Marc Nassar

"I like Ms. Celeste's hair," Nina declares from her seat at the breakfast table.

"Oh, her hair is soooo pretty," Laila responds to her sister. "And her mouth is nice. Do you think she has lip gloss on?"

While the girls continue to point out every single thing possible about Celeste's appearance, I rifle through the fridge for something to feed them. I let out a frustrated sigh. I sent Heidi away so I can spend some alone time with the girls, but I have no clue what to make.

I'm also annoyed that I've been acting like a complete idiot. Every single question I asked Celeste at the table was one hundred percent not okay to ask in an interview. And if we don't hire her, she one hundred percent has grounds to sue me for discrimination. I don't think she would, but still. I'm usually not that stupid.

And Kristina had every right to call me out on my bullshit when she pulled me aside. I ended up confessing like a caught thief that Celeste and I met yesterday after the accident. When I shared my concerns about it being too coincidental, Kristina didn't seem as upset with me. But she still didn't hold back her annoyance at being sent on some made up mission with her daughter.

Fair enough.

And then while I was talking with Kristina, Melissa messaged me back with a picture and description.

Celeste Peters is a 22 year old, Caucasian. No father on record. Mother deceased. No record of criminal history. Not even a citation. Current employment is a diner called Paula's Fast Feast and prior work includes various diners across the county.

Residence looks like a small studio on the outskirts of the city. Only living relative is a younger brother who has a wife and child.

I've included a picture below. A bit young for you Marc, but hot nonetheless. ;)

I relayed some of the information with Kristina, but of course she got even more upset with me for not giving Celeste the benefit of the doubt. Okay, so Celeste was telling the truth about almost everything. But she still lied on her resume.

I should have told Kristina about the resume. I really should have. But I didn't.

Something very strange is happening. I'm caught between wanting to see Celeste win this position and not wanting her in my home ever again. I'm not sure if the former is simply because I'm taking pity on her— the woman with the despairing look in her eyes, inaudibly begging for help. If it was just pity, I'd have given her money and sent her off already. No, there's something else happening that I can't put my finger on.

And that thought leads me to never wanting her near me again. There are too many unknowns. I've always been in control, but only seconds around her prove that I'm not. When Celeste speaks and my gaze locks on her cerulean eyes, which Nina and Laila are currently harping on about, I find myself forgetting the fundamentals. My insides vibrate and my senses heighten when I think about how I haven't been able to anticipate her next move yet. 

Shit. Exhibit Z on why this woman cannot under any circumstances work in this house: I cannot have these confusing thoughts spin around in my head like a tornado when I already have so much going on.

I sigh as I spot the leftover chicken from last night's dinner at the back of the fridge. It's perfect. I'll try a lettuce wrap situation. It might be a stretch for the girls, but they need to eat it.

"So what's on the schedule for today?" I ask them as I start fixing up their plates.

"Dad, can I get a green jacket like the one Ms. Celeste has?" Laila asks, completely missing my question.

"I want one too!" Nina yells out.

"You girls already have a lot of jackets. Do you need another one? Also, it's summer right now. You don't need a jacket in the summer."

"But then why is Ms. Celeste wearing a jacket?" Nina jumps off the bench at the breakfast nook and then climbs on top of it again. Her and Laila are fully awake now and are in the non-stop movement phase of the day.

"I'm not sure. Maybe she gets cold easily?" I remember Celeste's arms covered in tattoos. Did she put on a jacket to cover them? A part of me wants to see them again, but I quickly shake the thought.

"Alright, girls. Your snack is ready!"

They squeal in delight and settle down in their seats on the cushioned bench. I serve them their plates of diced chicken and veggies in lettuce cups.

Their faces turn from delight to utter disgust with their shifting lips.

"Ewwwwww!" Nina screams as Laila starts acting like she's dry heaving.

"What? It's tasty, and it's healthy. Did you girls eat any greens today?"

"Dad! This looks so gross!"

"No, it doesn't." I grab my plate and sit across from them. "Just eat it. You'll like it," I say before taking a large bite. It's not bad at all.

The girls look at each other briefly with their grimaces solidified. Nina pushes the plate toward me. "We're not eating this. It looks like someone threw up on the plate!"

Laila snickers and I frown. "Don't be rude. I made this for you both. You can't leave this table without taking two bites each."

Apparently what I just said was the most offensive thing they've ever heard spoken. They both turn bright red and full, fat tears begin streaming down their faces. Heat runs through my body and I grip the table. A part of me wants to say forget about the lettuce wraps, but a louder part is yelling to push through this meltdown. They continue crying, with snot now dripping down from their noses. This is getting ridiculous. "Nina! Laila! Calm down, alright? Crying isn't going to get you out of that seat any faster."

