Guatemalan Blend Pt. 01

I had a lot of fun working on this story, just because it is so far away from my normal genre. Yep. First story on Literotica.,

There are multiple parts to this story, and they should be read in order. It may take a bit longer to get to the "juicy" parts, but I think they are worth the wait.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sometimes money turns a person into an asshole.

One might use their money to buy things to be seen. Fast cars or loud trucks, big houses on the hill, a glittering wristwatch, a trophy wife, anything to get people to say, "Wow, that guy's got a lotta money."

The real problem is when they use their wealth to demand attention. Karens, both female AND male, do this every day. "I have cash, so YOU need to cater to my every whim, so take away this half-eaten steak and bring me another... and this glass is dirty, so bring me another full glass of wine... and I dropped half my dinner on the floor because I'm a disgusting pig, but you'll clean that up because that's YOUR job." Karens. Anyone who has ever waited tables or tended bar know exactly what I mean.

For others, money breeds contempt, whether it is for those without money, or, as in my case, for the other assholes with money. I earned my money through hard work, good business practices, wise investment, beneficial partnerships, and just honest living. That's what I tried to do, anyway. Whenever I encountered an asshole in business, I steered clear and worked with a non-asshole... who was probably someone without a whole lot of money.

I'm not a philanthropist by any stretch. I just don't like assholes. Honest people who are trying to carve out a living for themselves in this harsh world are the best people to work with. So, I chose to work with them... and fattened my bank account in the process.

No, I didn't use them, I worked hard right along with them. I made money, they made money, and because I worked hard with a LOT of people... I make a LOT of money.

So, yes, I bought the big house with the pool, jacuzzi, two kitchens, too many rooms, and a garage large enough for a fleet. It was too much house, really. I lived alone with no wife or kids, and no other living family. Probably the reason I was able to work hard and invest my money wisely. I was never responsible for anyone but me. I didn't have to pay a mortgage, buy diapers and formula, put 2.5 kids through school, or any of it.

So, after 50 years, I was able to pay cash for the house, drive a nice but functional car, wear nice clothes, and afford all the luxuries a man could want.

By myself.

I mean... I was never lonely. Not really, anyway. I had a few relationships through the years, but none of them lasted very long, since many of them were wannabe-Karens (see above) who were just gold digging for my bank account. Hence, my contempt for the rich assholes... which made me a different kind of rich asshole.

And then... Marisol.

As I said, I could afford a much-too-large house, which meant I needed help with the upkeep. Using a domestics agency of which I actually owned a piece, I brought in a cook, groundskeeper, and housekeeper. The terms were reasonable, and I offered rooms and the use of the second kitchen for the staff's use. The cook, Nero, only came in for a few hours a day to prepare meals and didn't live there, but Thomas and Marisol both took the low-rent rooms I offered.

The house was actually separated in two parts separated by the garage, probably with this type of arrangement in mind. I lived in one side, Thomas and Marisol lived in the other. One of Thomas' first tasks was to fit locks on their doors, giving them privacy from each other, and from me.

Thomas was an aging gentleman who had been a groundskeeper for all his life and then retired. When his wife died, he decided to return to work... just for something to do. He was a good worker, and I had no complaints about how he worked. He kept to himself, and I gave him his space. He was just the sort of soul I liked doing business with.

Marisol was a young woman of about 22. She was from Guatemala which explained her strong Latin features and her desire to work hard. Okay, that sounded a bit racist, so let me explain. In her interview, she said she had a younger brother and sister who recently joined her from Guatemala, and she was, at the moment, the sole earner for the family. THAT is what made her a hard worker: being the breadwinner for an immigrant family trying to carve out the aforementioned living in this harsh world fueled her drive.

Being the breadwinner for an immigrant family is also what led to... some poor decisions. Well, one really. Which led to another, then another, then a few more... many of them involving me. But I get ahead of myself.

I came home early one afternoon after getting a phone call from the agency regarding Thomas. I didn't bother going into the garage since I saw Thomas working in the front flower beds as I pulled in. I got out of my car and walked up to him, concerned.

"The agency said you were going to quit?" I said.

"Yessir. My bones are old, and I ain't as sharp as I was," he replied.

"You do okay here. I'm not working you too hard, am I?"

"No, sir. Work ain't hard at all. There's just... a lot. Can't keep up, see? Getting more behind all the time. There's trees need to be trimmed that I just can't get to cuz I'm so slow with the grass cutting, see? Just a lot."

"You want to get some part-time help to get caught up?"

"Naw, this is my sign, I think. Doctor's telling me to start taking it easy, anyway."

"Where will you go?"

"Daughter's gonna take me in. For a while, anyway. Then we'll find good place for me."

"You mean assisted living, don't you?" I asked, the concern in my voice evident.

