The Mistress I Paid For

I fixed my gaze on Joseph, who was on the stage.

I had said it before, I would be even crazier.

And I would give him a grand gift.

Bodyguards stood beside Joseph, keeping the situation under control.

There were many reporters in attendance that day, and Adams Inc.’s PR department was busy steering public opinion.

Joseph pulled me into the inner hall.

“Natalie…” he started as he rubbed his brow helplessly.

After a few breaths, he regained his usual calm composure.

“You should know how important this anniversary banquet is.”

Of course, I knew otherwise, I would not have come.

Besides his business partners, there was another guest present, Joseph’s most important patron, and the key figure he needed to enter the manufacturing industry: Frank Highguard.

I had met Frank when he came to my taco stand.

Frank was advanced in years and had a fondness for tacos.

The first time I encountered him, he had quarreled with the younger members of his family and stormed out of the house.

When I spoke to him, I thought he was a homeless scavenger and kindly treated him to a meal from my stand.

From then on, rain or shine, he came every day to get a free meal.

He ate at my stand for more than half a year and still demanded extra meat every time.

The day Joseph appeared, I was preparing an order.

The rising steam veiled his handsome brows and eyes, yet it made him look like some ethereal creature.

He had come to see Frank with a project in hand, carrying the confidence and arrogance of youth, firmly believing that his proposal would impress.

Instead, Joseph was turned away.

But he was a patient man.

He came again and again, from the height of summer to the depths of winter.

Unable to bear it any longer, I served a couple of tacos in front of Frank.

“Add your own guacamole.”

Joseph took the opportunity to sit down.

He was a clever man.

He spoke to Frank only about tacos, from fillings to the various sauces.

The conversation drifted from savory food to the brand agency and distribution rights.

If a few stars had not appeared in the sky by then, Joseph might have talked all the way to the next morning.

After that, Joseph often came with Frank to eat for free.

Later, Frank stopped coming as frequently.

He said the younger members of his family had finally learned discipline, and he wanted to teach them personally, step by step.

Joseph, however, began coming more often.

From two or three times a month to every day of the week.

The final time, I prepared a full plate of tacos and sat across from him.

“These are the last tacos I’ll ever make,” I said.

“Enjoy them while you can.”

Under Joseph’s stunned gaze, I took out my admission letter from Havana University.

“I got in. I’m going to continue my studies.

“I won’t be running the stand anymore.”

Joseph paused.

He said nothing, only lowered his head and ate his tacos.

And so, without ever saying it aloud, we began a four-year-long relationship.

From a taco stand to a university campus.

We met as worldly adults, yet our love began in the innocence of my student days.

After graduation, I stayed home and wrote novels, living the life I had once dreamed of, earning money without ever leaving the house.

More than once, Joseph asked me, “Other people go to graduate school to get better jobs.

“If you’re writing novels, does it really matter whether you pursue further studies or not?”

I answered solemnly, “I’m not going to graduate school to find a job. I simply love literature.”

Joseph called me naïve, said it was immature to spend four years studying literature, yet he still remodeled a room in our home into the perfect space for me to stay inside and write.

Even though my fictional worlds were filled with scumbags for men, I never imagined that Joseph would become one of them.

I thought of a recent novel I had written about winning back a wife.

One top comment read: [The heroine meets one male lead; the hero meets ten.]

A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.

Turns out it was true.

Joseph was the only one for me.