“That’s the thing, you know more about this shit than me at this point. When I went to Mira, she said the only way she would put me on is if you came with me.”
“Well, that’s not happening. I got too much to lose this time, and unlike when I was fifteen, I don’t need the money. So, tell Mira thanks, but no thanks.”
“It wouldn’t be a permanent situation, Nari. Just long enough for me to prove to her that I can do this shit.”
“It’s not my job to help prove anything, D. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.” Inari climbed into the driver’s seat and shifted into drive, so she could pull off.
Danilo stood with his feet in the gravel, staring after her as she drove away. She might have said no this time, but he’d have to figure out a way to pull her back in. Not just for him. Mira made it clear she needed someone solid who knew how to flip work effortlessly, and Inari checked all the boxes. He didn’t necessarily want to pull her into it either because he felt like Mira was shading him. She thought Inari could out hustle him and must have forgot who the fuck he was.
One way or another, he was going to remind motherfuckers in Ree Heights who he was. He spent all that time in prison, thinking about getting right and making things work with Inari and his son. He wasn’t going to give that up for anybody. Inari would also see that he was about his shit this time around. So, he had to get with his crew and figure some things out.
CHAPTER SIX
ORDINARY THINGS
Monday morning…
“Hello. Are you Miss Jacobs?” A deep, husky voice addressed Ayla from the now open doorway of the massive home.
Opulence wasn’t even the word for what she viewed when she was granted access past the fortified iron gate. The modern style mansion in front of her was something she’d only seen in magazines or on TV and social media. All the windows seemed to be floor to ceiling amongst the French country style home. The tar paved driveway wrapped around a three-tier fountain, and she viewed the three-car garage in front of her when she parked behind the black Bentley Bentayga. She wasn’t sure how far it stretched, but she didn’t see another house in sight.
Ayla was happy she’d landed the interview, but she was intimidated when she read the credentials. Inari insisted she would be okay. She didn’t know where the change of heart came from in her sister, but she was grateful for her support. At first, Ayla wasn’t sure she would be able to live with strangers, but from the size of this place, it didn’t seem like it would be aproblem. She’d kept it professional in black pinstripes pants, a white blouse, and a pair of Inari’s Dior flat shoes.
With her natural looking wig pulled to the top of her head in a professional bun, she smoothed some of her edges back with her hand, a sign of apprehension. She’d been on interviews before, but this was different. Today, she even put on her thin framed glasses that she hated wearing and took out the contacts. She thought it made her look softer, intelligent. Like she knew what the hell she was doing and she wasn’t some little girl out here lost and trying to figure it out.
It was one thing to cook for her family and friends. In her opinion, they were all biased when it came to her skills anyway. Preparing meals for strangers was something else. She’d mastered a lot of universal dishes, though, and was never afraid to push the envelope and try something new. Staring up at the porch, she spied the large figure lingering off to the side. Black suit, strong posture, examining every blow of the wind. She’d noticed armed men at the gate when she was let in as well. Suddenly, she wondered if she was in over her head.
“Yes! I’m sorry.” She positioned her black bag on her shoulder and faced the porch. “This is just… quite a house. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it in person.”
An older gentleman stood with his hands in the pockets of his slacks, taking her in very carefully. She estimated him to be in his late fifties or early sixties. Very much handsome and in shape. The salt and pepper hair in his goatee was everything, giving him a distinguished look.
“Thank you. Come in.” He stepped aside, and Ayla craned her neck to take in the high vaulted ceilings, gold light fixtures, and warm lighting.
“I know the agency was very limited on the details.”
“They provided the necessary information.” Ayla nodded as he closed the door behind her.
“Audiemar Blackmoor,” he introduced himself with his hand extended for her to shake.
Ayla’s eyes bucked. “Blackmoor?”
“It’s rude to not shake someone’s hand upon greeting,” he critiqued.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Ayla tapped her forehead and shook her head. “I’m just a little surprised.” She gripped his warm palm.
“Come with me into the living room.” He waved his arm toward a large, arched open doorway and into a living room with so much elegance, Ayla was afraid to sit down and mess anything up.
The ivory, powder blue, and gold decor was breathtaking, and not at all overdone. Above the large fireplace was an old canvas painting of a beautiful expresso skinned black woman. Posed with one arm draped on the French style chair, one leg crossed over the other, and draped in an ivory-colored pantsuit with a powder blue top. Nails and makeup perfect, a soft simper graced her full lips.
“So, how do you pronounce your name?”
“It’s eye-luh,” she enunciated.
Audiemar motioned to a love seat for her to sit, but he remained standing nearby.
“Thank you. Can I get you anything to drink?”
“I’m good, thank you.” She set her purse beside her and clasped her hands together in her lap.
