Page 13 of My Mafia King

Beau must be waiting for me downstairs.

Unless he’s making the trip up as well.

The thought puts a spring in my step. I need to get out of here as quickly as possible, and then I remember that I have a job interview.

Or at leastI had one.

I’m already late and curse quietly as I can’t believe I blew it. But how will I work here if my ex knows where I am?

He couldn’t stand the idea of seeing me with other people, especially men.

He won’t be more agreeable to the idea now.

No way. He can’t be here. Or I can’t be here.

Panic soars through me.

How am I supposed to find a job then?

I make peace with the idea that my entire plan is now ruined as I walk down the hallway, sunk in thought, cussing him and my bad luck.

Fuck him.

Fuck. Him.

Before long, footfalls echo outside the walls, and for a second there, I can’t tell what’s happening.

Several doors line the walls.

Most of them look like hotel rooms, although there is a sign on one of them.

That must be the door to the stairwell, and the person climbing the stairs two steps at a time can only be him.

Beau Anthony.

The door opens, and his burly silhouette fills my view.

His eyes fall to my dress first.

He’s never seen me dressed like this. And if there’s anything about him, he’s always taken issue with how I dress.

Especially if it’s something that sets off my body, like this dress with a revealing neckline and built–in cups for my medium–sized breasts.

They jiggle as I pull to a sudden halt and clasp my hips, something I’ve never tried with a man but I’ve seen other women doing.

Women dressed like this.

“What are you doing here?” I throw at him, my small purse dangling from my wrist.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he says, unimpressed with my acting performance.

Nothing goes unnoticed by him.

A scar splits his brow, which is creased into a frown now.

His eyebrows are pinched together.

“What are you doing here?” he asks again, and his voice is firm and low, sounding louder than it actually is.

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