Thomas nodded. "It's time. I got some savings to help pay for it all. Just time, I guess. Want to be close to family for as long as I can."

"I can respect that. I hate seeing you go, Thomas. You've done good work here."

"Thanks." I shook his hand and arranged to have his things moved to his daughter's place in Illinois next week. Yes, at my expense. Thomas deserved that.

Lost in thought about Thomas, I went to speak with Nero, who was, of course, in the kitchen. He's an odd duck, so I let him do his own thing. Dinner is always prompt at 6pm, with some sort of muffin or pastry ready for breakfast the next morning. And his shopping lists always included good lunch items, so in spite of him only working about 6 hours a day, I never went hungry. Weekends, maybe since he had those off, but during the week I was always well-fed.

Nero was doing his thing when I came in. I told him about Thomas.

"Yes, he told me this morning. Too bad. Nice guy. Appreciated my cooking, which is the most important thing," he said with a chuckle.

It dawned on me then. "You prepare meals... for Thomas and Marisol as well?"

Nero nodded. "Of course. Wasn't that the arrangement?"

I shrugged. "I guess I never thought about it."

"Costs the same to buy groceries for one as it does for three. Plus, everything is always fresh and hasn't been in the fridge because you had to buy a whole head of lettuce and didn't even use half of it."

"Like I said, never thought of it."

Nero looked at me, a hint of fear in his eyes. "When we first talked, you mentioned the food budget and let me use my best judgement. I assumed that meant... everyone. Was that not..."

I held up my hands, a placating gesture. "No, it's fine. I honestly never thought of it. I'm glad. What you said makes sense. Why should I eat but leave Thomas and Marisol to fend for themselves? That hardly seems fair."

A look of relief passed over his face. "Thanks. Sorry for... misunderstanding."

"Doesn't matter. I'd rather have fresh lettuce anyway. Don't change a thing, Nero. Except for maybe less onion."

A string of muttered curses in Nero's native language (whatever it was) followed me out of the room. I turned to see Nero smiling good-naturedly. We enjoy the banter.

First Thomas, now Nero uses my budget to feed everyone, I didn't realize how difficult it was running a household. A little outside my experience. I didn't know what to think.

Which is when I opened the door to my room, to find Marisol there, dressed in comfortable leggings and a collared shirt, holding a roll of cash, my emergency cash, actually, obviously having taken it out of my nightstand drawer, and looking VERY guilty.

She looked disbelieving at me, her eyes showing confusion at me being home, nervous for what she was doing, then downright terror for getting caught.

I stood in the doorway, staring at her and the money roll.

"Marisol... what's going on?"

Desperation overwhelmed her, and I watched her will break. She collapsed and sat on the bed, buried her face in her hands, and began sobbing.

I didn't move, but I stayed standing in the doorway, waiting.

She cried for several moment, before she could look over her shoulder at me. Lines of mascara streaked down her cheeks, and her face was wet with tears.

"I-I'm sorry... I didn't... I-" She broke off, her sobs returning.

Remember when I said I'm an asshole? Well, this proves it. I just stood there, watching her cry, just waiting patiently for whatever explanation she chose to give me, then I'd fire her.

She continued weeping, using one of her cleaning cloths to wipe her face and nose. Several times she tried to regain her composure, but to no avail. Just when she finally got a hold of herself, she'd break down again.

Being and asshole, and having lived alone all my life... I had ZERO idea how to handle this... properly. My mind raced with plenty of IMPROPER ways to handle it. Oh, sure, if this were a porn movie, I'd spank her ass and demand that she blow me as punishment for her crime. If it were a romcom, I'd rush over to her, take her in my arms, soothe her, and tell her everything will be okay as we fell in love and lived happily ever after. Hell, if this were an action movie, I'd throw her a pistol, and together we'd go shoot up a building full of bad guys... then fall in love and live happily ever after... killing more bad guys in the sequel.

I lived alone. I've seen a lot of movies.

But since this was none of those... and I'm an asshole... I stood there, waiting and watching.

Eventually, she did get it together. She cleaned up her face, the best she could and stood to face me, speaking as calmly and clearly as she could. "I-I'm sorry, Mister Mike." For some reason, she insisted on calling me Mister Mike. I figured it was my age, being twice hers, she used the "mister" for her elder. I asked her to call me "Mike," so it was always Mister Mike. "I'm sorry. I've done wrong, and I apologize. I will gather my things and leave immediately."

She stood there with downcast eyes, waiting for my response. I didn't say anything or move from the doorway but remained standing there eyeing her.

This made her nervous. She fidgeted as she glanced up at me, waiting for the inevitable explosion... which didn't happen. I waited.

