Page 70 of My Mafia King

“You’re not sure?”

“How long is it?”

“It hits below the knee,” he says, picking up a black pencil skirt with a short metallic zipper and a kick pleat at the back.

He picks up a skirt hanger and shows it to me before holding it against my body.

“It fits me. I’m smaller under this robe,” I murmur.

“I thought so,” he says. “I’ll leave them both. You’ll probably wear them anyway. These are your uniforms.”

‘Uniforms for what?’I wonder, but I don’t ask anything.

“You’ll get more clothes if you get hired,” he says, picking up two crisp cotton shirts, both white with a nice embroidered logo on the chest, and a pair of fancy tailored pants with a belt.

He puts them in my arms.

“Shoes?”

“I have shoes. Well…”

I check the fine quality of my clothes.

My heels may have paired well with that dress because I had a different kind of interview in mind, but my shoes look cheap now, like my dress, and don’t quite work with the clothes he’s handed me.

“What’s wrong with your shoes?” he asks.

“They don’t match these,” I say, pointing to my clothes.

“Here,” he says, bending at the waist and checking the shoe boxes. “What are you? An eight? Seven?”

He pushes upright, holding a shoe box in each hand.

“Seven and a half.”

“Okay.”

He picks up a different box and hands it to me.

“This is what you need. And, um… Good luck with your job interview,” he says.

We struggle to connect hands.

He moves around the rack while I drape my outfits over my arm.

We manage to shake hands, and he gives me a friendly smile.

I thank him and return to my room.

‘My room.’

The sound of it makes me smile. I wish I could spend another night in this room.

And that bed? Mmm. That was the best I had.

And the man? No comment.

I can’t talk about that man. He’s powerful, handsome, and brutal when he needs to.

---