Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Unibrow stops at a thick door at the end of the hallway and knocks.
“Come in,” someone calls.
We step inside, where I come face-to-face with Frankie’s dad. And he’s nothing like I expected. He’s trim and muscular beneath an expensive-looking suit. He’s not wearing a tie, and the lapels of his button-down hang open to reveal a solid chest. There’s no excess of hair or anything else that might be off-putting. His jaw is clean-shaven and the dark, curly locks atop his head are not too short, but not too long. He clearly takes care of himself in more ways than one. I’m astonished by how good-looking he is, and I can’t help but stare.
I catch a little bit of reciprocation from him. His eyes widen just slightly, and suddenly I’m more aware of the fact I’m wearing an old pair of jeans and scuffed tennis shoes. In this type of situation, I would be more at home in an evening gown. I’m not sure why I want to impress this man so much, but I’m embarrassed to find myself so underdressed.
“Marlena, right?” the masculine vision asks me, holding out his hand.
I surge forward to grasp it, eager to find out if he feels just as solid as he looks. Bingo. His hand is warm and soft, with just enough callus to tell me he hasn’t always worked behind a desk. I picture him just a little bit younger, hanging out on a construction site. He’s wearing a yellow hard hat and nothing else.
I blush, pulling my hand back. What in the world has come over me? I shouldn’t be having these kinds of thoughts about a man two decades older than me. But damn, I bet those two decades were packed with all kinds of exploits that would curl my toes if I let them. I scold myself internally. Down, girl. This is your pupil’s father, not a billionaire of the month pin-up.
“I’m Francisco,” he says. “I understand you’ve been tutoring my son.”
“Yes,” I manage. Oh boy. This is awkward. I thought Frankie was cute, but his father is on another level entirely. Suddenly, I’m not worried about walking out of this room alive. I’m worried about maintaining my dignity.
“So, how did it go?” he asks, offering me a seat.
I glance over at Unibrow, who is making no move to leave the room. It looks like I’m not going to get a chance to jump over the desk and pull Francisco into my arms. Just as well. I would only embarrass myself if we were left alone.
I sit down, remembering to smile. “It’s going well. He’s a little bit distracted.”
Francisco snorts, telling me that this is something he’s noticed in his son before. I try to be turned off by the noise, but I can’t quite manage it. He’s just so stunning that I roll with the conversation.
“Tell me about yourself,” Francisco demands, sitting opposite me.
I have to struggle to remember my story. There’s so much I don’t want to say. I don’t want to give away my real last name or my father’s mafia connections. I don’t want to explain how I went underground and developed a whole new life for myself after my father was killed.
Instead, I talk about school. “I took the LSATs, but I decided not to go into law.”
“Why not?” he asks.
“Well, I’d really like to be a teacher,” I reply.
“Sounds like you’re perfect for the job,” he says, studying me carefully.
Our eyes meet and hold. He’s stern, but I can see that there’s something soft beneath all the bluster. I try not to broadcast my interest, but he must be aware of how hard I’m struggling to breathe.
“To be honest, I had a bad job interview,” I share, wondering why I’m painting myself in such a bad light. “That’s how Frankie and I met. I was running away from this horrible man who only wanted to hire me so he could look up my skirt.”
“Anyone I know?” Francisco asks casually.
“I don’t know,” I answer. “I don’t know who you know.”
“So, did Frankie take care of this man?” Francisco wonders.
I laugh. This guy is definitely mob-connected, but I’m not sure I care anymore. “No, he didn’t. I met your son on the street afterward. But he offered me a way to make ends meet until I can find a real position.”
“So you’re looking for other employment?” Francisco digs for more dirt.
“Yes,” I answer quickly, then at the look on his face, I contradict myself. “No. I mean. Um, I’m just trying to pay my rent.”
“Well,” Francisco says, still holding my gaze. “I appreciate what you’re doing for my son. He’s got his heart set on becoming a lawyer, and he needs all the help he can get.”
“He’s a good kid,” I respond, acutely aware that Frankie isn’t that much younger than me.