My Kind of Perfect (21 page)

I was so preoccupied with fixing my hair that it took me
several moments before I realized what I just threw. Looking back, I cussed.
“Oh shoot!”

I stumbled on my feet in haste, dashing towards the crumpled
paper. John must not read that at all cost. But to my dismay, in front of my
own eyes, he was already opening the wrinkled sheet and was about to read the
contents of the paper. I tried grabbing it from his hands but his reflexes were
quick and he held it all the way up in midair, obviously out the range of my
hands. Standing almost up to six feet was an advantage on his part.

“Give me that,” I said, jumping on my feet and trying to
snatch the paper.

I saw him cringed his eyes as he was trying to read the
contents. I slowed down until I just stood still instead. Due to my untimely
exhilaration, I forgot that he was nearsighted and that he was not yet wearing
his glasses. Then after some more while, he finally gave me back my note.

“Looks like the nerd needs his glasses.” I grabbed the paper
from his hand.

“Uh-huh,” was his uninterested response.

I deeply exhaled as I clasped the piece of paper in my
hands. I was relieved that he hadn't read it or else I would die of instant
shame right at this moment. Him reading that last paragraph was like me walking
bare in the streets. That was how shameful it could have had been. And since my
luck was finally smiling back at me, I was fortunate that he hadn't got his
glasses on.

“Over reacting?” he muttered as he watched me crumpled the
paper in my hands. Then he put on a slug smile and walked away.

“Yes,” I said, “the contents of this paper are deadly.”

He waved his hand and headed to the bedroom. I felt relieved
after he disappeared completely as he shut the door behind him. Tearing the
piece of paper into pieces, I made sure that no one would read this kind of
absurdity from now on. I was convinced that I must be out of my mind when I
wrote that. My innocence and immaturity were the ones to blame for it all.

A knock came on the door. “Ms. Kayla, you're being called by
Ms. Dorothy.”

“I'll be coming in a while,” I answered. That must be Nate,
ordered around by Dorothy to remind me the start of another miserable day. It
had been going on for quite some time now.

I scanned the room and looked for my comb. Our room almost
looked like a house in itself except that it had no kitchen inside. There was a
pretty huge bathroom on the left side and one bedroom with two beds on the
other one. In between those two was a cream colored couch and across from it
was John's favorite—a 40-inch Plasma TV equipped with everything.

So back to finding my comb and actually stop looking around
and continue on being amazed, I looked under the sofa and finally found it. I
combed my hair and dried it before heading outside to meet my ‘mentor’ for her
final briefings as I was about to go on another despicable day ahead of me.

“What took you so long? I told you to be up and ready at
seven,” she scolded me early in the morning.

“Seven's too early,” I complained, faking a yawn. Lie. I
actually slept at around nine last night, not knowing what else to do.

“Are you sounding fretful now?” she asked.

“No,” I replied with sarcasm. “In fact, I was being happy.”

“Go get in the car,” she commanded. “Act civil at the least
and don't give Mr. Smith a hard time, alright?”

“I get it,” I answered and headed out the front door where I
saw the mentioned Mr. Smith waiting.

“Good morning, Miss Brooks,” the man greeted as he opened
door for me.

“Just Miss Kayla, all right? No Miss Brooks,” I corrected
him, still disliking the idea. No matter how crazy I was getting sometimes, my
mind was still sane enough to know better.

“As you wish,” he said, holding an amused smile behind his
poker face.

I went inside the car that was waiting for me outside. As
Mr. Smith settled himself in the driver’s seat, I started thinking where I had
seen this man before. Surely, his face was familiar but I wasn't able to point
out who he really was. Curiosity setting in, I took another glance at the rear
view mirror up front and peeked at my driver. He must have felt me looking at
him and met my inquisitive eyes with a scoffing one.

Wait. Did he just scoff? At me?

“Mr. Smith?” I slowly uttered, finally realizing who he was
with that scoff he had done a moment ago.

“Anything I can do for you, Miss Kayla?” the silver-haired
man asked.

“It's you!” I blurted, a little too early.

