Chapter Eighteen: That Undeniable Latin Charm

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height


**

JULY.

I have learned many things about the Quintanilla's since I began working closely with them about three weeks ago.

One: they love to live a lavish lifestyle, which means lavish dinners, expensive trips, parties and the materialistic possessions to show for it—sports cars, mansions, private jets, yachts and of course the gifts. Lots and lots of gifts. It started off with simple gift cards to Bath and Body Works or Target or Nordstrom—something I could accept. But then they became bold and moved on to sending me $2,000 Saint Laurent handbags, $700 Christian Louboutin heels, and the icing on the cake: an exclusive invite to Barcelona to spend a week with them at their multi-million-dollar villa.

Second: they won't take no for an answer. Not in a rude way, but in an insistent way; they're so adamant that I'm doing so much for them, when really I'm just doing my job. We agreed to hosting their party at their house in Los Angeles on December 23rd, which meant I had to get in contact with a couple of journalists I knew so that way the Quintanilla's would become a name known in California. Salvador was floored by how many calls and meetings I've made in such a short time.

"Please, the handbag and shoes are yours, mija," he said to me when I tried to politely decline it, "You have been too good to us. I don't think we could have found anyone else to do as good as a job as you. Please, please take them."

We were in Salvador's large study, overlooking the pool that his grandkids were swimming around in while the maids tended to the rest of the family sitting around, sipping mimosas and eating finger foods. They were like Colombian royalty to me; they were beautiful and more refined than any American elite I've seen in a while. The way the mothers sat taut, laughing and conversing amongst each other with their designer sunglasses and lace kimonos; how the fathers smoked cigars and drank coffee. Classy was a bit of an understatement.

Salvador's wife, Esmeralda, was speaking to the gardeners tending to the palm trees and the rest of the tropical foliage. Esmeralda is a very nice woman who speaks to me in Spanish even though I'm not too sure of a lot of what she's saying. The first time we visited their house, Darcy was nice enough to translate when Esmeralda spoke to me. I was surprised.

"I didn't know you spoke Spanish, Darcy," I whispered to her.

"I'm Mexican," she answered shyly.

"Really? You never told me that."

She shrugged, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "I never thought it was important or that anyone cared, really."

Bless her heart.

Lastly, there is another thing I learned about the Quintanilla's since I began working with them. Well, it's mostly about one person—Alejandro.

I always get the impression that he doesn't like his family too much. Whenever Salvador would start speaking at meetings out on their patio, Alejandro would wear a disgusted face (hidden, of course) and just smoke his cigarette in silence, head turned to the courtyard. Even when the Quintanilla's were outside enjoying the July heat, Alejandro would be inside, smoking at a table and thinking hard about something. Although distant from his family, that doesn't mean he isn't flirtatious. Yes, I'll admit, I have been flirting back a little bit—emphasis on the words 'a little bit.' I feel even more odd, encouraging his advances while working with his family. He's just so goddamn convincing; it's hard to deny a man that's as gorgeous and charming as him.

Believe me, I know.

Alejandro is supposed to be coming by today to talk about the article on The Courier about him and his family. I know for a fact he's going to press me about Barcelona; I still haven't given a definitive answer about their invite, but I'm leaning towards declining it. It doesn't seem right for me to intrude on their family vacation.

On the other hand, I'd be a fool to decline a free trip to Spain.

As I'm reading through emails, I hear footsteps outside of my office. I assume it's Alejandro, and I quickly get up in my seat to greet him. Only it isn't Alejandro. It's one of the managers of the firm, Phil Page. I don't mind Phil. To be quite honest, I don't pay him any mind. We've only had one meeting so far with the managers and associates, and Phil seemed nice enough for an older man such as himself. Occasionally, he'll talk to Darcy and ask if her workspace is comfortable enough for her or even come to me and try his hand at small talk. I'm not one for small talk with my bosses though, but apparently he is.

"Good morning, Leslie," he says. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything you were doing."

"Oh, no Mr. Page I was just reading emails."

He laughs a bit while entering my office. I can't help but look at that god-awful mustache of his; 70's male pornstar flashbacks.

