break more than that, mikrí fotiá," I said lowly.

"Mikri fotia," she repeated slowly, the words sounding super Spanish and incorrect coming from her lips. "What does that mean?"

"Little fire."

"And ómorfi?"

"Beautiful."

She froze, a cherry red color blossoming onto her cheeks. 

"Oh," she mumbled after a moment of staring and silence, her voice sounding breathy. I watched her shift in her seat before looking back out the window.

She didn't look at me again. I thought maybe she didn't want to. But then I began to think that maybe she couldn't. Because if we locked eyes again, it might reveal the tension she and I both know has been brewing since the day we met.