Amara takes the hint when I sit down at my desk and excuses herself, though not without letting her hips sway on the way out.
I shake my head and let out a breath. I refuse to let my mind wander. It would be too easy to pull her back in here, yank her into the closet and reenact our last twelve hours together.
Regrettably, I don’t have time for that right now.
I take another sip of the perfectly brewed coffee she brought me and open my laptop. One of the perks of the dark side of my job is having the ability to hack into anyone’s lives at the press of a button. It’s not something I do often, worming into other people’s business, including personal life details and bank accounts. Too much hassle, if I’m being honest.
But right now I have my reasons.
It’s even easier to do when that person works for you and you have access to their accounts and social security number.
Amara has less debt than I would have expected. Honestly, I’m a little impressed. She has no car payment or student loans, and the only credit card she has has no balance. From the look of it, she uses it for gas and pays it off every month. She also has a decent chunk in savings which I also don’t hate.
I am a little surprised at the amount being Zelle’d to her sister twice a month. It’s over half her income.
I don’t have a lot of info on her siblings aside from their names, but that’s enough to pull up the entire family.
Their house is in a less than desirable part of the city. I’d be lying if I said I don’t know exactly where it is, and not because I frequent it. Our men deal a lot in the area, which in this context makes my skin crawl a little.
I find myself feeling strangely protective of these kids. Their house is nearly paid off, though it can't possibly be worth anything. A Google Earth search that was updated not long ago shows the place in near shambles. If I had to guess, that’s thanks to a deadbeat parent of some kind. My instincts say dad, and that’s pretty much confirmed once I dig a little deeper.
Her siblings are easy enough to find on social media. Eliza is the oldest, and a true mini-me of her sister. Most of her posts show her working at a salon, hair color before and afters, showing off outfits with a boomerang effect, and having fun with friends. The similarity isn’t in their interests—Amara is a business girl through and thorough—as much as in the obvious drive.
Gianni is next. My chest constricts when I see what he does for a living. He’s a mechanic, and at a glance, he reminds me more of Nik than I care to see. His pages are littered with photos of cars and engines, though not many of himself. I swallow hard with a tight jaw and move on to the youngest.
Isabella Parker, aka Bella, is a spitfire, though I’m not surprised. Her photos are over the top, filtered, dramatic, angry. But despite her bottle blond hair and face piercings, I see a lot of Amara in her too. The soft side of Amara. The side that is faking bravery to survive.
One thing is for sure: They are a family of survivors.
I finish off my coffee and grit my teeth before moving on. Driven by dread, I type in the father’s name. He has literally no social media presence, or any internet presence at all. Other than an old link to his employment at a gas station, the only place his ugly mug pops up is just that—a mug shot.
He’s been arrested for drunk driving, more than once. And shop lifting from—you guessed it—a liquor store.
Other than that, there’s nothing to see. He is a waste of space and, from the looks of the money flowing from Amara’s account to Eliza’s, he’s a waste of everything else, too.
A few clicks on my side of the screen take care of a few of these problems. She now has zero debt (not that it took much to do so)and her apartment is paid off as well. With her permission, it will be listed within the week.
The outstanding problem though, her shitstain of a dad, is still festering in my head. I close my laptop and suck my lips for a moment before making a decision.
I want to see this house for myself. I want to see where Amara grew up, where her siblings still live, and just how shitty things are. I can’t fix the situation if I don’t evaluate it first.
And Iwillfix the situation.
“Amara.”
Her head darts up from her desk. Her eyes are wide in surprise, like she didn’t expect me to drop by her office. To be fair, it’s usually the other way round. “What can I do for you, Mr. Rozanov?”
I almost smirk. This newfound professionality of hers feels like a little game between us. “I need you to push the rest of my meetings to tomorrow.”
“Sure.” Her brow lifts slightly, but she’s already tapping away. “What should I put on the schedule instead?”
“Just mark me unavailable.”
Her brow lifts higher, but she doesn’t comment. Whatever else we may be out there, in here, she’s my assistant and I’m her boss. “Okay.”
“Good. I’m leaving for the day. Text me if anything urgent comes up.”
“Yes, sir.” I’m already halfway out the door when she adds, “Would you like me to call Ivan for you?”
