21. She makes me work for it
CORRADO
21
Two days after dinner, I was certain Michela would come crawling back and begging me for scraps of the ten mil I offered her.
Not even close. It’s been two weeks since Michela and I separated. And here’s the crazy part: the very next Monday, after the weekend we went out, she went looking for jobs without a car and with eight dollars of cash in her pocket that she spent on transport in the city.
Two damn weeks I’ve had people report on her whereabouts. Once her friend Jesse heard I’d secured a four-man security team for her (the four guys who faced the wall), he started asking questions. Since he and his motorcycle club are currently considered cardinals, meaning potential recruits for Order memberships, they aren’t privy to information about me.
In fact, nobody is entitled to information about my personal life, which is why Henry Evans, a man who negotiates for information for a living, could hardly wait to tell me about my wife applying for a job at his firm.
“What did she say?” I ask as soon as Evans picks up the phone.
“She said a lot,” Evans says. “Most of which I found interesting.”
“You talked for a while, then?”
“Mmhm.”
“About what?”
“Various topics.” Evans pauses and clears his throat. “One thing from her application stood out. Her last name.”
Michela is determined to live her miserable existence even when I’m offering her an easy way to make millions. Millions! “I told you we’re still finalizing our marriage papers.”
The principles she lives by make her unforgettable to me. When I proclaimed her my wife, never in ten million years did I think she would refuse my offer or make my life more difficult. The idea was to make my life simpler, better, easier. Instead, it’s anything but.
“She talked about herself a little bit,” Evans says. “Said she’s living with her mom. Funny enough, she never mentioned you.”
“I’m not part of landing a job. Tell me, did you interrogate her?”
Evans is CIA. The business is a cover.
“Didn’t have to. You’d be amazed at the things people say when you offer them a cup of coffee and a genuine conversation.”
I step out of the car parked in front of his building, where I’ve spent the past half hour waiting for Michela to finish her interview so I can offer her a better position: a position as my wife.
“You had coffee with my wife?”
“We did. She is qualified for the position. I’d like her to work for me.”
“My wife will not work for you, Evans.”
“She wants to.”
“I’m coming upstairs.” Evans and I met during military training in places God has forgotten. We became friends, and eventually, I brought him into the Order as one of the Rattles. The Rattle is the tip of the snake’s tail, and in the Order, it means he’s the man inside the government who sounds the alarms when the Order is threatened. He’s the Rattle that shakes the Body and tells the Head it needs to assess potential dangers.
I know what he did with Michela.
He screened her for malicious intent toward me and the Order. That’s not all. Evans is a good-looking man who speaks with a British accent that most American women would find attractive.
Evans growls, “What the fuck are you doing parading a bird around as your wife? You think I can’t tell a scam from the real thing?”
“Careful.”
“This bird doesn’t sound like a cardinal to me.” He means she’s not Order material.
“She doesn’t have to be a cardinal. Most married members live out their whole married lives without their partners ever knowing about the Order.”
“If that’s the case, then it’s all the more reason to let her work for me. I’ll keep her on my watch when she’s not at home with you.”
“You can’t hire her.”
“I can.”
“Evans,” I bark the way I did when we served in the military together.
Once on his floor, I exit the elevator and nearly run into him. We slide our phones into our pockets. I haven’t seen Evans in years. He looks good enough to strangle.
“Where is she?” I ask.
He jerks his head. “Bathroom.”
“Tell me you didn't offer her a job.”
“I offered Mrs. Mancini a job.”
I grit my teeth.
Evans picks up the silver pen from his pocket and closes his fist around it. “In case I have to stab you in the eye for trying to kill me.”
I look behind him. People are glancing up from their papers. Conversations are slowly winding down. “Too many witnesses.”
“My staff will enjoy your marital dispute once your wife finds out you’re the reason she can’t work,” he says, then leaves to sit on top of the table facing the elevator.
Right on cue, Michela walks out of the bathroom and stops dead in her tracks when she sees me. Not for long, though. She marches up to me and stabs me in the chest with a finger.
“I had three interviews this week. How many of them did you sabotage?”
“Only this one.”
“The one I really want.”
“My wife can’t work here.”
“But—”
“Michela,” I warn. She pinches her lips, then presses the button to call the elevator. It’s on the bottom floor, but Michela keeps tapping on the button as if that will make the elevator climb faster. Frustrated, she huffs and looks up at the blinking floor lights above the door.
We stand a foot apart and wait.
“Does it mean I’ll never work in this city again?” she asks.
“You won’t have to,” I tell her.
“I must leave the city, then.”
“You will still be my wife.”
