Chapter 19
If she was scheming to get near him, letting her go now would only make her find another way to get close to
her.
When she was brought before Casper, he’d ensure she had no ill intentions.
Bertha, suddenly freed, stood confused, eyeing the car suspiciously.
She wondered if he had realized she was “Marcus’s wife” and gotten scared.
She thought, “That must be it!
“So it seems that even though Marcus is disabled and out of favor in the Gonzalez family, his name still carries weight.”
After all, the Gonzalez family was the wealthiest in Los Angeles!
Bertha didn’t dwell on it. She took off at a run.
in the shadows, a tall man in black watched her, a sinister grin curling his lips.
What a good show,” he muttered, chuckling softly.
Marcus sensed something amiss. He rolled down the car window and scanned the crowd, but found nothing
uspicious.
What’s wrong, Marcus?”
No problem, let’s go.”
As soon as Bertha went back home, a warm fragrance hit her nostrils.
Ethan had already prepared lunch.
The golden omelet was wrapped around fluffy rice, stuffed with shrimp balls, ham sausage, diced meat,
carrots, and beans.
It looked mouthwatering.
At the sight of her, the three little ones lit up with joy, their eyes shining as they ran toward her.
“Mommy!”
Bertha’s smile returned instantly, washing away all traces of her earlier distress.
Children were her cure–all. No matter how low she felt, seeing them made everything better.
Bertha hugged one, kissed another, overwhelmed by happiness.
“Did everything go well, Mommy?” Alfred asked.
Bertha shook her head. “Not yet. We might need to stay in Los Angeles a few more days.”
“Why? What happened?”
“The person I need to meet is out of town on business. I have to wait for him to get back.”
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She omitted the true purpose of their visit from the children.
The children knew nothing of Marcus.
She intended to keep the past buried. Kids deserved to grow up happy and carefree.
Adult burdens had no place in their world.
“Alright, no more fretting about my problems. It’ll work out eventually. Let’s eat!”
“Uh–huh!”
After lunch, the three little ones napped while Bertha sat on the bed, counting bills.
Her entire outfit cost less than 1,600 dollars.
She was flat broke.
They needed money for hotels and meals.
Though the boys didn’t eat much, they were growing, no more surviving on plain bread.
Fruits, veggies, milk, eggs, seafood, meat, all essentials.
Added up, a family of four’s expenses were steep.
The 1,600 dollars she had wouldn’t last.
Empty pockets bred anxiety.
Bertha decided to find a part–time job, preferably with daily pay.
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After all, Beverly Hills was miles away, and who knew when Marcus would return? She couldn’t wait till she
was penniless to start earning.
But in an era where education and credentials reigned supreme, she had neither degree nor certificate, barring her from jobs she desired.
Bertha sighed helplessly.
Each time she reached this point, sadness tugged at her. She’d gained admission to a top university, yet ended up here.
The world was cruel, and the past too painful to recall.
Bertha searched for jobs available online for ages but found nothing suitable.
Finally, she decided to target high–paying gigs.
After weighing options, wine sales stood out, daily pay,60 dollars per night, plus a 2% commission.
Though she loathed the environment, the payment persuaded her,
At 7 PM sharp, Bertha arrived at Maria Club.
Maria Club was the swankiest bar in Los Angeles, a literal money incinerator.
Only the obscenely rich or powerful frequented such places.
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In just over an hour, Bertha sold three bottles of wine.
And her commission topped over 150 dollars.
Modern society might worship diplomas, but looks mattered too.
She was pretty, fit, with a sweet voice, and crucially, pretty hands.
Listening to her banter, watching her pour wine, both were pure enjoyment.
No wonder Bertha had become a hit here.
But beauty had its drawbacks. She’d barely settled in before a predator got interested in her.
“Drink this bottle. On me.”
The speaker was Jefferson Petersen, Brenda’s uncle, a notorious womanizer in Los Angeles.
He was ugly and lecherous.
Bertha didn’t know him. She hesitated, “Should I drink?
“Yes, you heard me. Every last drop.”
“But I can’t. This bottle is for your table, and it’s expensive.”
“Don’t worry about the cost. It’s 16,000 dollars. Drink up, and I’ll cover it.”
As Jefferson spoke, Jefferson leered at Bertha, his eyes raking up and down.
Bertha realized she’d crossed paths with a sleaze. Fighting the urge to deck him, she forced a smile.
“I’m
sorry, sir. I took cold medicine before coming, so I can’t drink alcohol.”
Jefferson’s mood soured instantly.
“Then take the bottle. I don’t want it.”
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
