Page 3 of Captive Vow (Mafia Marriages 2)

He doesn’t grasp I’m uncomfortable, or maybe he’s just one of those super friendly and outgoing guys who doesn’t realize that other people aren’t great at making conversation.

He’s lucky.

I’m not.

“Are you visiting family?” Jaxson asks.

My lips tighten for a brief second. “No. I decided to move back here for a job.” I glance at my watch. “I have an interview to get to.”

I stand and take the remnants of my coffee with me, dropping it into the trash.

“Good luck.”

“Thank you. It was nice seeing you again, Jaxson,” I say over my shoulder.

* * *

The café shop was bright, sunny, and felt friendly, probably because I ran into Jaxson.

I pull up outside of the address for my interview. It’s a dive bar.

“Seriously?”

What kind of businessman interviews for a nanny at a bar? I need the job, and being pretentious isn’t going to help me land the gig.

I’m only about five minutes early. I turn my phone on silent, grab my resume from the front seat and step out of my sedan.

I slam the car door and head inside wearing an A-line skirt, blouse, a short-sleeved sweater, and high heels.

Dress for the job you want.

What does a nanny wear exactly?

I’m no Mary Poppins. And let’s face it, I need the job more than she ever did.

If I don’t get the job, I’ll be sleeping in my car indefinitely.

Every cent was spent on hospital bills, the funeral, and taking care of my mother before her passing.

The door is heavy and squeaks on its hinges as I yank it open.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimness, and I glance around, looking for a gentleman in a business suit.

There aren’t too many people in the bar. Two men are playing pool in leather jackets. They probably belong in a motorcycle club.

The bartender nods toward the back of the bar.

There’s a booth in the corner. The table has a placard markedreserved.

I saunter up to the gentleman seated in the booth. The hairs on my arms stand on end. Something feels not quite right, but I push all my fears and anxiety aside.

It’s probably me being nervous.

“Hi, I’m Paige Stone,” I say and hold out my hand to introduce myself.

“Moreno Ricci,” he introduces. “Please, have a seat.”

The booth is curved, and I do my best to sit as far from him as possible. This isn’t a date. I don’t want it to feel cozy.

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