Page 20 of Tommy
I ready myself for the next sob story, and when the door opens, I don’t look up. Then comes the ping on my phone to give me the initial background check Dante found on them along with what Danny’s tech team got me.
Name: Payton Coffman
AKA: Crown Jewel
I look up immediately, skipping everything else as I watch her hesitantly move around Dante, who’s holding the door open, and gingerly take a seat.
“All set, boss? Need anything?” he asks.
“Couple of waters and a caffè corretto.” I don’t look at him. I know he heard me. My focus, once again, is on the girl from last night. She’s dried off a bit, but not completely. “And a towel,” I add before he shuts the door.
She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, and just like last night, I wonder what it would feel like against mine.
“Ms. Jewel,” I start after taking my fill of her once more.
“Payton,” she corrects quickly, and I nod, glad to be done with the silly nickname. I’m also silently pleased that sheoffered me her name without knowing I was already aware of it.
“Tell me aboutyourself.”
Chapter 8—Payton
Warm green eyes meet mine, dark on the rim but fading to light. Striking. Something I missed last night as he sat in the shadows, but I can’t look away from now.
It takes an embarrassingly long time to realize he asked me a question. He’s trying to read me, assess me. I’ve had it done too many times to count. I never know what people see when they look at me like that, but so far, no one has questioned me on what they found. Something tells me I’m not about to be so lucky.
I bite my bottom lip and let it roll forward as I shove my hands underneath my legs. I have a horrible habit of fidgeting, something my dance instructors tried to train out of me. I learned when to be still for them, and if there ever was a time to appear like the obedient student, it’s now. Because whether I like it or not, Tommy is my new boss. A man who can fire me, cut off my only income, and might even kill me himself based on his earlier words to Joel. He obviously doesn’t share my fear of guns.
I glance at the side of his chest to see if I can see something that might look like a gun. But his posture is damn near perfect, and everything looks like straight lines.
The door opens before I open my mouth, making me jump just enough to be noticed. The items he asked for are dropped off on the desk between us before the man who brought them leaves.
He picks up the coffee cup from the saucer, sipping on it as he points with his chin to the towel.
I take it gratefully, giving him a small smile of thanks as I pat at my clothes before doing the same with my hair. Most of it has dried, but I’m not able to turn down a gift from him. Even something as simple as this.
“Thank you.”
He leans back as if this is just a random day of the week, nothing more. Acting as if the only thing that would bother him is if he found gum on his shoe. Something I’m pretty positive he’s never had to deal with. He’s probably lived in some uber-fancy house all his life where spitting gum out the car window as you drive by means a night in prison.
“It’s all there.” I tip my chin at the phone I saw him place on his desk when I came in, assuming he already has the notes or whatever his guy found on me.
“What is?” He gives me a tilt of the head, but other than that, I can’t tell if he’s curious or just playing some game.
“What your guy Dante got.”
“Got?” His eyes are uncommonly wide.
I point to the door with my free hand, the other holding the towel to my lap, as if that depicts the entire club outside. “Wasn’t he collecting information for more specific questions? Running a check on me to get my entire life story?” Wouldn’t restating it all be counterproductive? Or is he just trying to figure out if I’m going to freak out on him?
When he doesn’t say anything, just waits on me, I fidget till I finally fill the awkward silence. Well, awkward for me. He doesn’t look at all put out.
“Um, do you have questions, or do you just want me to tell you my qualifications?” Last time I had to interview for this job, I had a résumé in hand and a dance prepared. That was it. No one actually spoke to me. I was the only one applying a few weeks back. Now I feel as if I’m competing against the current employees and whoever else he has on the ready to fill in, like he threatened earlier.
“Let’s begin with the usual. What brought you here?”
“I needed the money,” I say harshly as I look down, picking at the fibers on the towel. I’m uncomfortable talking about my issues and why I need to be here.
“I’m sure a woman of your background could have found work elsewhere. Perhaps the New York Ballet or José Mateo Ballet Theatre.”
