Shadow Rider
Page 2
Maybe it hadn’t been such a great idea to give the woman her coat. Her clothes weren’t the best for a job interview, but they were all she had. She needed the job, and she definitely wasn’t looking very professional in her faded but very soft vintage blue jeans, a perfect fit, which was rare for her to find in the thrift stores. There were holes in the knees and one small one on her upper thigh, but some of the designer jeans featured rips. The tears in her jeans just happened to be from real wear.
“Wow, the deli’s packed,” Joanna observed as they stopped in front of a glass door. She yanked it open and ushered Francesca inside.
Francesca thought she might faint from all the smells of food. Her stomach growled and she pushed on it with one hand, hoping to quiet it. People were three deep at the counter and every small table throughout the room was filled.
“Popular place,” she observed, because she had to say something. She’d let Joanna do most of the talking because—well—she couldn’t talk. She wasn’t bursting into tears in front of her friend. Not after all Joanna had done for her.
“I told you.” Joanna flashed a grin, caught her arm and tugged her through the crowd to the window on the far side opposite the door. “We can wait here until Zio Pietro has a couple of minutes.”
Francesca didn’t think he was going to be free anytime soon. Now all the smells blended together, making her feel nauseous. She didn’t want to throw up right there in his deli. She was fairly certain that wouldn’t get her the job, but her stomach was so empty.
Her lungs burned from holding her breath, waiting for Joanna’s uncle to get free enough to come interview her. Joanna had promised her the job. Francesca had spent nearly every cent she had—the money she’d borrowed from Joanna—getting to Chicago, and into the tiny apartment right on the very edge of Little Italy. She had nothing left for food or clothing. She had to get this job. She could survive another week if she was very, very careful, but not much longer. She’d be living on the street with Dina, the homeless woman. She’d done that already once and it hadn’t been fun. Truthfully, she wasn’t altogether certain that her apartment was better than the street. Still, it had a roof.
Francesca couldn’t stop shivering, no matter how hard she tried. The cold was biting and penetrated right to the bone. It didn’t help that after the wild storm, there were puddles everywhere, impossible to avoid, and her shoes and socks were soaking wet. The soles were thin and the water had easily gotten inside her shoes. Not only were her feet wet, but her toes were numb.
Still, if she got the job, this was the perfect place for her. The neighborhood was small. Everything was in walking distance. She didn’t own a car, or anything else for that matter. She was starting over, determined to rise from the ashes like the phoenix, but seriously, if Pietro didn’t hurry up, she’d be on the floor soon.
If she didn’t need food and to warm up so badly, she would have been happy with the evidence that the store was popular as a small specialty grocery and sandwich shop. Clearly, Pietro needed help. She could handle a cash register no problem. She could make sandwiches. She’d held a job in a deli while putting herself through school and she was certain this would be a piece of cake.
The door opened and a blast of cold air swept into the shop, chilling her further. She turned her head and froze. She had never in her life seen a man more gorgeous or more dangerous. He was tall, broad-shouldered, tough as nails and totally ripped. His hair was jet-black and seemed messy, but artfully so, as if even it refused to disobey him.
He wore a three-piece dark charcoal pin-striped suit that had to have been tailor made in Italy or France and looked to be worth a fortune. His tie was a darker gray to match the thin stripes in his suit and was worn over a lighter shade of charcoal shirt. He wore butter-soft gloves and a long, dark cashmere overcoat. Even the shoes on his feet looked like he’d paid a fortune for them. He made her acutely aware of her shabby clothes.
She wasn’t the only one who noticed him. The moment he entered, all chatter in the shop ceased. Completely. No one so much as whispered. No one moved, as if they were all frozen in place. Pietro came to attention. Beside her, Joanna took a deep breath. The atmosphere in the store went from friendly chatter and lighthearted gossip to one of danger.