“Yes? I’m Mr. Smith, Ma’am,” he replied subtly. “Is there
something wrong?”

“No. I just remembered who you are,” I said, smiling
wickedly upon realization.

He was that same man who dragged me out of the hotel after
he caught me sneaking into John's room. Now, just what I had told him before,
he would be sorry. I silently laughed at myself and started thinking on how I
would give him a hard time. Oh and trust me, this was hard on my part since I
was a very good-natured person to begin with. Nevertheless, since it turned out
this way, there was only one thing that he ought to know—he should have known
who he was dealing with.

Another thirty more minutes of deep thinking had passed
before we arrived at Burchett Hotel. Mr. Smith opened the door for me and led
me inside. I walked down the busy hall and was greeted by several hotel staff.
I was now thinking that being the CEO's wife was not that bad. Papers. News.
Well, they did their job in making it known. Now, people acted differently
around me. Surely, not the way I had been treated before.

I kind of liked it.

“We're here,” he said to me. “A lady will assist you inside.
Come out when you finish changing your clothes.”

“Change clothes?” I heard myself say, bewildered why I
hadn't heard anything about that. I thought the corporate attire was for my new
designated position today? Why should I change it? The other secretaries I had
seen were not wearing uniforms. Did Dorothy downgrade me during the last minute
and wanted me to be a receptionist instead?

I skeptically opened the door and was greeted by an old
lady. She was around Dorothy’s age. “Hello, Miss Brooks. I’m Carrie, a security
officer. Here's your change of clothes.”

She handed me some folded clothes. I outspread it and saw a
pair of uniforms fitted for the staff of the hotel security—not the CEO’s
secretary nor a receptionist.

With a baffled tone, I asked, “Are you making me wear this?”

“Yes, Mr. Smith, our director, will be your guide through
this training. Madam specifically asked you to be included in the hotel
security,” she uttered.

“Excuse me? I think you are mistaken. I am here to be the
CEO’s secretary while the other one is having a break.”

“I’m sorry but that’s not what I heard,” I heard her answer.

 “This can’t be. I have no training. No experience. Not even
any knowledge about this. And I’m the wife of the CEO. Why should you put me in
the hotel security? I’m far too important to be put into danger,” I said,
explaining things thoroughly.

“Madam specifically asked for this,” she repeated. “There’s
no mistake that she told me to include you to the hotel security.”

“You know what? Can you just ask her again? This is just a
mistake. I don’t know what’s wrong with you for not getting it right. Just ask
her,” I told her. There was no way I would be a hotel guard. Such a lowly
position like that was not fit for my personality or even my resume and now my
held position. Even if it was fake. And more importantly, I didn't have any
form of training for such a task. How was I supposed to be one?

“I'll give her a call and ask again,” she replied and walked
to the phone hanging on the wall at the far side of the room.

I stood there and watched her talk to Dorothy. The lady was
chuckling and softly laughing as she was talking. Were they making fun of me? I
cleared my throat and she threw me a chiding smile. Then after she put down the
receiver, she said, “No, there has been no mistake.”

Beep. Beep.

A text message came in to my new cellphone.

Evil Dorothy:
Kayla, I forgot to
tell you that there had been some last minute transfer and that you would be
under the care of Mr. Smith, the head director of the hotel security. They are
short in number since one of their men is in the hospital and will be in need
of a replacement for the mean time. I thought that why not send you there and
let you help out. John’s secretary’s vacation got cancelled, too, anyway. Do
your best, dear. And do send my regards to John.

“Oh, I told her to send you a message thinking that you were
not the type who easily believed things,” Carrie said to me.

“Fine. Okay! So that was that,” I replied.

There was nothing I could do anyway. According to the
contract, I was supposed to do everything that Dorothy would order me to. Any
rebellion on my part would be equal to a punishment. I didn't want any of that
since I was determined to make it through this three-month contract peacefully
and of course, with the money flowing.

