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Which is a lot. And often.
But I’m not there. In the cold light of day, all the reasons I had for keeping my distance in the beginning come rushing back.
He’s in the mafia. He’s dangerous. He’s everything I’m supposed to dislike.
And I can’t let him find out that I’m pregnant with his child.
The closer he creeps, the more likely he is to figure it out, and I can’t have that.
It doesn’t help that he follows me to work now and sits on my little chair in my cramped office going through my notes on the case files. It really doesn’t help that I find him annoying, frustrating, conceited, and actually pretty useful and insightful.
I wish that weren’t the case, but Angelo has an eye for this stuff.
Probably because he’s a criminal.
“I’m tempted to break into that freaking police station and steal the rotten interview files myself,” Angelo says after tossing down a folder with an annoyed glare. “There are a million different places they could be hiding it.”
“Assuming it’s even still around. They could’ve shredded the thing.”
“Maybe,” he says, making a face, “but why would Vance push us in that direction if they just tore the thing to bits? No, I think they still have it.”
“Why? Wouldn’t it be easier to destroy the evidence?”
“Cops are still cops and some of them might still be clean. I bet whoever’s trying to cover up what really happened can’t risk getting caught, so they buried the files instead. Plausible deniability.”
“Big words for a mafioso.”
“I’m a clever man when I want to be.”
There’s a knock at the office door. I look up as it opens and my heart instantly leaps into my throat and it feels like the world slows down to a standstill.
My mother shoves her head into the room, smiling like she’s about to present us with an award, followed by my father.
This can’t be happening.
It’s like my body’s frozen as my parents stand on the threshold to my tiny office. They’ve never been here before although I offered to show them around a while back. Mom wasn’t interested and Dad was too busy, and I haven’t bothered inviting them out to my work since then and seeing them here is absolutely bizarre. It’s like seeing two aliens land in the middle of Manhattan, two sludge-dripping monster creatures lurching around and groaning like hungry zombies. God, I’m such a mess right now, I can’t even keep my monster-metaphors straight.
“Mom,” I say and get to my feet. “Dad. What are you two doing here?”
“Well, hello, darling,” Mom says, and her fake smile is plastered on her fake face so tightly I think her teeth might crack. “I didn’t know you had a client. We can come back.”
“No, it’s fine,” I say quickly. “This is just Angelo. He’s helping me with a case.”
Mom’s eyes drift down to Angelo and she stares at him like she doesn’t understand what she’s seeing. Angelo grins back at her, and the enormous mobster slowly stands up, his hulking body taking up most of the freaking office, and he holds out a hand.
A hand covered in tattoos.
Mom looks at it like it’s covered in flies.
Fortunately, Dad steps forward and shakes. “Good to meet you,” Dad grunts as he scowls around. “This is the place then? This is your whole office. It’s nice.”
“She’s very proud,” Angelo says, squeezing Dad’s hand before releasing. “You two must be ecstatic to have a daughter as brilliant as Sara here.”
“Uh—” Mom says, blinking rapidly. “Yes, of course we are.”
“Brilliant,” Dad says with his lips pressed together. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“Okay, great, glad you all met. Angelo, do you mind?”
He looks at me and shrugs. “Not at all.” But he doesn’t move. My mother stares at him like she still can’t understand how he’s not out on the street begging for change right now, even though Angelo’s gorgeous and wearing expensive clothes. Anything that’s out of the ordinary is somehow garbage to my mother.
“Can I have the office? With just my parents?”
“Right,” Angelo says and slips past them. “Have a nice visit, folks.” He gives me one more hard look before he disappears down the hall.
I thought I might relax without him around, but it doesn’t help. Dad’s scowl deepens as he comes toward the only chair. Mom lingers by the door. She’s in fashionable workout clothing and her hair looks like she spent an hour blowing it out and making it perfect. Dad’s in jeans and a button-down, his frameless glasses perched on his nose, his gray hair cut short and close.
I’ve never wanted to see my parents less in my entire life than I do in this moment.
“Are you busy?” Dad asks and looks at my desk. It’s covered in folders. “No, I guess you’re not if you’re sitting around chatting with your assistant.”
