“I hear you gave the woman a job,” my grandmother casually says before sipping on her beverage.
“It’s temporary,” I mutter.
Emre comes in and helps himself to tea. “What are we talking about?”
“About the woman,” Babaanne (grandma) informs him. “I’m curious as to why Gabriel gave her a job.”
Letting out a sigh, I ask, “Would you rather I kill her?”
“Allah Allah.” She gives me a scowl. “Don’t make the food sour in my stomach.”
“It was the only other option,” I state.
“I suppose you couldn’t let her return to Mazur,” Babaanne agrees.
Letting out a sigh, I explain, “It’s just for the time being until I figure out what to do with her.”
“It might be a good thing. Nisa isn’t as young as she used to be and could use the help,” Babaanne agrees.
“I’ve instructed the woman to stay away from your side of the house so you won’t be bothered by her,” I inform my grandmother.
“Pfft.” She waves a hand. “I’ll have to meet her at some point.”
Not if I can help it.
“What’s her name?” she asks.
“Lara Nowak,” I answer. “She’s Polish.”
My grandmother nods, then murmurs, “Lara. Such a beautiful name.”
With the tea finished, I get up and excuse myself, so I can catch up with the news. It’s my Saturday routine before I head over to one of the clubs.
I walk to my private living room on the west side of the house, and when I pass by the sitting room, I hear Nisa say, “Slow down, Lara Hanim! You don’t have to clean the entire house in an hour.”
“Sorry, Nisa Hanim,” Lara murmurs respectfully.
Stopping, I turn back to glance inside the sitting room. Lara’s polishing the ever-loving shit out of the coffee table.
Nisa places her hand over Lara’s, then gives her a compassionate look. “Slow down. There’s plenty of time, and you’re still healing. We don’t want your wounds opening up.”
Emotion washes over Lara’s face, and for a moment, it looks like she might actually cry, but then Nisa says, “It’s okay. You’ll learn everything soon enough, but you don’t have to work yourself to death. Okay?”
“Okay.” The single word sounds small and vulnerable, and it does something weird to my heart.
Jesus, the woman must’ve worked her ass off in fear that Mazur would kill her for the slightest thing.
Shaking my head, I walk to the living room and settle into my comfortable recliner. I switch on the TV and select CNN, then pick up my tablet so I can read my newspapers.
I get to relax for an hour before Nisa and Lara walk into the living room. “Do you want us to come back later, Gabriel Bey?”
I shake my head. “No, go ahead.”
They start to clean the room, and when I hear Lara whisper ‘sorry’ for the third time, I glance up. I stare at her, which probably isn’t helping her nerves. She peeks in my direction, and catching me looking at her, she lowers her eyes and starts to dust the ornaments on the mantlepiece as if her life depends on it.
“Slow down,” Nisa whispers.
“Sorry.”
Before I can stop myself, I mutter, “Are you going to apologize for breathing?”
Lara’s eyes snap to mine, and a visible tremor hits her. “If that’s what you want, sir.”
Jesus.
My temper flares instantly. I get up, dropping the tablet on the side table. “If I hear you say sorry one more time, there will be hell to pay. Understand?”
Confusion and fear flutter over her features. “Yes, sir.”
Stalking out of the living room, I figure I’ll get more rest at the club and make my way out of the house.
Since she bumped into me, Lara has an uncanny way of annoying the shit out of me.
It’s already past nine pm. Sitting at a table, where I have a clear view of the floor, I watch men and women illegally gamble their riches away.
It’s all about the money. They could gamble ten million and only win a hundred thousand back, and still, they’ll leave here feeling like they actually won something.
As long as it lines my pockets, I don’t care.
I watch as a senator bets two million, and a businessman matches it.
Idiots.
One of the waitresses bumps into a patron. “Sorry.”
It’s funny how that word doesn’t bother me now, whereas earlier, it pissed me off.
Lara is only twenty-two, and growing up in Mazur’s house must’ve been hell.
I might be known for being quiet, demanding, and never giving second chances, but I’m not heartless. I just don’t like the fact that I’m stuck with her. The moment I let her go, she could run right back to Mazur. The last thing I want is that man knowing anything about me.
Although, he’d probably kill her.
Or not.
Fuck if I know.
Hopefully, Lara turns out to be an asset.
I pull a disgruntled face when I realize I’ll have to discuss her wages with her. I’m definitely not looking forward to that.