Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Frankie: We can talk later.
I put my phone down carefully. I’ve been known to break things, and I don’t want to go through the hassle of buying a new phone, but I’m pissed. ‘We can talk later,’ means he offered this girl a lot of money. I wish he had a better grasp of economics, but that’s partially my fault. He didn’t want for anything growing up, so he just assumes that money isn’t an issue.
“What’d he say?” Giovanni asks. He can see I’m upset, and he’s trying not to laugh.
“He’s not telling me how much he paid her,” I snarl.
Giovanni shakes his head. “For a kid who don’t want any part of your organization, he certainly knows how to push your buttons.”
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” I complain. This conversation is hitting a little too close to home, and I’ve got more important things to do.
Giovanni knows better than to argue. He gets to his feet quickly as lightning and shoots out the door. I pick up my phone again and glare at the screen until I can come up with something to say. I want to pour out all my frustrations. I want to shout at him that he’s the best thing that ever happened to his mother. How dare he disrespect her memory by being so frivolous? If Alessia were alive today, she would be mortified.
But I can’t fit that all in a text. Besides, it’s not like the boy doesn’t know how I feel. We’ve had the same argument every day for years. He keeps coming back with, “I’m trying, Dad.” To which I respond, “Try harder.” No matter what I do, it seems like we can’t connect. I know that I’m partially to blame. I wasn’t around to give him the kind of attention he needed growing up.
This tutor thing is just the next step in the same dance that we’re going to be performing until the day I die. And I’m sick of it.
Me: This better be the best damned tutor the universe has to offer, because I’m not paying for anything less.
I barely manage to tap out all the right keys.
He responds almost immediately.
Frankie: She will be.
I can’t argue with that. His sixth sense must be working on overdrive if he thinks he can just pick up any random female off the street and have her teach him law. Maybe there’s something about the girl that makes her stand out. There must be some reason he picked her of all people to tutor him in law.
I put the phone down, realizing that I’m on the losing side. If Frankie wants this woman to tutor him, then I’ll go along with it. I might even find the energy to be cautiously optimistic. Just because they didn’t meet in an academic setting doesn’t mean she’s a hooker. I’ve got to think positively. And even if the whole thing goes to crap, my job is calling to me, and I’ve spent enough time worrying about my son’s new tutor.
I sit down to go through the notes on my desk, looking for my schedule. I’ve got a full day ahead of me, and there’s no time to waste. I pick up the phone to make the next call, allowing myself to forget about Frankie for a while. He’s a good kid, and there are only so many ways this thing can go wrong.
CHAPTER 3
MARLENA
Icheck the address on my phone again because I’m shocked. This can’t be the place. I’m looking up at a wrought iron gate with spikes on top. I can’t even see a house in the distance because there’s a wall of enormous hedges blocking my view. And those hedges are behind a brick wall, giving the place double the security any sane person would need.
The road I’m on isn’t even listed on the general GPS. It’s just called road. If this is the place, then the guy I’m supposed to tutor has so much more money than I ever thought possible. No wonder he didn’t even blink when he offered me four thousand dollars a month. That must be chump change for him.
I spy a call box near the gate and inhale deeply. Here goes nothing.
“Hello?” I say, pushing the button with caution.
“Hello,” someone answers.
At least there’s a person manning the gate, not just some AI security system. That seems like a step in the right direction. At least now I know that if I’m lost, someone will help me find my way.
“My name is Marlena Mancini, and I’m looking for Frankie,” I say, hoping I’ve got the address wrong.
“Come on in,” the voice commands.
I swallow, watching the gate swing open on its hinges. It looks like I’ve got the right place, and boy, does that make me nervous. I try not to think about my father. He was the kind of man who might need this level of security. I wonder what kind of business Frankie’s father is in that he has such an impressive home.