His face was carved in masculine lines and set in stone. He had a strong jaw covered by a dark shadow. He was easily the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. His eyes were such an intense blue she almost didn’t believe it was his natural color. The blue eyes swept the room, taking in everything and everyone. She knew they did. So did everyone in the room. Just like her, they were all staring at him. The eyes came back to her. Settled. Narrowed.
“Wow, the deli’s packed,” Joanna observed as they stopped in front of a glass door. She yanked it open and ushered Francesca inside.
Francesca thought she might faint from all the smells of food. Her stomach growled and she pushed on it with one hand, hoping to quiet it. People were three deep at the counter and every small table throughout the room was filled.
“Popular place,” she observed, because she had to say something. She’d let Joanna do most of the talking because—well—she couldn’t talk. She wasn’t bursting into tears in front of her friend. Not after all Joanna had done for her.
“I told you.” Joanna flashed a grin, caught her arm and tugged her through the crowd to the window on the far side opposite the door. “We can wait here until Zio Pietro has a couple of minutes.”
Francesca didn’t think he was going to be free anytime soon. Now all the smells blended together, making her feel nauseous. She didn’t want to throw up right there in his deli. She was fairly certain that wouldn’t get her the job, but her stomach was so empty.
Her lungs burned from holding her breath, waiting for Joanna’s uncle to get free enough to come interview her. Joanna had promised her the job. Francesca had spent nearly every cent she had—the money she’d borrowed from Joanna—getting to Chicago, and into the tiny apartment right on the very edge of Little Italy. She had nothing left for food or clothing. She had to get this job. She could survive another week if she was very, very careful, but not much longer. She’d be living on the street with Dina, the homeless woman. She’d done that already once and it hadn’t been fun. Truthfully, she wasn’t altogether certain that her apartment was better than the street. Still, it had a roof.
Francesca couldn’t stop shivering, no matter how hard she tried. The cold was biting and penetrated right to the bone. It didn’t help that after the wild storm, there were puddles everywhere, impossible to avoid, and her shoes and socks were soaking wet. The soles were thin and the water had easily gotten inside her shoes. Not only were her feet wet, but her toes were numb.
Still, if she got the job, this was the perfect place for her. The neighborhood was small. Everything was in walking distance. She didn’t own a car, or anything else for that matter. She was starting over, determined to rise from the ashes like the phoenix, but seriously, if Pietro didn’t hurry up, she’d be on the floor soon.
If she didn’t need food and to warm up so badly, she would have been happy with the evidence that the store was popular as a small specialty grocery and sandwich shop. Clearly, Pietro needed help. She could handle a cash register no problem. She could make sandwiches. She’d held a job in a deli while putting herself through school and she was certain this would be a piece of cake.
The door opened and a blast of cold air swept into the shop, chilling her further. She turned her head and froze. She had never in her life seen a man more gorgeous or more dangerous. He was tall, broad-shouldered, tough as nails and totally ripped. His hair was jet-black and seemed messy, but artfully so, as if even it refused to disobey him.
He wore a three-piece dark charcoal pin-striped suit that had to have been tailor made in Italy or France and looked to be worth a fortune. His tie was a darker gray to match the thin stripes in his suit and was worn over a lighter shade of charcoal shirt. He wore butter-soft gloves and a long, dark cashmere overcoat. Even the shoes on his feet looked like he’d paid a fortune for them. He made her acutely aware of her shabby clothes.
She wasn’t the only one who noticed him. The moment he entered, all chatter in the shop ceased. Completely. No one so much as whispered. No one moved, as if they were all frozen in place. Pietro came to attention. Beside her, Joanna took a deep breath. The atmosphere in the store went from friendly chatter and lighthearted gossip to one of danger.
His face was carved in masculine lines and set in stone. He had a strong jaw covered by a dark shadow. He was easily the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. His eyes were such an intense blue she almost didn’t believe it was his natural color. The blue eyes swept the room, taking in everything and everyone. She knew they did. So did everyone in the room. Just like her, they were all staring at him. The eyes came back to her. Settled. Narrowed.
