Oscar sighs. “Speak of the devil, or devils, I should say.”
Two people round the corner. The first is a pretty young woman dressed in ripped jeans and a leather jacket, her dark hair pulled up in a high ponytail. The other is a strikingly handsome man inhis early twenties, his mouth moving while his eyes are locked onto his phone. Both look effortlessly cool in a way I’ve never managed.
They stop when they see me.
The woman—Lara, evidently—looks me up and down, one eyebrow arched in curiosity. “She’s new.”
“Miss Teodora,” Oscar introduces me.
“I go by Thea,” I say.
They say nothing, both of them regarding me with a skeptical expression, like they’re not sure what to make of me.
“Thea,” Oscar continues, “this is Miss Lara and Mr. Damian Moretti.”
“Just Lara,” the woman says. She shoots out her hand; her fingers are pointed stiffly, like she just extended a knife in my direction. I take it. Her grip is firm, her nails painted matte black. “Oscar’s the only one who does the whole ‘Miss so-and-so’ thing. It’s weird.”
“Someone has to maintain propriety around here,” Oscar says with a faint smile.
I shake her hand, acutely aware of how ridiculous I must look in my uniform, especially compared to them.
“Nice to meet you.”
Damian glances up from his phone, dark eyes hidden behind a lock of brown hair. Then his gaze narrows as it tracks up and down my body. It’s a slow, appreciative scan that makes heat crawl up my neck.
“Damn,” he says, “Gabe’s got good taste.”
Lara elbows him. “Don’t be gross.”
“What? I’m just saying?—”
“You’re objectifying the staff again. Not only is that gross on its own, but the power dynamic makes it even worse.”
“You call it objectifying, I call it appreciating.” He flashes me a grin that lets me know he’s not ashamed at all for his ogling. “No offense, bella. Italians appreciate curves, you know. It’s cultural.”
“Ignore him,” Lara says with a roll of her eyes. “This one’s such a pig that you’d think he was raised in a sty and not…this.” She gestures around her. “Anyway, Thea, how did you end up here? Is Oscar finally putting up job ads?”
There’s a beat of silence. I have zero idea whether or not these two know about the auction.
Oscar clears his throat. “Miss Thea is a recent addition to the household. We found her via word of mouth.”
Lara’s eyes narrow. “Uh-huh,” she says, something clicking into place. Her expression shifts. “Oh, wait—you’re the one from the auction!”
My stomach drops.
“Auction?” Damian looks up from his phone. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The one Sasha Volkov’s been bitching about on Telegram,” she says, as if it’s nothing. She slips her phone out of her back pocket. “Kolya’s guy. He was supposed to buy some girl for the boss, but someone else swooped in and outbid him. It caused awhole big thing.” She shows her screen to Damian. “See? Sasha’s still pissed.”
Damian cranes his neck, checking out the screen and letting out a low whistle.
“Damn, a mil? Shit, cuz is serious.”
I want to disappear into the floor.
“That’s—” I start, but my voice cracks. “That’s not?—”
“Relax,” Lara says, pocketing her phone. “This is, uh?—”