Chapter Two

She'd been told Mr. Ferdinand's favorite breakfast was bread toasted to crisp perfection along with two fried eggs on the side, and to accompany it was warm milk.

As Jamila set the meal on the tray, she hoped Mr. Ferdinand would be impressed. She was happy to have the opportunity to personally serve breakfast to such a handsome member of the family. He smelled nice too, Jamila thought, recalling how close Mr. Ferdinand had been when talking to her. But she wasn't getting any ideas. A poor girl like her, she knew, could only dream about someone like him.

She breathed in deeply, then she breathed out as she balanced the tray in her hand and prepared to leave for his room.

"Hold up." One of the girls in the kitchen approached her. Grinning from ear to ear - a smile that seemed to mock Jamila - the girl's hands reached out to Jamila's shoulders. "You might wanna put your hair up in the neatest bun you've ever done," she said.

"Mr. Ferdinand likes it that way?"

This time, giggles came from the other girls in the kitchen as they stared at her.

The girl in front of her shook her head as she continued to giggle along with the rest. "I wouldn't say … well…" she trailed off, turning to the other maids before facing Jamila again. "Let's just say, it's for your own good. I'd hate to see you struggle with flimsy excuse after flimsy excuse when you come out of his room thirty minutes later looking like you just blew in from hell, looking like a hot mess," the girl ended with a laugh this time as she retrieved to the stove where she was before.

What did she mean?

Why was everyone else laughing with her?

Was Mr. Ferdinand so strict that he'd probably fire her on her very first day if he happened not to like how she appeared in front of him.

With the band she had in her apron, she bundled up her thick hair into a very neat bun, guided her reflection from a spotless laddle.

As she made her way to Mr. Ferdinand, she stared down at the contents of the tray. Maybe the bread wasn't crisp enough. Or maybe it was too crisp? It did look burnt a bit… but that was how it was supposed to look if he liked it crispy. Right? Perhaps their toaster was too old? Or that she hadn't used it well? But what if the girls lied to her from the beginning. What if this was the meal he hated the most. And perhaps he was allergic to milk and it would seriously hurt him the very minute he drank it? Were they trying to get her fired on her first day? Was she that much of a threat? Was it because Mr. Ferdinand had been twirling her hair around his hand so they were-

"Are you lost?" a deep voice drew Jamila out of her cloud of thoughts. She'd climbed the long, curved stairs, made a right turn, and had walked down a hallway to the third door on her left, but she hadn't moved after that.

She turned to the voice. It was a tall man, as equally handsome as Mr. Ferdinand, and there was a slight resemblance too, but he looked much more mature. He had deep brown, unkempt hair that didn't fail to add the extra charm to his looks. He had the neatest stubble round his lips which also framed his sharp cheekbone.

"I…" Jamila remembered to hung her head low and not stare in her master's eyes. "I was simply bringing breakfast to Mr. Ferdinand, sir."

"Look at me when I'm talking to you," he said calmly as Jamila slowly raised her head to stare into his green eyes. He wore loose sweatpants and a gray, grain-textured t-shirt. He stood with his hands casually in his sweatpants. "Are you new? You don't look familiar."

"I am," she replied, unable to stare directly into his eyes as she hung her head low again. There was something about his stare that seemed too intimidating and somewhat overwhelming. Like some kind of power he commanded without even meaning to, and she deemed herself a nobody to have to be in his presence and nevertheless look at him directly in the eye. Plus, she'd been told by the head maid to never stare straight in the eyes of the family members even if the members themselves allowed it. If she wanted to last long in the famous Garcia mansion, she needed to simply obey.

"What's your name?" the man asked.

"Jamila, sir."

"Guatemala?"

"No, sir. It's Jamila."

"No, no. I mean are you from Guatemala? It's a country."

Jamila's cheeks tingled of embarrassment. "Johannesburg in South Africa, sir."

"I see." He stood silently, staring at her as she wouldn't look into his eyes. She was beautiful, he thought. Nothing like most of the maidservants he'd seen around the mansion. The more he looked at her, the more he wanted to know her story, and touch her thick, curly hair for some odd reason.

"Go ahead then," he simply said and watched as she knocked on Ferdinand's door twice before entering, wondering what his lazy, no-good brother could be possibly doing that he simply couldn't come down for breakfast.