Nina starts saying something through her sobs but I can't understand a single word coming out of her mouth. I scrape my eyelid with my fingers and let out a sigh. "I can't hear anything you're saying, Habibti. You need to stop crying so we can communicate."

Her sobs subside into hiccups. "Can we...just do...one bite...instead of two?" She takes a deep breath while still hiccuping, and her sister follows suit, settling down to quiet.

A smile tugs at my lips but I maintain my firm gaze. Negotiating is something I only just started seeing them do recently. The lawyer in me couldn't be more proud. "Fine. One bite. Then you can leave to go play with Ms. Heidi."

I grimace as I watch them take the slowest and smallest bite known to mankind. They start chewing with their mouths open as if they need an escape route for the lettuce fumes. Oh my God, I thought lettuce wraps would be a stretch but I didn't think it'd be this bad.

I'm about to force them to take a proper bite, but Kristina's voice catches my attention. "Everything okay, in here?" She comes into the kitchen with Celeste following behind her.

My pulse picks up speed and I straighten my back where I'm sitting at the breakfast table. "Yeah. All good. I tried to make a snack but it didn't work out so well."

Celeste smiles behind Kristina and I find my cheeks lifting slightly. I look back at my girls who have bright red faces and shy smiles of their own.

"He tried his best, but he just couldn't do it," Nina says before wiping the snot on her face with the sleeve of her night gown.

"What'd you make them?" Celeste asks me before eyeing the forsaken dishes on the table.

"Poop!" Nina shouts and launches into a fit of laughter. Laila follows, and I give them a stern look to let them know I don't think it's funny.

They stop laughing and quickly leave the breakfast table to the island counter at the center of the kitchen. "Ms. Celeste, are you ready to visit with us now?" Laila asks as she grabs Celeste's hand. Laila is the most sociable person I know. She must have gotten it from her mom, because she sure as hell didn't get it from me. Social interactions are exhausting and that's probably one of the main reasons I'm dreading the date with Vivian this weekend. Nina, on the other hand, is more like me, uninterested in following social cues and thinking more pragmatically.

"Girls, Ms. Celeste will be making us some food now. She won't be able to play," Kristina says.

"Ohhhh. Are you the new Mr. Cole?" Nina's face lights up.

"Uh, um, maybe?" Celeste adjusts her jacket and smiles feebly at my daughter. I can't help the smile on my lips as I watch my girls drink up everything that is Celeste. I've never seen them act this way with anyone.

I stand up and tuck my hands in my pocket before clearing my throat. "So, I don't know if Kristina shared this with you yet, but it's very important to me that my girls eat healthy. That means no sugar and every meal needs to be completely balanced." I don't know why I'm telling her this. It's not like she's going to work here.

Celeste's eyes grow wide before she lets out what sounds like a snort. "Seriously? No sugar?"

I cross my arms. "Is that a problem?"

"Well," she hesitates a moment, "honest always right?" She mimics my stance, "Yeah, it is a problem. Have you ever heard of people wanting what they can't have?"

I furrow my brows and glance at Kristina who simply lifts up her walkie talkie that was clipped to her slacks and says, "Heidi, can you come get the girls from the kitchen?" She sets it down and grabs the girls' hands. "Come, girls, let's get dressed and then after you can eat the meal Ms. Celeste prepares for you."

They squeal in excitement as Kristina guides them toward the entryway, where Heidi appears. She leads them out of the room and then Kristina settles herself against the counter near the fridge, like she's waiting for the conversation between Celeste and I to continue.

Seriously, is this happening? I focus my gaze on Celeste who's still waiting for my reply. My pulse picks up speed. "Sure, they may want sugar. But what does giving it to them teach them about self-control?"

She scoffs. "No one is perfect. You can't control all of your impulses. If they can't eat sugar, they're going to think about nothing else but that and then gorge themselves once they go to a friend's house."

I think back to the birthday party the girls went to last year. Heat fills my limbs and I step closer to Celeste. "You absolutely can control your impulses. Everyday people control their impulses. That's a part of life that my daughters need to grasp."

"I hear you, but I just don't think that's the healthiest thing for them," she says.

"Thank you for the parenting advice. But I think I'll trust my gut on this one over a childless twenty two year old," I bite out.

Both Celeste and Kristina's eyes grow wide and mouths drop open. God, I need to get out of this kitchen and get back to work. A knot forms in my stomach and I can't bear it. "Anyway, Kristina, I'll be upstairs if you need anything."

Without waiting for a response, or bidding Celeste a goodbye, I move past them and out of the kitchen, berating myself for ever leaving my office and coming home.