"You don't have to be formal. Phil is fine. I'm sure we're on a first name basis by now."

"Oh, sorry. Phil it is, then."

Phil takes a seat in one of the chairs and gets comfortable. I sit back down at my desk. "I've noticed that you've had a lot of foot traffic around your office. You know, you're more than welcome to use our conference rooms."

"I like to get personal with my clients. I only like using the conference room when it's more than two people in here."

"I see, I see." He takes in my office again. I'm starting to become apprehensive. "You know, it's so funny. You're so reserved; the other associates talk about how they rarely see you."

"No offense, but I'm not really one to do anything but work at the work place."

Phil nods. "Right, you're right. But outside the workplace, you're more outgoing?"

Fuck. I know where this is going. Of course, I chose this day to wear that dark purple dress with the low neckline that Paul just "couldn't get enough of."

"Not really," I reply. "I mostly just work."

"That's too bad. You're still so young, you should be enjoying yourself."

And then he goes on to tell me everything he does in his free time, from golfing with his friends to fishing with his son who is actually my age; his son is my fucking age and he's hitting on me. I'm nodding and pretending I'm interested in his words as he goes on and on, but the moment I look up, I see him—that tall, dark Latin prince leaning against the doorway, staring at Phil with annoyance and amusement in his eyes; Alejandro sees how irritated I am and thinks it's hilarious. Darcy is behind him giggling like a school girl. Alejandro holds a finger to his lips at me; he wants to see this fiasco through.

"That sounds amazing, Phil," I answer once he's finished. He's beaming like a child receiving praise.

"Maybe one day, I could take you on my boat. Teach you a thing or two about fishing. I'm sure you'd like that."

"My father actually owns his own fishing company in San Francisco, so I know the basics."

Phil's smile fades a little. "Well, all the more reason to come along. My family owns a lake up in Northern California."

"I don't think your wife, Kimberly would like that very much."

"Uh K-Kimberly?" he stutters. "Kimberly? Sh-she'd—no, no she'd be coming with us. She'd be there."

"Right. Well, maybe someday."

"Yeah, sure. No problem," he clears his throat and tries to come back from his last fuck up. "And also, the rest of the managers and I wanted to recognize the clientele you've been bringing in. Sebastian Harrison and the Quintanilla's have been bringing in major profit. And you've managed to score Terrence Finch and his daughter, too?"

God. That man. In addition to taking up the Quintanilla's as my client, I have also taken Claire as my client as well. I don't like it—I hate it, actually. But her dad is offering me—the entire firm—a lot of money to "make his little girl a star," so I said yes, of course. Hearing Terrence talk about his daughter while Claire was beside him, batting her lashes and smirking proudly made me want to throw up; I hope that all Wall Street bankers aren't as boastful as Mr. Finch.

"Thank you. I hope to continuously make you all proud."

"How have the Quintanilla's been?"

My face falls at his question. If only he knew who was standing behind him. Alejandro's face has shifted a bit into this serious expression at Phil.

"Wonderful," I answer honestly. "They're a pleasure to work with."

Phil chuckles and leans in like he's telling me a secret. "Between you and me, I would be careful around the Quintanilla's. They may be rich, but there's no way that they earned that themselves. Every time those Mexicans have a lot of money, they probably did some dirty work to get it. I mean, you know how those wetbacks are. You can never trust them."

That smile on Phil's face is repulsive. Does he actually think I'm going to agree with him? There's so much I'm ready to say to his asshole, but my eyes flicker to Darcy and Alejandro at the door—Darcy hurt and offended at Phil's comment about Mexicans while Alejandro is very stoic, smiling at bit with this menacing glare. Phil turns around and stumbles up at who he sees. I can't even stand to look at his face.

"Oh, I-I didn't see you there." He straightens his tie; he's sweating bullets. "I-I'm Phil. Phil Page."

Alejandro stalks over to him like a wolf—nice and slow with dark intentions in his eyes. He shakes Phil's hand and smiles forcibly; he has a good four to five inches on Phil's height, and Phil realizes how badly he messed up when he can't even level his eyes with Alejandro's.

"Alejandro Quintanilla," he replies coldly.

