Page 27 of Fire
I have memorized the menu,but the price is a speck outrageous!
I mean it's just burgers and fries, and coffee and tea, and all the regular things I could make with my eyes closed.
I am fighting the urge to bolt out the door. There is no way I got the time wrong. The email readEeta'sBites. 10:00 am.
Right place. Right time.
What else is amiss? Maybe it was a prank. No, Paul would have figured that out in seconds if it were. Or maybe it was a prank set by Paul himself.
No need to be paranoid, Emily.
"Hello, sorry I am late," a voice comes from behind me before a man dressed in a navy suit comes to sit in front of me.
He is not what I expected, not the least bit like the fantasy I cooked up in my head after reading the abrupt and rigidly constructed words in my inbox.
The man is average in height, a light stubble on his cheeks, and a mustache. His blue eyes match the color of his suit.
He is handsome, but not dazzling.
Still, he is the type of man I don't imagine sending me such a message.
"My name is Ivan, and I am here on behalf of the Romano residence. Sorry I am late. I ran into a little problem at the err…" he finally looks up at me. "Office."
He narrows his eyes and takes in my appearance. I have every reason to be irritated. I keep a straight face and accept his apology. I have to focus on the task ahead; scaling through the interview and getting a job to rid me of the life of being a freeloader.
"You are Emily Smithson?" As he says this, he slides me a file. His gaze dips to my chest. My hands balls into fists on my lap.
I can't do this, not again.
I wore modest clothes just to make certain that nothing would serve as a distraction, no matter the gender, but it seems that I am wrong about the situation.
Men are just wolves.
I'm never going to meet a man like Mike. Ever.
"Yes," I say thinly.
He smiles and stretches out his hand, then he calls on the waiter. "What would you like to have, Miss Smithson?" he asks.
Fuck you.
"Nothing. I am fine with water."
"Sure?" He raises a brow.
"Sure," I respond.
I don't pay attention to his rambling as he goes on and on about his job as a lawyer for the Romano residence.
My thoughts are drawn to the document.
"Is this not an interview?" I cut into his rants.
His hands pause midway in his demonstration. He gawks at me like I am some form of anomaly. His blue eyes twinkle and then he titters, “Of course, it's not. You are hired. He just needs you to sign this and—"
"Who?" I am eager to understand my employer.
"Why? Mr. Romano" Hesays the name with a hint of disdain in his voice. "You don't want the job?"