We enter the empty elevator. When the doors close, neither of us presses the button for the bottom floor.
“Come on, Michela,” I tell her. “Let’s make a deal. What will it take?”
“I want this job.”
“Not with Evans.”
“Why not him?”
“He’s a bad man.”
“He seemed nice.”
The elevator stops midway down, and when I glare at a group of men who seem to be thinking about entering, they remain on their floor. As the doors shut and we continue the descent, my finger brushes across the red Stop button.
Michela’s gaze is on the elevator control panel. I bet she’s wondering what I’ll do.
“Do you like him?” flies out of my mouth before I can filter it. A mistake to ask as it shows my cards, but I can’t take it back. This bird makes me act irrationally.
“What if I do?” She juts her chin. “He has a job, wears a nice suit, and made me a cup of coffee to break the tension of the job interview.”
“Tell me one thing. Which turns you on more? The nice guy in a suit making you coffee, or the one who hits the Stop button and pins you against the wall?”
Michela’s face flushes bright red.
She’s thought about it.
Just before we reach the ground floor, I hit the button. In two steps, I’m on her. Wrapping both hands around her throat, I force her chin up with my thumbs. Her face heats even more.
“If I stuck my hand up your skirt, I would find you wet. Am I right?” I kiss the tip of her cute nose. “What’s the matter, hm? A minute ago, you were defiantly telling me about another man. Since you seem to have lost your voice now, and the people downstairs need a ride in this space we’re occupying, you will reach between your legs and touch yourself.”
Michela’s eyes search my face, and I squeeze her throat a little tighter.
“Oh God,” escapes her lips, and inwardly, I smile like the Joker from the comics.
“Go on, petit oiseau. Touch yourself.” I fist her skirt and lift it up and over her thighs, then step closer, though not too close. As her hand makes its way between her legs, her wrist brushes against my hard cock.
A tiny gasp parts her lips, and she fumbles with her tight skirt and panties. People outside are shouting. Security is coming. They’ve got cameras in here.
The moment she touches herself, she moans. If I don’t stop her, I might shove myself inside her. I bet Michela’s tight and warm, and I bet she’d let me fuck her into the wall.
“That’s enough.” I step back and rake my gaze down her body in its disheveled state. At her long legs and the hand between them. I snatch up her wrist and bring her fingers to my nose for a sniff. “You smell nice. Perhaps I’ll have a taste sometime.” I fix her dress. “Next time you mouth off to me, the thing that shuts you up will be my cock blocking your airway.”
The elevator descends the rest of the way. The doors open to reveal an annoyed Evans standing right outside.
Michela tries to slip past him, but I’m still holding her wrist. She tugs, and I tug back so she’ll stand with me.
“Careful, my friend,” Evans says, glancing at my fingers wrapped around her wrist. “Your inner caveman is showing.”
“My wife likes it.”
“She’d also like the job here,” Michela adds, speaking about herself in third person. “I’m sure you two can work something out.”
Evans manufactures dimples when he smiles.
My wife bats her eyelashes at him.
Is she doing it on purpose? I think she might enjoy riling me up. I release her wrist. “Go get in the car, angel. I need a word with my friend.”
Michela walks away, and I lean in to whisper into Evans’s ear. “Your cute dimples will look like sunken cheeks when I knock all your fucking teeth out for flirting with my wife right in front of me.”
I walk outside, where the sun heats the asphalt, and thick humidity makes it hard to breathe. Michela slips into my car. Honestly, I expected her to walk back toward the metro. I’m sure the staff on her detail would be annoyed they’d have to follow her there instead of taking the weekend off now that I have her.
I fold into the back seat of the car.
Instantly, Michela pounces. “I see what you’re doing. You are cornering me, so I have no choice but to accept your proposition.”
“We always have choices.”
“And you chose me.”
“I have.”
“To be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“Mmhm.”
She chews her lip. “Marriage is a big deal.”
“A ten-million-dollar deal.”
Her gaze finds the window, and I can tell she’s uncomfortable and that some of the principles she lives by are slowly disintegrating. “Evans said you were downstairs. He knew everything before I came. I feel duped.”
I don’t answer. Unlike me, Michela is the type who works out her issues by talking them over with someone. I lean back.
“Evans reports to you, then?” she asks.
“I buy information from him.”
“Do you buy everything?” She searches my face for an answer.
“Yes,” I say, nodding. “Pretty much.”
“Okay, Corrado. I’ll come to the apartment with you so we can negotiate our marriage arrangement.”
Relieved, I rest my head back and sigh. “Fuck, baby, you made me work.”