Phil gulps, avoiding Alejandro's stare. Their handshake lasts a very long time. I can see Alejandro tightening his hand around Phil's hand. It gets to a point where Phil pulls away and stretches out his fingers; they're reddened against his pale skin.

"Strong grip," he mumbles, then looks down at Alejandro's hand. "That's a v-very nice tattoo—a wolf. What does it mean?"

"I was called El Lobo when I was younger."

"El Lobo." Phil repeats the words like the stereotypical old white fart he is. "Why'd they call you that?"

Alejandro's lack of response is a response in itself. Phil's underarms are stained with sweat, staring up at the member of the family he was just speaking disrespectfully about.

"Well, it was nice meeting you, Alejandro." Again, with the horrible pronunciation of a Latin word; Al-a-hand-row. "Leslie, we'll speak soon at our next meeting."

Before Phil can leave, Alejandro presses a hand into his shoulder and looks down upon him. Phil is scared shitless; he doesn't even have the courage to look at him, but instead looks ahead out the door.

"In Colombia, where my family is from," Alejandro says in Phil's ear, "we would call someone like you un malparido. Do you have an idea what that means?"

Phil shakes his head. "No."

"It isn't a word to be taken lightly. I suggest you look up what it means after you apologize to Darcy for insulting her people."

Alejandro promptly takes his hand off of Phil, and after Phil rubs the pain out of his shoulder, he immediately exits my office and sincerely apologizes to Darcy for his words about Mexicans. Darcy just stares at him, too angry to forgive him yet too kind hearted to insult him back. Once Phil is gone, I sigh and rub my eyes.

"I am so sorry," I tell Alejandro and Darcy. "I had no idea he would be coming in here. I can't fucking stand people like him." I look at Darcy specifically. "I guarantee that Phil won't be able to sweep this under the rug. I will be taking this up with his superiors."

"It's alright, Leslie," she says softly. "I'm certain that his bosses are just like him; it wouldn't make a difference anyway."

Darcy excuses herself and leaves. I'm so angry my hands are shaking, but Alejandro is more collected than I thought he would be.

"I'm so sorry," I say to him again.

He shrugs it off and sits down. "This isn't the first time a gringito has insulted me because I'm Latino; my skin is thick. Darcy's? I'm not too sure."

"I'll check on her later. Do you just want to get started?"

Alejandro nods. We talk about the article in The Courier, and I bring up a few questions that the journalist wants clarified about the Quintanilla family. After I type up Alejandro's responses, he brings up what I expected him to talk about.

"You haven't given us an answer about Barcelona, you know."

There's two answers I want to give him, but I can only decide on one. The look in his eyes is mischievous; he knows how skeptical I am and why; he knows I'm a little reluctant on getting too close.

"As much as I would love to go to Barcelona to see the sights...enjoy the beaches and indulge in Spanish cuisine," I stop daydreaming and compose myself, "I-I just feel so odd about it. It's a Quintanilla family trip, and I'm not a Quintanilla. In fact, I'm several steps down—I'm your publicist."

"Trust me, to my aunt and uncle, you're practically family at this point."

I smile despite my attempt not to. "I...I don't know."

Alejandro begins to say something, but my office phone starts ringing.

"Go ahead," he says. I apologize before picking up the call.

"This is Leslie King."

"Leslie. It's Samantha."

I have to force myself not to huff in frustration. The last thing I want right now is to talk to my little sister because if she's calling, that means my mother wants something. And mom and I are not on good terms; never have we ever been on good terms, but it has gotten worse ever since I learned of her betrayal, working with Garrett.

"Samantha, this isn't a good time. I'm working."

"I know. I'm sorry. I know your job is more important than your family."

I clench my fists. "So, did you just call to insult me? Because I really don't have the time for it."

Samantha sighs. "No, I'm...I'm sorry. It's—"

"If this is about the job you're looking for, I've just been very busy."

"It's not about that. It's about my birthday tomorrow."

I frown. "Tomorrow? Your birthday is on the 28th."

"Yeah, I know. But Mom's family is coming down from Italy and they want to celebrate it a little early. I want you to come."

