by TARA GALLINA
"It's nothing." I clear some old messages from my texts, surprised I don't have any new responses from my father or Marina.
"It's an auto body shop," Nathan fills her in and moves to stand by my side. "He needs someone to answer the phones and set up appointments. A scheduler."
Scheduler? If I were her, I'd think he's making this shit up.
"Do you manage the auto body shop or something?" she asks, and I feel her eyes blasting laser heat at me. Why does that make me want to laugh?
"He owns it," Nathan blurts and I kick his foot, reminding him it's my business—my personal business.
"What?" He spreads his arms. "You do. It's not a secret."
True, but it's not any of her business either.
"I wouldn't have pegged you for an auto body shop owner," she presses, either desperate for a job or desperate to give me a hard time.
I glance up from my phone and give her the attention she wants from me. "What makes you think that?" I ask.
"Your clothes and appearance. You're too clean."
Too clean. Really? I hold her gaze. "Maybe I get dirty later." The sexual innuendo in my tone is meant to make her uncomfortable. Let's see how Little Miss Challenge handles this.
That pouty bottom lip of hers drops a little with the shock I expect but she's quick to rein herself in. "So as your receptionist, I assume I could stay as clean as you do."
Is this girl for real?
"There you go." Nathan joins her side and puts his arm around her shoulders making her look even smaller than she is compared to his muscular build. "Just think, with a voice like hers the phones will be ringing all day."
"Yeah." She nods then frowns. "What about my voice?" she asks Nathan.
"You've got that sweet but raspy thing going on. A phone-sex voice," he explains.
Based on the red painting her face, I'd guess she's never been told this before. Mind blown again. Guys could get hard listening to her talk. Who are these dickwads she's been hanging around, or is she that clueless to her own appeal? Has to be the second.
"Don't you have someplace to be, like the science lab?" I remind Nathan, just to get him out of here. This game has gone on for too long.
He checks his watch. "Shit. You're right." He takes off and yells over his shoulder, "See you tonight, Ainsley. Get the address from Sebastian and my number."
She watches him jog off, her expression filled with wonder. "Is he always like that?"
"Like a happy face emoji on crack? Yeah," I respond, my mood clearly better for my tone to be so casual.
"You know how to be funny?" she asks with surprise, her candor feeling like another challenge, and an insult.
It shouldn't bother me. I straighten to my full height, towering over her with my presence, and face her directly. "Yes. Why?"
She shrugs. "You don't seem like the type."
"The type who knows how to have fun?"
"Yep." She holds my gaze and lifts her chin as if to prove she's not intimidated by me.
I don't know whether to laugh or applaud. Instead of turning her off with my dickish behavior, she seems encouraged by it. I've never been so mystified or impressed.
"Then you have the wrong impression of me," I tell her in truth—a first for me given she's someone I know nothing about.
"You haven't given me anything else."
So forward and courageous, yet so small and unsure. The contradictions make it impossible not to like her. Laughter escapes me, my mind thrown again and again by this unusual girl.
Wind stirs, and more thunder rumbles in the distance.
Long golden strands blow around Ainsley's face, giving her an otherworldly look. She gathers the wavy locks into one of her tiny hands and holds the hair in a makeshift ponytail.
A loose strand gets caught in her long eyelashes. Without thought, I pluck if free and tuck the piece behind her ear. My finger brushes the tip as I pull away and her breath catches in her throat.
Interesting reaction to such a simple act.
"Thanks," she murmurs, her tone timid and breathless. Her body softens and something similar to desire glints in her pale green eyes. Again, I'm thrown by her reaction. She can't be as innocent as she looks. She's an adult for Christ's sake.
Silence stretches between us and her fidgeting gives her nervousness away. The shifting of her weight and constant aversion of her gaze. Is she attracted to me? Certainly not. She must know better than to want someone like me. I might not be an open player like Nathan but I'm far from innocent.
