Page 22 of Fair Trade

Running Stonehaven Media is simple.

The empire I created has me living the dream. Last year, I secured the biggest deal of the century, acquiring the world’s most famous publications as my own. Afterward, I decided to ditch the States and move back to London for the first time in over twenty years.

Thinking it might feel more like home than my mansion in the burbs did.

But I was met with a lot of the same.

Gold diggers? Opportunists? Fathers who lack human decency?

I knew how to handle the lot of them.

All a walk in the park.

But Luisa is proving to be different from what I was expecting.

And I hate being caught off guard.

I smiled as I shot off that email yesterday, expecting a snarky response to my jab about her prior tardiness when we first met.

So imagine my disappointment when she was… pleasant.

Again, proving me wrong.

I also hate being wrong.

Which is why I sent off that asshole response before I could stop myself. I instantly regretted it, and I knew I would have to apologize to her in person today.

That was the plan when I invited her to this meeting, but a little gremlin in my mind took over momentarily, sending me down that immature spiral.

But I’m not immature.

This isn’t like me at all.

I respect those who work for me, especially women.

It’s how my mother raised me.

And if she were around today to see how I’ve been conducting myself lately, she’d be gravely disappointed.

And would probably whack the back of my head with a chancleta.

Only a handful of people know that I was raised by a Dominican single mother. One who was brilliant and destined to be one of the greatest barristers the UK had ever seen while also being the best mother to me and my little sister.

Unfortunately, she never saw Daisy grow past her first year, and at the age of eleven, I made a promise to be there for my sister in every way humanly possible.

We were sent to a boarding school in Connecticut shortly after my mother’s death, and I have remained stateside for the most part for these last two decades.

I was the only kid with a funny accent. And for years I tried to speak like an American. Adapt to their mannerisms and sayings. I learned to code-switch and tamp down my English ways when I found it to be beneficial. But my accent never really went away,and I’m glad it didn’t, because it’s a part of me I never want to forget. Like when I used to make fun of my mother’s English due to her heavy Dominican accent. Hearing her try to pronounce her vowels correctly will forever remain some of my fondest memories.

Memories I clung to in order to survive the cruel and colorless world that was left for me once her existence was no longer.

Navigating being motherless while also being my baby sister’s only family, her protector, is a childhood experience I don’t wish upon anyone.

Skipping lunches with friends so I could play with her at the daycare side of the school. Convincing our nannies to speak to us in their native Spanish, even though they were explicitly told not to do so, in hopes that we could feel closer to our late mother. And sharing lonely holidays together, me promising to make something of myself so we’d never have to spend another Thanksgiving home alone.

Luckily, Daisy has grown into a beautiful and kind woman. Someone who wouldn’t hesitate to give the shirt off her back to someone in need.

A woman who, at times, can be too trusting.