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I explain the horrible situation, no money, being evicted, and now, losing my job.
But the man’s stony look only seems to flicker with delight as I list my problems.
His short, hairy hand lifts the soggy paper from mine, and he crumples it up even more before he pushes it to one side, making me gasp and forget about crying for a second.
“I know this man, and he’s a cousin. I’ll make sure you don’t get evicted…,” he says, smiling again.
But there’s that look again.
Those ‘terms and conditions apply’ looks that he gives out as if it helps him see better.
“…And… Maybe we can find work for you too. Paying cash,” he adds. Shifting his look to one of a child, wide-eyed and innocent.
As if he couldn’t hurt a fly.
Just an old man who's trying to help a young lady in need.
Yeah. Right…
Somebody coughs and the old man looks up, his eyes narrowing and becoming cold again.
The sound of the lock on the door being drawn back has me turning in my seat, but I can feel him long before I see him.
Once the stranger enters, the whole room is on edge again, dipping his head as his huge frame fills the doorway.
The guy’s huge. And in the best way possible.
He has some silver at the sides of his temples, but it’s the experience, maturity, and power he exudes.
Not old age like the man I’ve been talking to just now.
He’s obviously pure muscle, and the leather jacket he has on is open at the front, with a white T-shirt underneath showing just how much muscle there is.
He has faded denim jeans on, with patent leather boots that match his jacket.
Neat casual done better than just well.
The solid gold Rolex that flashes on his wrist tells me he’s not worried abouthisrent either.
Holy moly…he’s a freaking god.
Some water drips from his wide brow, which he ignores once he’s inside. His wet clothes don’t seem to bother him at all either.
And gleaming with rain, his outfit matches the intense steely gaze in his eyes once he surveys the room.
Those three guys who had their hands in their jackets when I walked in?
They’re doing it again.
“You should go,” the old man tells me gently, and turning my head to face him instead of the man who’s just walked in, it’s pretty clear my job interview is over.
“Come tomorrow,early. And don’t worry about your landlord. You work for me now. You work for Don Portello,” he reminds me casually.
I swallow hard again.
I feel frozen to the spot, numb. But I know I have to get moving.
And even though the hottest man alive has just walked in, I think I should get out while the going’s good.