Hell, I lost my virginity to a hooker my father bought for me on my fifteenth birthday. His desire to have his son excel in all areas knows no bounds. Plus, it's what his father did for him. My grandfather, Severino Gianni, Don of the Italian Mafia and great-grandson to the original Sicilian Don, passed his business down to my father when he graduated from college. While my grandfather still holds the title Cosa Nostra of the family, my father runs the business as his second in command. The same position I’m to take over for my father. That's why he's desperate for this marriage and my official initiation. Only after both occur, uniting our family with the Morellos—a fellow Italian mafia family—and creating a colossal dynasty will my grandfather pass the title of Cosa Nostra to my father.
Thunder claps drawing me from my reverie. Ainsley comes into focus, her presence oddly comforting. Maybe because she has no ties to my family or lifestyle. That and she's not a dramatic bitch like all the women in my life—my spoiled older sister included.
Leaves and moss from the surrounding old oak trees fly across the parking lot as the wind picks up force.
"It's getting crazy out," Ainsley says, her fingers still gripping her hair as a few strands escape.
"I should give you Nathan's number and the address before it rains." He'll never let me hear the end of it if I forget.
She lifts her other hand, the phone in her grasp, and fumbles to add a new contact.
I tuck my phone in my back pocket and take hers from her hands. "Here. Let me." I add Nathan's number and name and slide the phone in the front pocket of her bag. She'll need a free hand to open her car door.
"Did you put it under his name or a happy face emoji on crack?" she teases, her demeanor more relaxed than when I had touched her ear moments ago.
"Does an emoji like that exist?" I ask.
"Probably not."
I back up a step toward my car door.
"So, I guess I'll see you later tonight?" she asks with a hint of urgency in her voice.
Again, I'm caught between blowing her off—my usual MO—or acting nice so I don't offend her. Likewise, I can't figure out why I even care.
Going with option C, a mix of both, I say, "I'm not big on parties." I turn sideways and open the driver's door.
"But you live there. Isn't it hard to avoid them?"
Damn, she's cute when she's persistent. I smirk, curious to see how she'll react to a little flirting. "Guess you'll have to come to find out. You should come. Nathan will be on cloud nine."
"Isn't he already?" she says, surprising me with her wit.
Who am I kidding, everything about this girl stuns me. I chuckle, never having laughed so much in a short period of time, and get in my car, leaving the door wide open.
"Wait." She jumps forward suddenly. "Do you really own an auto body shop?"
"Yep." I hide my concern about her question by digging inside the center console of my car. She's still pursuing this?
"And you have a job available?" she asks.
Guess she is. "Uh-huh."
"But not for me?"
She sounds closer, like she's standing right beside me. Christ. What am I supposed to do about this? I can't hire her, no matter how desperate she is for a job.
"No. Not for you." I make my tone light, hoping to let her down easy.
"Why not? I have good work ethics and a nice voice, according to your friend."
I almost crack up. Finally, I turn my head her way and have to glance u
p at her from where I sit.
"You have a great voice." It's out before I can stop it. "But the shop isn't in a good part of town."
"Oh." Her shoulders curl in but her brows tighten with contemplation.
Stubborn female.
Her gaze finds mine again. "What about working remotely? I would think you could set up schedules from anywhere. All you need is a laptop and a cell phone."
How badly does she need a job? If she weren't so damn adorable with her persistence, I'd be more inclined to shut her down. That and the desperate gleam to her eyes has me considering her idea. I scratch my chin. Remote wouldn't put her near the business or my criminal lifestyle, not that I’m a criminal yet, only by blood. My business is my own, until my formal initiation when everything I own becomes the family's.
I doubt she's interested in long-term. She's a … sophomore? In college. Nannying is her thing, not answering phones. This will bore her. She needs something, might be reeling from the shock of her job loss still. Agreeing could give her the pick-up she needs right now. Not that it should matter to me either way.
"I don't see why that couldn't work," I finally say.
