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You never really know how much you use a person’s facial expressions to get a read on them until you’re unable to do just that.
“Oh, hi,” I blurt out, voice unnaturally high. “Please, come in. Have a seat.”
Jude doesn’t move but continues to silently stare at me through the two eyeholes of his white mask. The sunshine streaming in through the window behind me lights up his intense blue eyes, making them almost glimmer beyond the mask holes.
“Are you even able to legally drink?” Jude grunts out in greeting.
Irritation chases away the awkwardness and slight apprehension I’m feeling. I’ve always been mocked for my youthful features. Never taken seriously.
Rather than throw a tantrum, huffing and puffing about how I’m actually twenty-seven, I force out a chuckle and gesture at the seat in front of me. “I am. Close the door and sit.”
He’s still for a moment and then miraculously obeys. The door clicks shut softly and then he prowls my way, sucking the air from the room and filling it with a masculine scent. I can’t pinpoint the actual smell, but it’s definitely men’s soap and something with a hint of cinnamon.
I’m suddenly craving hot, gooey, melt-in-your-mouth cinnamon rolls.
I try not to stare at him, but it’s hard. He’s huge, much larger than anyone else who showed up for their family dinner last night, and slightly terrifying. It’s not just the mask either. There’s a feral undertone that permeates the air around him. If I were into reading auras, I’d conclude his would be black.
Not that I even know what black means.
But his definitely gives me dark, twisted, scary vibes.
Slowly, he sits down on the chair, the wood creaking with his weight. Even wearing a black hoodie and black workout pants, it’s evident he’s not just incredibly fit, but he’s bulky with hard-earned muscles.
I must look like a wimp in comparison.
My gut sours again as I think about the gym I can no longer go to. It’s Sean’s gym—where I met him—and I’m sure as hell never going back.
“How are you feeling today?” I ask, smiling widely. “Having a good day so far?”
Jude snorts and leans back in his chair. His dark hair is tousled and damp like he showered right before coming over. Rather than letting myself get caught up in that visual, I forge on despite his unwillingness to answer.
“Nathan told me a little about you and your family.” I resist the urge to nervously fidget in the desk chair that now feels too big for me. “He said you were in a fire at age sixteen, where you lost your mother.”
Might as well rip off the Band-Aid.
He stiffens and his breathing grows heavier behind the mask. I can sense his fury in the way his hands tighten around the arms of the chair. Again, he says nothing.
“That had to have been horrible for you.”
“No shit,” he says finally. “Dad’s really paying you for this?”
“I’m beyond qualified to do this job,” I bite out, a tad defensive. “I’m here to help, not hurt, Jude. You can talk to me.”
“So you can take valuable information about my family and turn it against us?”
What?
This dude has major trust issues.
“Everything you say to me is confidential. Unless you tell me otherwise, I won’t repeat what we discuss to your father or anyone for that matter.”
Another snort. He shifts in his seat and then releases the arms of the chair. Lifting one hand, he opens his palm and turns it over to inspect it. I find myself fixated on the thick pink scars marring the flesh there. The back side of his hands is smooth and perfect, but the palms have been heavily damaged in the past.
“Do you have a lot of burns?” I ask softly. “Is that why you wear the mask?”
I try to imagine a younger version of Callum, face scarred over with burns. Despite what the fire did to him, he shouldn’t have to hide, especially from his own family.
“Your family loves you, you know,” I continue. “You don’t have to wear the mask because—”