Still with an amused smile on her face, Carrie excused
herself and let me put on the clothes. Locking the door of the locker room, I
removed the clothes I was wearing and put on the black top and pencil skirt I
was asked to wear. Then I slipped my feet back on my black pumps. This was the
only thing that was still stylish about this whole get-up although, like how it
had been a minute ago, the thought of being one of the hotel securities was
still horrible if they were to ask me.

“Miss Brooks are you ready?” Carrie asked as she softly
knocked on the door.

“Yes,” I said, tying up my hair. “Just a minute.”

I opened the door and was greeted by the old lady again.
After that, I was submitted to Mr. Smith's care. And when he saw me, he even
managed to throw me a compliment, “The outfit suits you.”

Could he just go mute this once? I didn’t like this get-up.

I badly wanted to answer him but John told me continuously
for weeks now that if I didn't have anything nice to say, I should just shut my
mouth. I was afraid that John would actually get down here and lecture me
again. So before any of that happened, I took the precautionary step.

Then Mr. Smith, whom I had never known to be holding a high
position, continued after I did not say anything, “You'll stand with me at the
front door. You must greet the guests politely and treat them as kings and
queens. You understand, Miss Brooks?”

“They’re not even kings and queens. Why should I do that?”

Oops.

Mr. Smith narrowed his eyes and said, “You are what Madam
has told us. This won't do. We'll lose half of our regular guests if you will
be stationed at the front gate. Follow me.”

With just the words that I should follow him, he started
walking away. Where was this man going? So what should I do now? Protect
everyone here when I myself had no idea of the basic self-defense moves.

“Miss Brooks, right this way, please,” he called again,
realizing that I hadn’t moved from where I was standing.

I rolled my eyes and started walking towards him. He said
that he wouldn’t let me stay at the front door but we were still walking
towards it. I suddenly wondered what had changed his mind.

Senility?

When we got out, a black limousine stopped in front of the
hotel. Mr. Smith said, “Come on.”

I trailed behind him. And soon after, John's face came in
sight. He was surprised to see me and threw me a speculative look. I flinched
but raised my eyebrows nonetheless.

Mr. Smith saw it and he bowed my head instead. “Good
morning, Sir.”

“Good morning, Mr. Smith,” John replied. Then to me, I heard
him mutter, “Kayla, what are you doing here?”

“Your grandma threw me here,” I replied.

Mr. Smith released my head, making me able to face John.
“She's one of the hotel securities now upon Madam's request. And for the
following days, she'll be your personal guard.”

“I… what?” I was surprised to hear that aside from being a
hotel security, I would be John's bodyguard. Did they hate John that they
wanted him dead?

“Yes, Miss Kayla. You'll be your husband's personal
bodyguard. Madam specifically told me that if I find you discourteous enough to
stand at the hotel's front door, you will be given this one instead,” he
answered.

“But she's my wife. How can she be my guard? And how can she
even protect me?” asked John with enough implication how limp I was as a
person.

I darted him a stern look.

“You know what I’m talking about,” said John. Fine, so maybe
I was not trained for this job and had zero qualifications for it. But did he
really have to scrub it on my face? And what could I do when it was my
enemy—Dorothy—was the one who ordered for me to be this way?

“Enough with that rudeness. You'll be working as an employee
and he'll be your boss from this day on. Any form of discourtesy will be
reported to Madam and she told me that you know what that means,” Mr. Smith
scolded me. “There will be another guard assigned for you, sir. But Kayla will
be the one who will be with you inside your office.”

“I don’t like this. Why don’t I be the one who stays
outside? Sounds more fun.” I shifted my weight.

“I’m not sure what to answer. Aren't you two married?
Shouldn’t you be happy to be with him?” Mr. Smith added, perplexed at our lack
of affection.

Oh right. For a moment, I forgot to get my acts straight.

“Just having a bad mood, right honey?” I tried making a
comeback but was actually afraid that the disgust in my voice was so evident.

“Of course,” John said as he lightly pulled me on the side
and placed his arm around my shoulders. “Grandma is always ordering you
around.”

“That would be a hundred thousand,” I softly hissed to John
while smiling at Mr. Smith. I kept track of all his touching. And adding it up
put an additional hundred thousand into my bank account.