Again, her will broke, and she word-vomited the whole story. "It's my brother. He was trying to start a landscaping business and got a loan from the wrong people in the neighborhood. He can't pay it back... so they're going to... hurt him. He tried, Mister Mike. He really did, but he just didn't have the right connections and couldn't get a start. The people came for repayment, and... If he doesn't pay by the end of the week..." She let the consequences for non-payment remain unspoken. "So... I saw the money one day when I was cleaning... and it's always there... and I thought..." Again, she flopped down on the bed, crying and defeated.

Again, potential movie scenarios played over in my mind: the action movie, the romcom, and, of course, the porn movie. I had always thought Marisol was attractive. Hell, any living man would. I even caught Thomas giving her the eye and wishing he was thirty years younger. She was the perfect example of youthful beauty, combined with Latin grace and charm, shiny-black hair, brilliant brown eyes, full lips the color of rose petals, strong jaw and cheekbones, a strong and slender neck, and a body that would stop traffic. She was also twenty-five years younger than me and my employee. Which is why Thomas' first task was to put locks on their doors. Not that I would ever... But she was nice to look at.

Asshole.

Her defeated weeping is what told me I had gotten the truth out of her, and that was what I wanted. There was no excuse for what she had done. She attempted to steal from me, and she'd be lucky if I didn't call the police. And she knew it. The very BEST she could wish for is to be fired and kicked out. But I recognized her resolve to accept whatever consequences I would dish out.

I opened my mouth to tell her of my disappointment in her behavior, how I wished this would have worked out better, how I would have to let her go, and let the agency know of her actions, and that she wouldn't be able to get another job in this town, and all that. But what came out was, "How much did he borrow?"

The fuck? My words surprised even me... and I said them. Marisol jerked her head toward me not sure she heard me correctly either.

"How much did he borrow? How much does he owe?"

Marisol sat dumbfounded, but managed to squeak out, "T-twenty thousand... what he owes."

I nodded. "Call your brother. Tell him to register with your agency as a landscaper. Come to my study tomorrow before lunch. I'll have the cash. I just lost my groundskeeper and need a new one. I'm hiring your brother until he pays ME back." I turn and walk out of the room. "And put the money back, please," I call over my shoulder as I walk down the hall to my study.

I sat down behind my desk to contemplate... WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST DO? Am I really going to shell out twenty-grand to Marisol's brother to get him out of a bind AND hire him to be my gardener? What the fuck was I thinking? Seriously?

A soft knock at the door broke this thinking. Marisol entered, looking confused and humbled.

"D-did you really mean it?" she asked in a disbelieving whisper. "What you said?"

"Well... yes, I did... I do. I will NOT tolerate any more theft, Marisol, and had you told me some made up sob bullshit about him having a terminal disease, or him running from a drug cartel, you'd be out on your ass, believe me. But... you came clean right away... and fate prevented you from going through with your plan."

She nodded, eyes looking at the desk in front of me.

"There was only two or three grand there, you know. Not twenty-thousand."

"I thought... it might buy us some time... to figure something else out."

"Something else? You know these people? I doubt there would be any other way that didn't end in blood." I eyed her up and down. "Or worse, Marisol." I stared at her to make my words hit home. She had to know how beautiful she was. One look at her curves, and those sharks would bill the debt to her body... over and over again. God knows I would.

Sometimes I wish the asshole in me would just shut up.

She nodded, still looking at the desk. Tears welled up in her eyes.

"God... you knew that... didn't you? You were going to show up with a few thousand bucks... and they would demand..."

Two tears rolled down each cheek as she nodded again.

"Marisol... you would do that... really?"

She closed her eyes, trying to hide her shame. I frequently look back at these moments, replaying them in my mind, and I believe that THIS is when MY will broke. Tears rolling down her sweet face, the look of care and concern in her deep brown eyes, and the worry lines forming around those luscious lips...

Hey, asshole... shut up. And for once... it did. I looked at Marisol's overwhelmed expression, and that was it. I couldn't let her stand there bearing all her guilt and shame. I wanted... to help her.

"Please sit down, Marisol." She slumped in a nearby armchair, eyes still closed, not wanting the world to see her shame. I pushed a box of tissues toward her. "Better than the dust rag you've been using. Please." She took a couple tissues and began cleaning her face again. "Please... tell me."

And so, for the first time in the year she had been working for me, Marisol told me her story.

She was born in Guatemala but came to the US as an exchange student. She learned English very well and even graduated from high school here. When her mother died, she stayed in the US on a work visa and worked to support her father and younger and brother. Carlos, her brother, called her one day, and told her about things their father was doing... and trying to do with Maria, their little sister. Marisol didn't waste time. She gathered all the money she could and brought her brother and sister to the US with her. Carlos was eighteen, and Maria only fifteen. That was three years ago. Since then, they tried to scrape together a living, put Maria through school, and hoped that one day they'd catch a break.

