"Hey..." She frowned slightly, smiling. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Oh..." I blushed, looking away. "It's ok... I... I was just thinking that your work is impressive."
"The pay isn't much better than being a housekeeper, but I enjoy the job."
"So, that means you like kids?"
She smiled shyly, looking down after my last question. "Of course, I do... kids are innocent... beautiful... cute... there's nothing not to like about them. That's why I stick with it."
I grinned, watching her. "That means you'll be a great mother."
"Hahaha..." She laughed briefly, then sighed. "That sounds like something impossible for me."
I frowned, instantly wondering if she had health issues that made her feel she couldn't have kids.
"I'm divorced, and I haven't been with another man since. I can't even imagine it," she said, glancing at me while biting her lower lip. "My past failure makes it hard to trust men... And I'm almost 30... so my chances of having my child are slim, especially if I'm still single now... I think you understand what I mean."
I stared, trying to grasp the meaning behind her words, but her gaze made me feel as if she were evaluating me.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Um... Nothing!" She straightened up and glanced around before looking back at me. "I've told you what you wanted to know about me. You can go now."
"Go?"
"Of course!" She raised her eyebrows. "Are you going to break your word and not leave?"
"Alright... I'll go," I said reluctantly, pulling my phone from my suit pocket. "But give me your phone number... I'll call you tomorrow, make sure you're okay and not working like you planned," I added, watching her look at me, surprised.
"What's wrong?"
"Um..." She shook her head with a sweet smile. "I just never imagined a famous model asking for my number. But I know it's just because you're concerned... because you're kind..." She took my phone, but I could feel her hands trembling.
I blushed, sensing she might think this was something special. Hmm, but if it is, does that mean she's interested in me? Or is it special because I'm a model? What if she knew me without the fame?
"Okay... but don't be mad if I don't answer your calls." She handed my phone back, and I saw her contact saved as 'Grace,' which I quickly changed to 'Shasha.'
"Sometimes when I'm busy, I can't answer... But sometimes it's just because I'm too lazy." She shrugged with an awkward smile, ending by biting her thin lip.
"Whatever your response might be, thank you for giving me your number. And don't think of this as strange or overly special... I'd ask for the number of anyone who catches my interest," I said as I slipped my phone back into my pocket.
She nodded. "Ok... it's not anything special. I know... Maybe you won't even reach out once I'm better..."
"Why would you say that?"
"Um..." She looked away and stood up quickly. "You can go now. I want to shower... I want to rest."
"Alright..."
I stood up, and together we walked to the main door and out of her apartment. I turned to see her looking slightly awkward again.
"See you the day after tomorrow," she said with a smile. "I mean... I can't clean the apartment tomorrow, so we probably won't meet," she added nervously.
I gave a slight smile, suddenly struck with the idea to surprise her tomorrow. That might be fun.
"Why?" she asked.
"Nothing... I'm leaving," I replied and walked down the corridor. I couldn't stop smiling, remembering her pretty face and our seemingly casual conversation that, for some reason, felt deeply special.
...
Fortunately, my brother's apartment building wasn't far from Shasha's, so after a ten-minute walk, I arrived.
I went straight to my room, kicked off the black shoes I'd worn all day, and collapsed onto the bed. I stared at the ceiling, thinking about my packed schedule tomorrow—it sounded exhausting.
Soraya was crazy, agreeing to every producer's request to have me on their shows—a total of five events in different locations, all tomorrow, and I'd promised to check on Shasha.
She didn't expect me to be with her all day tomorrow... or maybe she did, but wouldn't admit it? But for some reason, I felt I should be there for her. Why... why couldn't she leave my mind?
My phone suddenly vibrated in my jacket pocket. I pulled it out, sitting up as I answered a call from Katherine.
"Katherine?"
"Logan... is everything alright?" she asked.
"Yeah... I'm busy, but that's what I wanted... fame... money... But it's exhausting," I replied, lying back down and resting my head on the pillow.
"That's the world of modeling and entertainment... But I hope what you're feeling now doesn't lead you down the wrong path."
"What do you mean?"
"I know that many actors, singers, or anyone in entertainment end up turning to drugs to cope with stress from tight schedules and pressure... I don't want you to go that route... Do what you can, within your limits. Don't push yourself or do anything that makes you uncomfortable or overly tired. Money is important, but so is your well-being," she said gently, reminding me of her motherly face. "Are you listening?"
"Um... Yeah... Thank you for the advice," I replied with a small smile, suddenly feeling touched.
"Alright... take care, rest well... I'll call the housekeeper to come in early. I might ask her to make breakfast for you every day," she replied, and I immediately thought of Shasha.
"Don't do that!"
"Why?"
"Um... no reason. I... I just don't like eating here, and I don't want to trouble her. She seems busy with other things," I said nervously, feeling worried that Katherine contacted Shasha. She might not have the courage to refuse, but she needed to rest.
"It wouldn't be a problem for her, and we'd pay her extra. Besides, this is for your good... I don't want you skipping breakfast... or eating fast food every morning..."
"No, I won't do that!" I cut her off, glancing at the glass wall showing the view outside. "I'll talk to her myself... I'll reach out to her."
"Alright..."
"Alright, I'll rest now."
"Ok, good night..."
"Good night..." I ended the call and lay back down, hugging another pillow.
In the quiet, I thought of her again, picturing her alone in that small apartment, doing everything by herself while unwell, yet still worrying about her job.
I have to do something, make sure she doesn't need to work, and ensure she has a proper meal tonight and tomorrow morning.