Page 7 of The Hitman
Except I’m not. Not a single bit. In fact, I want her to keep rambling so I can hold on to this buzzing inside my chest a little longer.
There’s a glimmer in her eyes as she half-heartedly shrugs. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I might think differently of you if you accepted without hesitation. You’re using discernment, and not only do I appreciate that, but I welcome it.”
Her head tips as if she’s not quite sure what to make of me, but it’s true. I don’t want naivety when I need the person caring for Leo to think things through before they act.
“Well, fortunately for you, I have a healthy dose of suspicion for most things.Andless than a hundred dollars sitting in my bank account, so you’ve got yourself a deal.”
Her nose crinkles again, and fuck me. This is going to be a problem, isn’t it?
“I assume your husband won’t have an issue with this.” I know she’s not married, but part of me—the part not grasping that this can’t go beyond a boss-employee relationship—asks, anyway.
“No, no issue.” She glances down to adjust her skirt. “I don’t have one of those. A husband, that is.”
Those big eyes flick up when I stand, and I barely suppress a groan. Callie’s got that sinful, girl-next-door thing about her, and if I were a weaker man, I’d offer her much more than a glorified babysitting position.
“I don’t have any friends, either,” she adds, shifting uncomfortably. “They ditched me after ruining my career with petty rumors.”
The hurt on her face moves me. I know what it’s like to be isolated from everyone you love. To not have someone to lean on when the world feels like it’s falling around you.
I place my hand on her shoulder and offer her a comforting squeeze. I’m not sure if it’s the right thing to do, but it seems to relax her, and at least she’s smiling again.
Once she’s done scribbling her signature, I guide her away from my office to the wing closest to Leo’s room, and farthest from mine.
I fill her in on his daily schedule while we tour the study that I’ve filled with an array of books for them, the smaller kitchen meant for her convenience and comfort, and finally, the gym.
“I put together a curriculum based on what he was already learning at school. You’ll help him with the basics, of course. Math, reading, science, and a touch of history. If possible, I’d like him to get thirty minutes of physical activity in the gym each day. After that, you’ll work with him on art, music, and Spanish.”
I pause when she curls her lips under her teeth.
“What?”
“Sounds like he’s a busy kid,” she muses. “Did Leo choose all these activities, or was he volun-told?”
“I’m trying to give him what the professionals callenrichment.”
We reach her room, and she walks right in, unknowingly pulling me along. “Well, I don’t know which professionals you’re referring to, but it kind of sounds like he’s a prisoner.”
Already making herself at home, she kicks off her heels and plops down on the end of her bed. The mattress bounces softly, and I place my hands in my pockets, secretly inhaling her perfume.
“It’s not my intention to make him a prisoner here, but Leo’s been quiet ever since my sister was admitted to the hospital. He hardly speaks to me, breaks as many rules as he can, and to bequite honest, I get the sense he’s seeking attention. Hence, the structure.”
“Of course he is.” Callie crosses her feet, wiggling them absently while she sits back on her hands. “He’s only eight. He doesn’t want structure and rules.”
“What do you think he wants, then?”
“To eat junk food, play football, and annoy his uncle, I imagine.”
“Interesting…” I mutter, mulling this over.
I’m not even sure Leo likes football.
I was around more when he was a toddler. He thought I hung the moon then, but working for the Syndicate didn’t just make it hard to be around, it made it dangerous.
I’m struck by the realization that I don’t even know what my nephew likes. What makes him laugh? What he’s into…
God, how sad is that?
