Is he trying to get me to screw up?
As I step inside the purely masculine domain, I finally detect a hint of cigar smoke, mixed with the scent of leather and a tang of lemon that reminds me of furniture polish. A heavy wooden desk stretches nearly six feet across and is fronted by two green leather club chairs.
Cannon skirts around me to stand in front of the high-backed seat behind it. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves fill the space behind him, filled with enough tomes to make it look like the office of a lawyer, not a cigar-lounge manager.
“Sit.”
I smooth my skirt and lower myself onto the supple leather. As soon as I’m seated, he follows suit.
A gentleman? One would think that’s the obvious conclusion, given his position, but I know better. I know what Cannon Freeman’s true heritage is, and a son of Dominic Casso’s could never be anything more than a savage, regardless of how impeccable his manners are or how expensive his suit is.
“I have a copy of my résumé and references if you would like them,” I say, not waiting for him to break the silence hanging between us.
He settles himself into the chair and rests his elbows on the padded leather arms like a king atop his throne.
“Not necessary. I already reviewed what you submitted. You’re hired, subject to a probationary period for thirty days. Full benefits after ninety. You report to Tanya, my head server. She’ll show you the ropes, and if you can survive her, you’ll do fine. If you can’t, then my instincts were wrong. For once.” He steeples his fingers as he waits for me to reply.
I stare at him like he’s speaking in code and I need a key to decipher it. Nothing this important can be so simple and easy.
“You mean ... you’re hiring me? Just like that?”
“Based on your impeccable references, I knew I was hiring you before you walked in the door. You start tomorrow. Be here at ten a.m. Dress code is black and white. You’re responsible for black slacks or skirt. Tanya will get you shirts in the morning before your training starts.”
With that, he rises, and I get the sense that Cannon Freeman’s natural state is one of near constant movement. He seems to have more energy than ten men, and it practically vibrates off him like current from a live wire.
It’s as if the universe is trying to send me a warning.Be careful how you handle this man.I’ve never been great about heeding warnings, but in this case ... I know failure will be at my peril.
I stand and hold out my hand to my new boss. “Thank you for the opportunity, Cannon. I’m thrilled to start.”
My smile isn’t for him, though. It’s for me. If everything goes according to plan, Cannon Freeman, his father, and the whole Casso family organization will soon be in prison, exactly where they belong.
You’ve just let a fox into the henhouse, Mr. Freeman. Thanks for the invite.
4
Drew
Me: I got the job!
Randi: Yasss, girl! I knew you would! Come see me. We’re celebrating.
I stand justoutside the entrance of the building that houses the Upper Ten, debating how to respond to Randi’s message. When I don’t reply immediately, my phone vibrates with a text consisting of a row of emojis—two pairs of raised hands offering a double high-five, six champagne glasses clinking together, and three eggplants, which are code fordick.
Knowing where Randi’s head is at, I’m second-guessing whether I want to meet her at Lambo’s. It’s a popular sports bar a block away from our apartment building, and the place I first met Downtown Randi Brown. She pulls a few shifts there a month, filling in as the owner needs her, and she’s impossibly friendly.
Normally when I’m prepping to assume a new identity, I avoid making friends who can’t directly help with my case. Somehow, Randi is the exception this time. She’s like the puppy following you home that’s so damn sweet and makes you laugh, you can’t possibly say no. Except instead of being a puppy, Randi is a five-foot-ten-inch Amazon of a woman who has more genuine self-confidence than any human I’ve ever met. Her invitation to come celebrate is just as genuine as she is.
More emojis pop into our text chat, and I swear it’s her way to sway me while she knows I’m vacillating. This isn’t the first time we’ve played this game. I should go back to the bare apartment I’ve been renting for almost eight months of grieving and researching, and pore over my notes to prepare for tomorrow, but energy buzzes through my veins. I need to burn some off before I’ll be able to focus.
My thumbs tap the screen before I can talk myself out of it, and not even mostly because she promised she’d tell me even more about the mysterious Cannon Freemanaftermy interview.
Me:On my way. But skip the eggplant.
Randi:Slow your roll, young padawan. Those are for me, not you. I got three on the line tonight. Can’t wait to reel them all in. Get your ass over here and play wingman.
On a crowded sidewalkin New York City with pedestrians streaming around me like I’m an island in a rushing river, I burst out laughing with great, big body-shaking chuckles. Of course all the dicks are for her. Why would I think otherwise?
“Nice laugh you got there, sweetheart. Does a man’s heart good to hear it.”