Chapter 3 #2
With all the enthusiasm of someone walking toward their execution, I limped forward another few steps before stopping again.
His smile only grew.
Without opening his eyes, he lifted two fingers and crooked them toward himself. “Closer.”
Seriously?
Was this an interview, or was he summoning a stray cat?
I stayed exactly where I was.
“I think this is close enough.”
A low chuckle rumbled through the room. “No,” he said. “It isn’t.”
My grip tightened around the strap of my bag.
Every survival instinct I possessed was screaming at me to keep the distance. Unfortunately... ten thousand dollars was louder.
Against my wishes, I was just following whatever he was saying.
When I was only two steps away, I lowered myself into the chair beside him.
“I figured you probably don’t want me any closer than this, sir.”
His eyes opened. The world narrowed. For someone who was supposed to be blind, his gaze made me conscious.
Before I could make sense of it, he leaned forward. The glowing end of his cigarette drifted beneath my chin—not touching, just enough to tilt my face up.
“Wha—”
The light caught his features, stealing the rest of the word.
God.
He was... unfairly handsome.
Sharp cheekbones. A crooked nose that looked like it had been broken at least once. Dark stubble shadowing a hard jaw. And eyes so pale they didn’t look real.
Definitely not a child.
“How old are you?”
“T-Twenty-two, sir.”
I instinctively leaned back.
His free hand caught my jaw before I got very far.
The touch startled me more than it should have. His fingertips were smooth, but his palm was rough with old calluses, like he’d spent years holding things much heavier than cigars. His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth; every muscle in my body locked.
So much for being blind.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
Maybe if I couldn’t see him, he’d become significantly less terrifying.
“...What’s your name?” he asked, carrying the faint scent of tobacco with every word.
I swallowed. “Seraphina.”
His thumb paused as he dropped his hand.
“Judas Romanovski.”
He took another drag from his cigarette as if introducing himself wasn’t enough to make me question every life decision that had brought me here.
I cleared my throat.
“I’m sorry, but... am I supposed to be taking care of you?”
One dark eyebrow lifted. “Do you see another disabled man in the room, Ms. Rosewood?”
“...No.”
“Then you’ve answered your own question.”
I discreetly scooted my chair back an inch.
The movement earned me the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
It wasn’t even his eyes anymore. It was his presence. Every instinct I had insisted he knew exactly where I was, how I was sitting, even how tightly I was gripping the strap of my bag.
Maybe blindness sharpened the other senses.
Or maybe I was about to become the lead story on tomorrow’s evening news.
I adjusted my glasses again, pretending that was the reason my hands were shaking.
Against all common sense, I looked at him once more. He was unnaturally beautiful, like lightning, like the way venomous snakes were beautiful just before they struck.
I had the absurd feeling that if I blinked for too long, he’d be standing right in front of me.
Remembering Kyle’s warning, I pressed my lips together.
Just survive the interview... and hopefully leave with a job. Or, preferably, all of my organs.
“Go to the table,” he said. “Bring me the contract.”
Grateful for an excuse to put some distance between us, I stood, my ankle protesting as I limped toward the desk. The contract was easy enough to spot.
The pile of cash beside it wasn’t.
Nor were the gold bars casually stacked next to it like paperweights.
I stopped. Who just... left gold lying around?
For one deeply concerning second, my brain tried to calculate how many semesters a single brick could pay for. Probably all of them. Along with my funeral once I got caught stealing it.
I tore my eyes away, picked up the contract, and returned to the couch.
Only then did I notice it was entirely in Russian.
“Sir...”
“Third page. Fifth paragraph. Second line.”
“What?”
“I asked you to read it, Ms. Rosewood.” His tone remained infuriatingly calm. “Surely that isn’t beyond your capabilities.”
Heat climbed into my cheeks. “N-No, sir.”
I flipped through the pages.
The words blurred together.
Damn it.
I’d only taken my glasses off because he kept invading my personal space. Now the tiny print looked like an army of ants staging a protest.
Holding the pages embarrassingly close to my face, I finally found the paragraph.
“Party B...” I cleared my throat. “Party B shall not disclose any personal information regarding Party A to a third party without prior written consent.”
My brow knitted together. That was it?
I looked up.
“You can trust me.”
A quiet chuckle escaped him. “I don’t.”
The bluntness made me blink. “You don’t?”
“I don’t trust anyone.”
There wasn’t even arrogance in his voice.
“As a rule,” he continued, “people disappoint you eventually, don’t they?”
I glanced down at the thick stack of papers. “Seems a little excessive.”
“So does dying.”
My mouth snapped shut. “...Right.”
Who exactly had I just agreed to interview with?
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. I could feel his attention on me. And yet... it also felt like it wasn’t. It made absolutely no sense.
He tapped the ash from his cigarette. It landed neatly beside the ashtray. A tiny smile tugged at my lips.
If he could see, he would’ve hit the ashtray.
Slowly, I stepped closer, careful not to put too much weight on my sore ankle. From this angle, I caught a better look at his chest, the black ink disappearing beneath the open robe like something alive beneath his skin.
I reached for one of the gold bars instead. Good Lord.
The thing weighed a ton. Holding it with both hands, I carefully lifted it and waved it in front of his face. There was not a twitch. Either he was genuinely blind... or he deserved an Oscar.
“Go through it.” I nearly launched the gold bar across the room.
My heart slammed against my ribs as I hurriedly set it back where I’d found it.
Muttering an apology under my breath, I picked up the contract again and skimmed through the remaining pages. Nothing looked particularly alarming as if could read the language.
Always a good sign.
“I agree.”
A satisfied smile ghosted across his lips. “Sign.”
I signed every marked line before sliding the papers onto the table beside the ashtray. He picked up his cigarette again. Only then did I notice the tattoo wrapped around his hand.
A serpent. Its jaws stretched over his thumb, the rest of its body coiling across his skin. Definitely not helping the whole ‘friendly employer’ image.
“You’re not Russian.”
The sudden observation pulled me from the tattoo.
“N-No. I’m from the States.”
He hummed thoughtfully before exhaling another ribbon of smoke. Again, the ash landed beside the ashtray. My suspicion softened.
After a long silence, he asked, “What would be your price?”
I frowned. “...My price?”
“As my caretaker.”
I sat back in my chair.
“Whatever you think is fair.”
He smiled. “That’s all?”
I shrugged. I needed a job.
“I’ll pay you double.”
My eyes widened. He murmured something under his breath in Russian.
Twenty thousand dollars.
My brain immediately abandoned the conversation. Mama wouldn’t have to work anymore. I’d pay off every bill. Buy her the little bakery she’d always dreamed about. For the first time in months... I could breathe.
“You will be at my command whenever I require you,” he said. “Do you understand?”
The daydream shattered as I looked up. My mouth had gone dry. Before my brain caught up... I nodded and then said.
“Yes, sir.”