Page 31 of Mafia Kings & Wedding Rings
“No, I’m sure I can manage.” I took my fork and cut into my omelet. “Who am I meeting?”
“I don’t know. It came from an agency though. Just go, see what they’re talking about, and you never know, might be just what you need.”
Sighing, I shook my head and continued eating. Plum finished first and grabbed her lunch from the fridge after dropping her plate in the sink.
“I’m doing twelve hours tonight, so I won’t see you until much later. But, call me and let me know how everything goes, or you can even come by and let me know in person,” she suggested. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, chewing slowly.
She waved on her way out, and moments later, I listened as the front door slammed shut. After eating, I cleaned the kitchen and checked the time. It was almost three p.m. I had to shower, find something to wear, and fix my hair. Stopping in the foyer, I grabbed the two sheets of printed paper off the table beside her taser. Laughing as I remembered Sayer falling over, I tucked it back into the drawer and picked up the papers. Studying the address, I saw that it was about twenty minutes from our apartment in what everyone called the Hills, which was where all the wealthy in Oak Bluffs resided. It was nothing but gated communities and large mansions with iron gates around them.
I took a ten-minute shower after deciding on what to wear. Keeping the jewelry to a minimum, I only rocked my diamond studs Sayer bought me, a gold watch, and my Cartier bracelet he had also gifted me. I wasn’t giving shit back now that we were done. In my eyes, I had worked for every damn trinket. I ran my fingers through my wavy bob, wondering if I should have done more than the natural beat on myself. The pencil skirt and blouse were frame hugging, that was for damn sure, and I blamed the pack of cookies from last night.
Satisfied with my appearance, I gathered my purse and the information for the job and rushed out of the apartment. The cool spring afternoon showed traces of clouds in the bright sky. I didn’t have time to go back inside for my umbrella, so I just hoped I was good until after this damn interview.
“Damn,” I muttered, pulling through the iron gate after checking in with a guard in a small post. He had to be six foot five or something crazy like that, with the weight to match. The nigga had to duck out of the little post to address me. He wasn’t dressed like a guard but tailored in a black suit with a burgundy tie. Once I gave him my name and why I was here, he told me to go straight, then right at the fork in the road, and the house would be on the left with a black Hummer in the driveway. I followed his instructions until I came up on a stone driveway with a European-style house in the background. I’d passed a mansion a couple of miles back, but this was nice as hell too.
Wheeling my car along, I stopped under the carport just a couple of steps from the front door. There was a sunset balcony right above it, so I knew it was two stories. Further along the driveway curved ahead toward a three-car garage and continued back toward the road for you to leave. Nervously releasing a breath, I shut the car off. I don’t know why I was so damn rattled. I’d had job interviews before. This was just a new experience for me. I’d taught kids, counseled them, worked with them through disabilities and injuries, but this was something else. I got burnt out on education and dealing with the politics and the parents. A lot of them didn’t care enough about their own damn kids, which was giving teachers hell in the classroom with the little degenerates. Working with them in therapy sessions was a different type of challenge, but being someone’s nanny was damn sure not on my bingo card.
Examining myself one last time, I applied a coat of lip gloss and tucked it back into my black Prada tote. Also another gift from Sayer. The nigga was a generous trick if nothing else. Iclosed the car door and marched around the back of my car to the front porch. The voices on the other side were loud and intrusive. It was a good thing they didn’t have neighbors for miles. Unsure, I glanced left then right before raising my hand to knock. Immediately, I recognized the handsome stranger from the grocery store last night. Hanging by his ankle in his father’s grip was the little brown-skinned boy with the wild hair, and both of their faces shifted into surprise.
“Aye, you the lady that took my cookies!” Rogue pointed at me.
“Father God, why?” I groaned, shaking my head as he waved his jelly-coated hands at me. “Is this an interview or a welfare check?”
“Little bit of both,” his daddy answered, taking a step back.
He handled Rogue like he was a doll, slowly twirling him in the right direction and setting him on the ground.
“Rogue, you need to…” Before he could finish his sentence, Rogue raced along the hallway, smearing the wall with grape jelly along the way. “Wash your hands,” his father whispered, dropping his head in defeat.
It was adorably sad as his shoulders sank in the custom-tailored Brooks Brothers suit. I knew the brand well, and he wore it like he was trying to sell that shit. Swiping his hand over the top of his head, he sighed before facing me. In the background, I listened as arguing ensued and loud music vibrated the walls from upstairs.
“So, this is what it looks like when birth control fails.” I peered around at the messy hall with clothes and shoes scattered along the way.
“What’s your name?” he questioned.
“Cambrie Rhodes.”
“I’m Staten Marek,” he introduced himself.
An L-shaped staircase was to our right, covered with toys and more shoes. To the left was the family room. The table in there was littered with boxes of takeout, coloring books, and toys. The couch had blankets and more clothes draped over them. There was some serious neglect going on with the household chores.
“It’s been pretty chaotic since we got here. Been here about a week. I had help, but she went back home, so I’ve been dealing with them. I have to work, and… it’s just been crazy,” he explained. “I didn’t know there was an interview until this morning, and I just got here myself, so I haven’t had time to think, let alone clean.”
“So, you’re serious about needing help for the Children of the Corn?”
The sexiest laugh slipped through his lips. There was something very calming about his demeanor, almost like it was a shield or a mask. His dark eyes said more in one look than his lips did. He’d seen things, done things. The tattoos on his hands told a story too. Eyes drifting around, it was obvious this man needed some kind of order around here. Stress was evident in the vein throbbing on his forehead.
“At this point, I guess a nigga desperate for it.”
“I’m not about to be some Mary Poppins type up in here.” I crossed my arms and looked him over.
“You got references? How do I know you can even handle this?”
Stepping forward, I handed him my resume to look over while walking past him toward the den. I could tell the place was nice; it just needed a woman’s touch. These kids were going to have it looking like a trap house if they kept this up. He read over my profile before pausing in the doorway to the living room.
“Why did you stop teaching?”