Those sea green eyes flash wide. Like before, she's quick to hide her shock, her features turning serious. "What's the pay?"
Pay? Again, my fingers find the light scruff on my chin. " I guess what I paid the last guy." How much did we pay Carlos's nephew? He worked out the details which is why I'm struggling to remember.
"Which was?" Ainsley asks as eager as ever.
"Sixteen an hour." I guess.
Her brows scrunch together. "You're sure that's the pay?"
"Is that low?" I pick at a string on the steering wheel to hide my nerves. What the fuck? I'm no amateur to deceptive behavior. I've mastered it, but this petite, utterly unintimidating female has me off my game.
"I made twenty an hour nannying so …"
"Would twenty-five an hour work?" I ask before I can stop myself.
"Are you offering me the job?" She lowers to sit on the doorsill of the car, engrossed in our conversation. The comfortable action seems like something she'd do with a close friend. I’m neither, yet here she sits staring up at me with wonderous eyes.
"Maybe I am." Is that surprise or disbelief in my voice?
"Then maybe I’m accepting."
So damn cute. "Are you getting in?" I nod at her body where she's perched on the door jam. Only she'd be tiny enough to fit there.
She glances down and then jumps to her feet. "Sorry."
I arch a brow. "You say that word a lot." More than anyone I know.
"Is that a bad thing?"
"My father thinks so." He despises the word almost as much as he despises jeans. Neither are allowed in my family.
"Is he a co-owner at the body shop?"
A dry laugh escapes me. "No. He can't wait to tear it apart." Why did I tell her that?
I need to get out of here and clear my head. She has me all twisted up and acting out of character. Both are dangerous mistakes. I start the engine and rev the gas a little to scare her away.
"Do you want my number?" she blurts.
Definitely not. I can't hire her. I shouldn't have even given her hope. Another mistake. Instead of crushing her spirits, which I suspect will happen if I tell her I wasn't serious, I say, "You can give it to me at the party."
She backs up a little. "I thought you didn't like parties."
Again, with the witty remark. "Good thing I live there." I smirk to hide the guilt building in my gut and close the door.
Without a glance in her direction, I drive away disturbed and disappointed with myself for sticking around as long as I did to talk to her, for considering offering her a job, and for putting myself at risk—not to mention her.
When I’m in public I keep to myself. I don't draw attention. I don't make new friends. I don't do anything I just did.
Socializing at a party in the house is different, protected. Socializing anywhere else could put me and the people I associate with on a radar. I've given my father no reason to suspect me of anything. I do what he wants—to a degree—and stay in line enough to prove my worth, but not to the extreme that will be required once I'm an official member.
When that happens, my life, my actions, my thoughts, my everything will belong to the family more than it does now. I'll have committed myself to the business, to Marina, to the Morellos, to the new dynasty, my father, and my grandfather.
I will be locked into a life I never wanted. Now and until then is the only bit of freedom I have left—and that freedom is on a short leash. I can't do anything to give my father a reason to move up the proceedings. I’m not ready. I don't know that three months will change that for me, only that by then my free time will have run out.
Chapter 5
I stand on the other side of the pool table from Nathan. His shot is crap. No matter how hard he tries he's only beaten me twice.
Riley, our other roommate, taps a spot a few inches from the corner pocket, not far from Nathan's ball. "Hit it here and try to bounce it off so it knocks your ball into the side pocket."
Nathan snorts. "I'm not Sebastian."
"Just trying to help." Riley laughs and tips back his long neck, beer bottle, taking a big swig.
Out of everyone in the world, there's no one I trust more than Nathan and Riley. If it weren't for Riley, I wouldn't even know Nathan. And if it weren't for my father's life of crime, I wouldn't know Riley. His father is almost as bad as mine, just in a different way. Dirty politics is his game. He embezzles money for his campaigns, and my father has bought his silence a few times.
