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“Matt.” He grins. “Let’s fire up this bad boy.” He guides me to the closest computer. “And I can show you what’s what.”
“Oh, Matt. You’re so amazing!” I say, but my heart is only half in it now that he’s on the hook.
“No problem,babe. Here.”
I try not to cringe at his use of babe, but the whole body shiver of disgust is obvious. Thankfully, Matt is not skilled at reading cues because he sidles up to me and switches the computer on.
I ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ in all the right places before asking him to show me how to check my email. He doesn’t question my ineptness. And when I pull up three different versions of my resume, asking him to show me how to print a document, he does so happily. Not even batting an eyelid when my finger slips, and Iaccidentallyprint eleven copies. Of each.
We’re standing by the printer, waiting for it to finish, when I spot the gorgeous black Maserati outside. For asmall, isolated town, this place sure has some nice cars and expensive gaming cafes. It probably has something to do with all the exclusive casinos they have here. From what I found online, which wasn’t much, most of them are high-stakes clientele and invite only.
I longingly watch the Maserati outside as Matt places his hand on my hip. I pretend I don’t notice. Just a few more pages, and I can tell him to fuck off. In a nice way, of course. Never burn a bridge if you think you might have to cross it again. I’m about to turn back around, sidestepping out of his hold, when the devil in disguise walks down the street and heads toward my dream car.
He looks even better today, his suit as black as his soul, impeccable on his toned body. His wavy, dark brown hair, despite all the humidity in the air, is styled to perfection, not a strand out of place. Now that the full force of his stare is not on me, I spot details I was too flabbergasted to pay attention to before. Like the dark, intricate designs peeking out from under his sleeves. This man is absolute visual perfection. There’s no arguing about it. If only he weren’t such a dick.
I take a small step toward the window, watching him as he unlocks his car and opens the door. But just before he’s about to get inside, he stops, his eyes lifting and landing on the tinted window between us. My heart speeds up, and like a deer about to be shot, I suddenly have the urge to flee.
“Who’s that?” I whisper, worried he might overhear me.
Matt stands behind me, his hand landing on my shoulder. I’d be annoyed at how touchy-feely he is, but I’m too engrossed in the man on the other side. The man whose jaw tightens as he stares intensely at the window, his eyes focused and angry.
Matt’s hand disappears as he takes a step back behind me. “That’s Saint. Fuck.”
“Who?” My eyes drink in his perfect features as the man keeps his angry gaze on the tinted glass.
“Dante Santoro. As intheSaint,” he replies shakily. “His family basically owns Blackwood.Hebasically owns Blackwood.”
DanteSantoro. His eyes sweep the tinted window again before he slides into his Maserati and closes the door with a loud thud, making me flinch.
“Saint? He’s more of a devil if anyone were to ask me,” I mutter to myself, turning back to the printer and grabbing the papers. “Could he see us through the tinted window?”
“I hope not. You don’t want his attention.”
No, I definitely don’t. But it’s too late for that. He already hates my guts.
“Thanks for the computer lesson, Matty,” I say, placing a kiss on his cheek. A car engine revs outside as I grab my things and head to the exit. “See you around.”
“Wait!” Matt tries to stop me. “You’re going already?”
“Bye!” I shout, my hand already pushing the door open, and slide outside.
The Maserati speeds down the street and away—taillights glinting red at me—before it turns down one of the side streets and disappears completely, leaving behind the smell of burnt rubber and something else, something familiar I can’t quite put my finger on in the air. I start the walk back up the hill to the motel, but just a few yards later, my steps falter. On an inhale, I slowly turn back to look at The Tech Shop. But even before I do, I know what I’ll see. I think I knew as soon as Dante’s eyes landed on the tinted window and stared in my direction. The dark window does not obscure the view at all. I can clearly see Matt, with his headphones around his neck, as he watches me, standing in exactly the same spot I left him in.
With a resigned sigh, I turn around and start walking again.
This means Dante Santoro was shooting daggers at me yet again. One thing is clear. He does not want me here. But his intimidation tactics are not going to work on me. I know exactly what it feels like not to be wanted, and I have never let it stop me before. What’s one more person added to the list?
He may run this town. Who cares? If he’s so good at running, he might as well run circles around me. Because I’m not leaving Blackwood until I get some answers.
3
ALESSA
It’s been a few days of looking for a job and not being able to find a single place willing to hire me. I’d feel offended, but at this point, I’m not surprised. All the businesses around here seem to be family run. Hiring an outsider is most likely not on their priority list. Especially with all the expensive shops I keep walking past and cars worth more than a small island. I can’t give up, though, because if things keep going the way they are, I’ll end up having to sleep on a park bench soon. A prospect I’m not keen on.
Having exhausted the search in the town centre, today I’m heading to the port. They’re bound to have bars or restaurants there that need help. One can only hope. And hope I do, because I’m desperate. Frankly, right now, I’d be willing to do almost anything for money. But before I even gothere,I need to exhaust all my other options.
The closer I get to the port, the stronger the smell of the ocean and fish in the air becomes. I can almost taste the salt in the breeze, as the damp wind assaults my hair and clothes despite the buildings that should shield me. Since I’m not going to an actual interview, I opted for smart casualattire today. Black jeans, a white blouse and an oversized black suit jacket I lifted from a Zara store when I was driving through Massachusetts on my way here. My suede platform boots with chunky heels add four inches to my five-foot–seven height, completing the look and making me feel like a boss bitch, ready to take on the world. I spent most of the afternoon on my second day here in the local library reading management books to make sure I could pull off the lies I’ve painted on my resume. Now, my brain is full of policies, goal setting and communication strategies. Well, the first goal I’m setting is for myself—find a job. Because stealing is not something I’m willing to do in Blackwood. Not if there’s a chance I could find my relatives living here.
