Some of them peek.
Manny definitely peeks.
But I do what I always do.I bow my head and murmur the words alongside the rest of them.
“Loving Father,
Thank you for this day, for our friends, for our teachers, and for the love you give us.Amen.”
The room stills.
Even the chaos of coats and snack wrappers seems to pause, like we’ve all been wrapped in a soft blanket of peace for thirty seconds.
And when I risk one more glance at the giant in the corner, I catch the faintest smile on his face.
Not mocking.Not impatient.
Soft.
Like maybe once upon a time, he prayed this exact prayer, too.
When the final “Amen” echoes through the room, the kids giggle, the spell is broken, and the mad dash for backpacks and bus lines begins.
But the tall man waits.
And I appreciate his patience.
Whatever he wants, I know he must’ve passed through security at the front of school.All the other entrances and exits are locked until dismissal, and even then, there are guards at each one.
The school takes security very seriously, which is likely because the student body comprises some very important, influential and, yeah, rich families.
I don’t know why this man is here, but something tells me he always gets what he came for.
Chapter2
Ego
Sabrina Rosetto is sweet and pretty on paper, but her photo doesn't do her justice.
She is something else in person.
I’ve been professionally trained to take in miniscule details at a glance, and my focus is completely on her from the second I saw her through the glass-paneled door to her classroom.
She’s wearing a fitted brown skirt that hugs her wide hips and stops mid-calf, with a cream-colored blouse tucked in and a soft little cardigan on top—buttoned all the way up with about two dozen tiny pearl buttons that make my fingers itch.
She’s got on knee high boots that mold to her calves, and the slit in her skirt flashes a bit of skin when she walks.
Every curve, every dip and swell of her ultra-feminine body is outlined in modest fabrics, and that only makes it worse.
Like she’s daring someone to look beneath the surface.
Or maybe she doesn’t know what she’s doing to the people who do look.
Because the truth is, all I want to do is peel those clothes off of her and see what she’s hiding beneath her prim and proper exterior.
I should be better than this.
I’m a professional.