Riley despises his father as badly as I do mine. Like me, his father expects him to graduate and follow in his footsteps.
Before moving to Florida, I had met Riley twice, encouraged by our fathers, and remained friends with him. He suggested Ryland college to me, since he was escaping to attend school here to get away from his dad. We moved in with Nathan our sophomore year after attending a few of his parties. Riley had met him before at conferences their fathers attended together.
Unlike us, Nathan's father has a legit security business that caters to the rich and famous. He doesn't ask questions and isn't interested in his clients' business, just their protection and monitoring. The top people at his firm are made up of ex-Seals, MIT graduates, private investigators, ex-detectives and federal agents for politicians and celebrities alike.
Nathan and his father know all about the dirty side of life and that they work for people on that side, but they keep their noses clean of any illegal business. It's one of the reasons Riley and I had an easy time trusting Nathan. That and the dude is the most loyal, protective person I've ever met. When we moved in, he had his dad amp up the security system in the house to our specific needs. The system was badass to begin with, given this is one of his parents' many homes. Real-estate is another way his family makes their fortune.
"Shoot the ball or forfeit already," I say when Nathan rounds the table for a fifth time still hoping to find the right angle to sink his shot.
Anyone else would have quit by now. Even with zero chance, Nathan won't give up. He can't. It's not in his nature.
He raises a hand. "Shh. Silence."
"That's golf, dude," Riley teases from where he sits on one of the stools at the bar.
"Shh," Nathan says with more force and lines up his shot. The one Riley had pointed out in the beginning.
"Told you," Riley blurts with a grin.
"Motherfucker. I need silence," Nathan blasts, his focus on the table and not us.
Riley and I crack up in silent laughter, doing our best to keep quiet. It's not like Nathan has a chance, but, God forbid, I say that to him.
He hits the ball, sending it rolling to the exact spot Riley had pointed out. It bounces off the side and heads directly for the solid one he's hoping to sink.
I hold my breath, shocked. Riley sobers too.
The three of us watch with fascinat
ion as the ball taps the blue six. It rolls for the side pocket.
Riley stands and murmurs, "Holy shit. I didn't think—"
"Shh." Nathan cuts him off, his eyes glued to the six ball. His fingers are clenched in a fist as he slowly raises his hand in the air in early triumph.
The ball stops at the edge of the pocket, so close to dropping in, but not close enough.
"It was a good try," I say, amazed that he almost pulled off the shot. "Won't save you from paying up though," I add and lay out my palm. It was his idea to throw in the extra hundred at the last second.
"Better luck next time." Riley pats him on the shoulder as he heads for the door to leave the game room. "I'm going to make the Jell-O shots for the party."
Nathan stands still, his jaw tight, his head shaking as he stares at the ball, like he's willing it to drop into the pocket. Finally, he says, "This table isn't aligned."
"I think the table is fine."
"The table might be fine, but the floor isn't level. Builders don't give a fuck about stability in a house, especially the room over the garage. I bet if I put one of the balls on that side of the room it will roll." He grabs the white ball from the table to prove his point.
His persistence reminds me of Ainsley. Why that little blonde is still on my mind is beyond me.
"Check it out." Nathan sets the ball by the wall on the right side of the game room. Dark wood floors stretch from one end of the large space to the other. A kitchenette with a mini fridge, sink and microwave oven line the wall near the bar and double doors that lead to the second-floor landing.
Opposite the pool table, a large sectional faces a movie-theater screen, cutting the room in half. I've never sat and watched a movie in here. Part of a movie maybe, but never the whole thing.
The ball doesn’t move.
Nathan raises his finger. "Give it a second."
Still, nothing happens.
"Maybe if you push it," I tease, earning a scowl from him. If you didn't know Nathan, that scowl would terrify the average person. The guy has more muscle than a pro-wrestler. He and his dad turned one of the guest rooms into a gym with weights and machines. It's impressive and useful since we all like to stay in shape.