That break never came. Carlos tried to start the business, failed, got into trouble. Maria was a good student and graduated soon. And Marisol worked six or seven days a week cleaning houses for rich assholes like me.

I pressed her for some details about their arrangement, which she explained. They lived in a two-bedroom apartment converted from an old motel in a run-down part of the city. When she took the room here, it gave Maria her own room, but they still had to pay the rent... which wasn't cheap. Even on her meager salary from cleaning my house, she paid the rent and kept food on their table, since she was able to take meals here... even though I didn't know it.

Hearing this made me glad Nero made that choice. I should have been indignant at them eating at my expense, right? A Karen would. An asshole would.

But for the moment, the asshole in me didn't say a word.

Nero's "mistake" made it so Marisol could provide for her brother and sister. Sure, I charged her a modest "rent", and that was taken out of her paycheck, but that left the rest for her to give to her siblings.

"How old is Maria? Still in high school?"

Marisol looked at me curiously. "She turned eighteen last month, but graduates in two weeks. Why?"

I nodded. "God, I can't believe I'm doing this. And I need to word this carefully, so nothing is misconstrued. I meant what I said about paying off Carlos' debt and hiring him as a groundskeeper. That is something he and I will work out if I hire him. I'll want to meet him first, but... I have a good feeling about this. And I also need a part-time office assistant. Since she is in high school, I'm sure Maria knows her way around a computer, e-mail, word-processor, spreadsheets, and all that. If she can type and understands social media, I can use her. And... she can live here to, under your guardianship until she is eighteen, then under her own. I've got the rooms. I'm willing to hire your brother and your sister and rent them a room under the same terms as you. I'll square it with the agency, so both of them will have to be hired on by them.

"Now... to be clear..." I adopted a formal tone, because any misconceptions will land me in jail. "You and your family do not work for me so that all of you can repay a debt. I am hiring each of you individually for a specific job. You will each receive the wage determined by the agency for your work and pay rent for the accommodation. The agreement I have regarding Carlos' personal debt to me is a matter of business between him and I. You are in no way responsible to me for repaying your debt... and neither is Maria. And to make sure everything is above board and understood, can you have Carlos and Maria come here tomorrow afternoon for a job interview?"

Marisol's eyes went wide with incredulity. "Mister Mike... are you saying..."

"I need you to understand what I have just explained, Marisol. I have no expectations above what I just described. Do you agree to this... business proposal... on the condition that both Carlos and Maria pass the job interview?" My tone was still rather haughtily formal, as I manifested my inner asshole... just so there was no confusion about the situation.

Marisol nodded. "Y-yes, Mister Mike. I agree. I will tell Carlos and Maria right away. Thank you." Marisol rose and reached out to take my hand, shaking it vigorously in gratitude. I placed my hand atop hers and noticed just how soft her skin is... how clear, bright, and hopeful her eyes are, and how her lips... DAMMIT! The asshole was back!

I should have cancelled the whole thing right there and threw her out on her ass... but I just couldn't. I didn't want to.

I cleared my throat, mostly to ensure the asshole didn't start up again. "So... Marisol... I need you to understand that I am not putting your family into... indentured servitude. Nor do YOU owe me ANYTHING for making this possible. Simply saying 'thank you' is all you need to do... which you have done, so nothing more needs to be said." I look into her brown eyes. "Do you understand what I am saying."

She looks at me, her brown eyes warm with gratitude, and the hint of a smile at the corners of her rose-petal lips. "Yes, Mister Mike. You are not asking for what I was going to offer those people..."

I held up my hand to stop her. "Precisely, Marisol. You owe me NOTHING. Except honest work for your paycheck. Agreed?"

"Agreed." She gave my hands a final shake and turned to walk out of the room. My breath caught as she walked toward the door and I gazed at the curve of her... "Marisol?" I said probably a little too forcefully.

She stopped quickly and looked at me, her expression unreadable.

My voice cracked slightly when I say, "There is one thing you can do."

She blinked and stepped demurely toward me, her eyes downcast once again, the epitome of... submission. God, where was my brain???

"Give a list of your family's favorite meals to Nero. Make sure he adds them to the menu in the future."

She smiled which made her eyes flash and sparkle, nodded her head slightly but stayed where she was. Tense silence seemed to crackle and sizzle between us as we stared, me at her face, and her at the desk between us, waiting for me to say something... anything more.

"Thank you, Marisol" I said, breaking the spell.

"Thank you, Mister Mike." Finally, she turned and walked out of the room... giving me one final appreciative glance with the barest hint of a smile... before softly closing the door behind her.

God... I was in trouble.