Resisting Rosaleen (18+)

7

Imagine that you had a son. That son grew to be a strong, tall, and handsome young man who decides that he wants to serve the country and its citizens. Your son joins the academy and passes with flying colors. He becomes promoted a few times and even considers joining the military to do more. He trains and trains but then a big security agency comes to him with an offer to work for rich people in exchange for a fat paycheck, double benefits, a place to stay, a car, and even a wardrobe allowance. He gets employed by the rich and finds his one true purpose in life which is to carry Rosaleen Martin's shopping bags on Sundays.

"I bet your parents are proud of you," I commented, pulling my phone out to take a picture of Jared who had six bags of Victoria's Secret, two bags of Loewe, about a dozen Zaras, and three Vuittons. He snarled.

"I'll keep this as a remembrance," I said, pertaining to the photo, "for when I finally get rid of you."

"Should I take this to the car first?" he wondered as I led him into another shop.

"Well, actually, I'm done. I just wanted cupcakes."

The smell of sugary pastries drifted into my nose. It made my stomach rumble. I've been to this shopping boulevard many times before but I've never went into this cafe despite the many times I found it cute from the outside. Today was a good time to try it.

Jared found a table and put the bags down. I had him order me three varied cupcakes, a latte, and whatever he wanted. He came back with my order and as I indulged, he stood to the side.

"I told you to get yourself something," I looked at him, "I'm not sharing these with you."

The cupcakes tasted divine but I've had better at home.

"Work hours," he simply said, "Not my boss."

"Well, at least sit down, you're making me feel awkward."

He sighed before pulling out the chair across mine and sitting. He was so big you could barely see the chair anymore.

"So, Jared," I sipped my drink, burning my tongue in the process, "is it just Jared?"

He looked hesitant, "Cohen."

"Jared Cohen," I nodded, "if I offered to pay you extra to leave me alone, would you? Wyatt wouldn't have to know."

He looked judgy, "It's not just for the money, you know. You're part of the job and I'm dedicated to my job."

"That almost sounded romantic," I said, "What about if I pay you double it?"

"No, thank you," he said, "and I doubt you can do that. It's still technically your brother's money and he can track where his money goes."

"In cash then?" I tried again.

"Ms. Martin, I don't—"

"Do you know why my brother hired you?"

"He mentioned it was your father's idea. And no, but it wouldn't make a difference." He finally leaned back into his chair, looking slightly relaxed, "A job is a job."

"It's because I ran away," I said. I didn't know where it came from. I didn't plan on becoming a fictional plot writer today but as Barbie said: you can be anything.

That seemed to intrigue the man. He silently urged me to go on.

"You've obviously noticed that it's just me and my brother. It's always been just us. Our dad for the first few years, but after Wyatt started to work for himself, it's just been us," I shifted in my seat. The story wouldn't completely be a lie. What damage would it do to bend the truth just a teeny weeny bit? "But ever since I turned eighteen, I've been wanting to reunite with my mother."