That's even more reason for me not to go. Not only is my mother insufferable, but our Italian side is even more insufferable. They have no respect for me. Some of them are nice; my mother's sister, Florentina is absolutely amazing. She's the only one who ever liked me. Everyone else?

I'm gum on the bottom of their expensive shoes. Why? I have no clue.

"That isn't a good idea, Samantha. Mom and I aren't talking right now, and going in there without a plus-one is practically death. Why don't I just take you out to lunch when your actual birthday comes?"

"Because everyone will be there tomorrow except you."

"Did you invite Dad?"

She doesn't answer that. I know the answer is no.

"Samantha, I'm telling you. This is not a good idea."

"Leslie, you're my sister and I want you there. And besides, I won't have a plus one, either."

"It's different for you. You're barely turning twenty-three and it's your birthday. I'm almost twenty-eight and my...my," I lower my voice, "my biological clock is ticking. You more than anyone know how Italian women are; they'll definitely comment on it, and I don't need that pressure right now."

My face reddens when I see that Alejandro heard every word of that. He pouts is lips, trying not to smile.

"Samantha, I really need to go."

"Just think about it. Please? You don't even need to stay for a long time."

"Samantha—"

"Just think about it."

"Fine, fine. I'll think about it. I really need to go."

I hang up and rub my temples. Every time my family is brought up I get heartburn. I just want a moment where they aren't bothering me.

"I'm sorry about that, Alejandro."

"I didn't know that you had a sister," Alejandro comments.

"Um, yeah. Samantha. Tomorrow, she's having a birthday party and she wants me to go. But—"

"You don't want to go without a date?"

"I...I...well, no. I mean—that's not—"

"It's fine. I heard what you said."

I want to disappear into the carpet out of embarrassment. And to increase my mortification, Alejandro offers to go as my date. Alejandro Quintanilla actually wants to be my pretend date to my little sister's party.

"It will make up for the time you didn't want to have dinner with me."

I scoff, "That was because you asked me right in front of your uncle."

"So, would you have said yes to me if I asked you while he wasn't there?"

"Yes—I mean, no. That's not what I meant. Thank you for the offer, but I'll be fine on my own."

The Ciglianos would definitely sit down and shut up if I walked in with Alejandro on my arm; they wouldn't know how to react. But I don't want to feed into his advances. And besides, I think I can handle an hour at my mom's house without a date.

I think.

I walk Alejandro out of my office. Before he leaves, he gently grabs my hand and looks at me.

"Just think about Barcelona," he says to me. "Sleep on it, and if you still don't want to go, I won't ask you again. You'll love it if you go, I promise."

I step over my words the longer I look at him. He's so attractive, it hurts; those dark brown eyes are full of stories; they trap you inside the longer you stare. And he smells so good; his cologne is strong but pleasantly fragrant...

"I'll think about it," I tell him, and he gives me a small smile of gratitude in return.

"Thank you." He holds my hand with both of his own. "I'll see you later. And if you change your mind about the plus-one, just let me know."

I roll my eyes as he manages a slight laugh. "Yeah, I'll shoot you a text."

"Listo."

He lets go of my hands and right when he turns around, both of us see someone that warrants a completely different response from both of us. Sebastian comes walking down the hall, glued to his phone, with Sarah at his side. I hold my breath and stand completely still, watching him and waiting for him to look up. Alejandro continues down the hall, and that's when Sebastian directs his attention away from his phone. He sees Alejandro and it's as if everything is moving in slow motion: they both stare at each other while they keep walking, their eyes never leaving each other's even after they aren't next to each other anymore. It isn't until Alejandro is at the end of the hall that they break eye contact. It's evident that Alejandro's presence dampened Sebastian's mood.

"What are you guys doing here? I didn't know we were meeting today."

"I didn't know either," Sarah says, "until I had to show you this."

She walks into my office. Sebastian allows me to go in first, and he follows. Since the photoshoot he did with GQ, it seems as if we've become less and less close outside of business. It's just been a lot of hello's and goodbye's. I can say that I'm trying; Sarah told me that work has him very stressed, hence why he's distant.

I hope that's the reason.

**

You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net