“I’m Camille Bianchi,” she said, sitting and picking up the phone.
Time went by in a blink.
A tall man appeared, with dark brown eyes, buff, with his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, no tie, and the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, his muscled arms bulging out. He seemed to follow my gaze as my eyes traveled the length of his body, stopping, naturally, around the midway point. It was a habit formed out of being so sex deprived. Another bulge—or fabric ruching.
He said my name and smiled with only his lips—his eyes didn’t smile, though, they were haunting. “You’ve got the job,”he said, extending a hand and shaking mine with a hard grip like his skin was made of warm stone.
“Yes,” I said. “Thank you. I... um. Don’t you want to see my things?”
He shook his head. “No, no, but I do want you to come with me to my office,” he said, letting go of my hands.
I glanced back to Camille and she smiled properly. “If you have any issues, come to me,” she said. “I’m somewhat the unofficial HR department.”
Santo laughed, then his tone turned serious and he looked at his wristwatch—it was some fancy thing. “Oh. You’re actuallylate, Isaiah.”
“I’m on—I’m on time, I think.”
“You think?” he asked, eyes turning to a squint as he stared at me. “I’ll let it slide for your first day, but don’t do it again.”
Camille scoffed. “Be nice to the kid,” she said. “He thought he was coming in for an interview.”
“I won’t be late be again,” I said, with a slight head bow. “I promise.” I needed this job, and I didn’t care for the quirks of my boss. I would adapt and adjust to them.
Now he smiled, a real one. I was bad at knowing what people’s intentions were, so I observed heavily, and hoped to discern his from a look. Santo was hard to read—cold then warm—he was like a faulty faucet. Camille, on the other hand, was nice. I think.
“Okay, okay, come on,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Let’s go.”
We marched to the elevator where we stood together for a moment. He was staring at the morphed reflection of me in the metal doors. I stood straighter, my body aching as I tried not to move while he was examining me.
“Is everything okay?” I let out.
He turned to me, smirking. “You beat a whole lot of other applicants,” he said, nodding his head. “You know what we do here?”
“You’re a construction company,” I said. It was the most obvious and straightforward answer, rather than repeating the rumors and such I’d heard. “You make buildings and stuff like that.”
Santo nodded, taking his bottom lip into his mouth and biting. The elevator began to open, taking a surprising long time to do so. I’d been staring at his lip the entire time, seeing the teeth marks left behind on it.
“After you,” he said.
The interior was all mirrored. I could see him wherever I looked, and he could see me—or worse yet, I could see myself, and I’d sweated through my clothes so heavily, I was glad there was the threat of rain out to blame it on.
“Your work is going to be hands on,” Santo said, and as the doors opened fully onto a hallway, he placed his hand on my back and guided me out. He kept it there. “You’ll be working in my office with me... closely. I need complete trust, and I need you to blend in with the furniture.”
“Okay,” I let out after a gulp. “I can do that.”
“Good b—” He pulled his hand away. “That’s good.”
He led me down the hallway to a room at the end. We’d walked by so many empty conference rooms—all with windows looking right out over the city in both directions. Maybe the rumors were true and this was a shell for laundering.
A large office emerged behind a door. The walls were lined with wooden shelves covered in books, trophies, and bottles of brown liquid that blended into the shelves with their ornate designs—they had to be expensive. Green-leather armchairs were arranged around a coffee table. There was a sofaby the shelves, and by the window, the desk, looking over it all—and the harbor city view behind it.
“You won’t have a desk,” he informed me. “You’ll work where and when I tell you. Understood?”
I nodded.
“I need you totell methat you’ve understood,” he said. “Verbally.” He placed his hand at my chin, and I leaned into it. “That means opening your mouth.”
“Yes,” I said. “I understand.”