…

Ferdinand had taken a quick bath, nothing but a towel wrapped around his lower body. As Jamila set the tray on the table just at the edge of the bed, Ferdinand came walking in, hands on his waist. His athletic upper body glistened with tiny droplets of water trickling downwards. There was a slight bulge from underneath the towel also.

Jamila turned her back quickly. "I'm so sorry, sir. I was told to just knock twice and enter. If I had known, I wouldn't have entered. I'm so sorry sir. Please don't fire me."

It was something about her accent that kept turning him on as the bulge underneath his towel grew. He moved to stand behind her, just an inch away. "You sure took your time preparing such a simple meal."

"I'm so sorry, sir. It won't happen again." She trembled, recalling what the girl told her before she left the kitchen. This was it, wasn't it? She'd messed up. Of course a mansion with a whooping salary was too good to be true. Her life had been a living hell and trauma after trauma ever since she was abandoned at the orphanage. Why would it get any better now?

Ferdinand moved closer, his hard-on pressing into Jamila's butt and nothing but a cotton towel keeping him from a good fuck.

Jamila felt what had poked her butt, feeling uncomfortable as she shifted, but that only made matters worse as Ferdinand's bulge grew. He was so close that his breath tickled her neck, and she'd be lying if she didn't admit that didn't feel good. She wasn't made of wood.

"I'll let it slide if you're willing to make up for it." He buried his head deep in her neck and began with soft, little, erotic kisses downwards to her shoulder where he made an attempt tp unzip her dress, and she didn't protest until after a soft moan escaped her, shocking even herself.

"W-What are you doing, sir?" She backed away from him, her hand reaching her back to zip up her dress.

"Don't be stupid. Strip and lie on the bed," he commanded, and her eyes widened, finally grasping the actual meaning behind the girl's words and their giggles.

He was going to have sex with her and they knew it. Had he slept with all of them?

"Don't make me repeat myself," his voice came again and her heart thumped as he approached her. Was he going to force himself on her?

"No," she said, looking behind her if she could find any sort of weapon. She didn't find any so she just kept backing up closer to the door.

"No? … Ah, I see. You're playing hard to get. I get it … But you see, you can't fool me." He'd walked close enough that she hit a dead end at the door and made an attempt to open the door from behind her. Once she felt the door knob and held it open slightly, Ferdinand slammed it shut, trapping her in between his arms as she trembled. "You enjoyed it as much as I did, so why don't you just get this over with? Mm?" He sniffed her neck, his breath sending a tingling sensation throughout her body. "You smell amazing," he muttered, and another moan escaped her as his lips travelled closer to her cleavage.

She pushed him away from her with all the force she could muster.

"You walk out, you're fired."

"Just because I won't sleep with you?" But where was she getting at. She was as good as dead if she went out telling everyone else Mr. Garcias's son wanted her but he rejected him so he fired her.

It was a filthy, poor, dirty girl's word against a descendant of a very influential family. She wouldn't win.

"You think you'll win? You can decide to simply strip and lie on that bed so I give you a good fuck, or never work in this country ever again. Your life is pathetic enough as it is, isn't it?" He inched close again, only a breath away as he brushed her cheeks with his hand. "Choose wisely."

Her eyes welled up with tears, her heart heavy. It wasn't fair. She just got here, barely, and now this?

"This isn't the only country I can get a job," she said, blinking away tears as she looked Ferdinand square in the eyes, defiance in her stare.

He chuckled, a deep throaty one. "You'd be surprised how much power my father has."

She didn't say anything, keeping her emotions in check.

It was just sex, and her dignity. Was it worth ruining her life at such a young age just because she wouldn't give it away the one time?

"No," she stood her ground.

Ferdinand nodded to himself, fury in his eyes. "Have it your way then," he said, utterly crushed within. "Dumb African," he muttered.

"Did you just call me a dumb African?" she found herself asking before she could stop herself.

Ferdinand raised an eyebrow. "And what are you going to do about-"

With a loud smack, a slap landed across Ferdinand's face.

Jamila fled the scene immediately, ever ready again to illegally make it to another country. Maybe this time, it would be to this said Guatemala.