I nodded, needles pricking the back of my throat. “Yeah. I think I’m officially screwed.”
He took a step forward and began to bang on the glass.
“Rom, I already tried,” I said, alarmed at how hard his fist hit the damn thing.
So was the security guard inside. His head snapped toward us, brows knitting together, his frown deepening into something hostile. He stomped toward the door, already shaking his head like we were a couple of hooligans trying to break in.
The door cracked open just enough for him to scowl at us. “Store’s closed.”
Romolo didn’t acknowledge that. Instead, he asked, “How much do they pay you per hour?”
The guard blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Your hourly rate.” Romolo’s voice was smooth, unhurried. I wished I knew where he was going with this. “What do they pay you?”
The man dragged his tongue over his bottom teeth. “Thirty bucks an hour.”
Romolo reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and produced a staggering number of hundred-dollar bills. He counted them out efficiently, stopping when he reached a grand, and held out the cash.
“That should cover an hour of overtime.”
My mouth popped open. Was he trying to bribe him? I’d never bribed anyone in my life. Never even thought to try.
The security guard’s annoyance gave way to apprehension. He let out an uncomfortable laugh. “Look, man, that’s generous, but we’ve got a store policy. I can’t let you in.”
My stomach sank. I hadn’t even realized I was hoping that trick would work, but I guess I was desperate enough that I was okay with bending a few rules.
I took a step back, ready to leave, but Romolo didn’t budge.
He put the money back into his wallet and slid the wallet into his slacks. I watched as his hand brushed over the side of his jacket just enough to tug it back slightly.
The guard’s eyes flickered downward and widened. His face lost all color. “Ah, shit.”
What had just happened?
Then I remembered when I'd had a similar reaction back in my studio.
My pulse skittered against my neck.
Romolo was flashing his gun.
“They don’t pay you enough to handle that,” Romolo said in a low voice that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight. He sounded so damn scary. If I were the guard, I would have peed my pants.
The man swallowed hard, throat bobbing. I could see him putting it together—the gun, the money, the way Rom carried himself. It only took a second for him to decide this wasn’t a fight worth picking.
“Shit. Yeah, of course. You got it, man.”
He stepped back and pulled the door open, dipping his head slightly as he gestured us inside. His voice was suddenly respectful. “Please, sir. Come on in.”
Romolo’s palm settled on the small of my back, guiding me forward. The touch was warm, firm, possessive, and it made something far hotter than fear bleed into my veins.
The security guard locked the door behind us before rushing toward the two sales associates and whispering in a hushed, frantic tone. Probably something along the lines ofact normal and don’t piss him off unless you want to die.
There was a lot I wanted to say to him, but I settled on, “You’re nuts.”
“Comes with the territory.”
“What territory?”
