Page 15 of Mafia And Maid
Stella narrows her eyes at me, and the security guard quietly moves back intoplace.
I watch as he sets off at a stride, stunned that someone is finally offering me an interview. Then, I remind myself that it’s only an interview, and I still have to convince him to actually give me the job.
I stare at him. Even from the back, he’s built full of muscle and is intimidating as hell. My knees shake for a second.
“Well, don’t keep him waiting,” Stella snaps, her words making me jolt forward and take off after him.
His large body slides gracefully into a booth, sleek and powerful like a panther waiting to pounce. I swallow. This is for Ethan. That’s all that matters.
The plush dark of the seating blends in with his black attire. “Sit.”
I don’t belong here, and I know it. “Okay,” I mumble, mortified by how awkward and ungraceful I am as I squeeze into the booth.
“What’s your name?”
“Rosa Dev—” I stop myself. “Um, just Rosa.” I curl my hand tightly under the table, unable to keep the trembling at bay. My gaze lands on the immaculate table of the booth, a beautifully polished and lacquered oak wood that blends seamlessly in with the rest of the surroundings. Elegant and modern.
“Camillo Marchiano.” He extends his hand toward me, but I refuse to shake it. My hands are clammy and shaky, and I can’t let him notice this.
The sound of a tray dropping from somewhere nearby makes me jump and yelp.Get yourself together. “Sorry. You, er, said you were looking for a maid?”
He leans back into the booth, his massive arm spread across the back. I don’t stare for too long and quickly avert my gaze again. But my mind continues to roll over his name. Camillo Marchiano. It tickles the back of my mind, but I can’t seem to place it, especially not with the thundering of my pulse in my ears and the roiling of my stomach.
“I am. My brothers and I have found ourselves in a bit of a…jam.” He hisses the last word, aggression rolling off him in waves, making me push back against the booth.
I give the tiniest nod.
“How many years’ experience have you got? We’re only looking for someone with excellent skills and references.”
My heart plummets as he says this, knowing that I have exactly zero work experience in this or any other job. My eyes look at the table instead of his eyes as my mind scrambles to find a way to fix this situation that’s already falling apart at the seams. I need to have confidence, and I need to make eye contact and smile—neither of which my body wants to do right now.
“Well?”
“I don’t have any professional experience,” I whisper.
He clenches his jaw, and I can tell that he’s annoyed at me. He must think that I’ve got a cheek asking for this job and that I’m wasting his time. “We don’t just hand out jobs to anyone,” he clips.
“I understand.” I pray that I don’t have tears in my eyes even though I can feel the sting. I lift my chin and stare at his face—a face that’s rugged and rough in a way that makes my insides flutter.
But his posture and the way his mouth curls in the corners into an unimpressed scowl terrify me.
He’s the type of man that you hear stories about. The ones even Grayden and my father seem to tremble near and avoid. My chest tightens at the thought.Why would someone like him want to give me a chance?
My eyes dart around the place once more, and my foot bounces beneath the table. This has to work. Short of getting on my hands and knees for this man and begging, I’ll do anything I can. “But I’m a hard worker.” The words blurt from my mouth before I can stop them.
I take a breath, trying to make myself sound far less desperate than I am. For Ethan’s sake, I have to get this job. He can’t say no. I won’t let him. “I…I can clean and do laundry and know how to stock a pantry. I’m used to doing housework—I’ve had lots of practice. I can do whatever you need me to do as a maid.”
“Can you cook?”
“Um, perhaps. Yes, a bit, I think.”
His brow arches. “You don’t sound sure.”
I know I’m not a very good cook. Grayden’s told me this so many times over the last five years. I’ve tormented him with dry chicken, tough steaks, and overcooked pasta. But if I have to cook to get this job, then I’ll try my hardest to improve my cookery skills—I’m willing to do whatever it takes.
He drags his hand down his jaw and looks past me. “Hard work is great and all, but my brothers are demanding. It’s not a job for the faint of heart. They’reparticularin what they like.”
He’s looking everywhere but at me now. He’s avoiding eye contact. I’ve made him uncomfortable. Shit. Shit.Shit. How did I mess this up in such a short time?