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The name clicks for him immediately. He does run one of the largest cartels in Argentina, making him quite famous—or infamous. Or he did. As of last week, his stint in prison has left me in charge of an empire that I am nowhere near equipped to run.
“How about those drinks.” Alejandro flags down the bartender to order me a refill. “My cock is off the table, but I can think of another arrangement that we may all find highly enjoyable.”
two
GABRIEL
My foot taps anxiously on the marble floor of the office lobby as though I have no control over it. I have no idea why I am so nervous. It’s an interview. It’s not even for an actual job. It’s just an internship.
And it’s already basically mine.
My madre knows Mr. Marcano from some business dealings in Mexico, and after losing out on the last five internships I’ve applied for, she reached out to him on my behalf. He agreed to take me on as a favor to her, making today little more than a formality.
“Mr. Alvarez?” A pretty and well-dressed woman standing beside the receptionist’s desk calls my name. Attempting to control my fidgeting, I awkwardly stand from my chair and tug at the bottom of my blazer. “Mr. Marcano will see you now.”
“Mr. Marcano?” I gulp.
I thought I was meeting with some lady from human resources. Jamie?
The well-dressed woman’s steps are long and brisk. Even though I tower over her short stature, I struggle to keep up with the pace of the stilettos clicking down the hall in front of me. Reaching an office door in the back corner, she knocks and waits for a response before pushing it open and revealing a massive corner office.
“Mr. Marcano,” she acknowledges him as we enter the room. “Mr. Alvarez for your meeting.”
“Thank you, Rachel.” His voice is deep, authoritative, and confident. “Please shut the door on your way out.”
She promptly leaves us as he crosses the room to me with an outstretched hand. I feverishly rub my sweaty palms over my thighs in a futile attempt to dry them before he reaches me. “It’s so good to see you again, Gabriel.”
“Again?” The word vomits from my mouth.
“You probably don’t remember me,” he responds with a chuckle. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since were about six. Maybe seven.”
“I’m really sorry, but I don’t remember you.” My tone a mixture of sincerity and embarrassment.
“It’s fine. You were just a kid. I can’t believe how grown up you are now.” He firmly grips my shoulder before continuing, “Come. Have a seat, and let’s talk about his internship that your mother called me about.”
There is something off about the way he says the word internship. Something I can’t quite place.
“If you are joining our company”—there’s that strange inflection again—"it’s a long-term commitment. Because of my relationship with your parents, I’m willing to give you a chance before requiring what I do of my other men, but know that chance is not a short-term offer.”
“Sir?” I don’t know what else to say. This is so different from the other interviews I have been on.
A slight look of confusion spreads over his face before he asks, “What all do you know about us?”
“Um…Ju…Just that you’re an import company,” I stammer, knowing that I should have spent some time preparing for this interview.
“Do me a favor.” He extends his business card toward me. “Call your mother. Talk to her about the company. More specifically, ask her about what it is your father used to do for me. After that, if you’re still interested, give me a call, and the position is yours.”
“Thank you.” My voice cracks as I try to process what is happening.
I just got offered an internship at one of the biggest companies in New York City.
Internship.
Company.
The words echo in my head with the weird inflection he used as he said them.
What the hell kind of job is this?
