“Oh, no thanks, I’m cool,” I said as I settled into the chair. I expected it to be uncomfortable, but it was far from it. “You probably know why I’m here, right?”
He sat back down, picked up a cup of coffee from the table beside him and took a sip. “I suspect it concerns assistance in your current situation.”
“Right.” I took a deep breath. “Well, I came here to ask if you’d be willing to cosign a loan for me.”
To my shock he didn’t even pretend to consider it before he shook his head. “No, I won’t do a cosign.”
Dismay tightened my chest. “You…won’t?” I fought to keep my voice even, even though it felt a bit as if I’d been kicked in the teeth. Guess all those worries about strings were pointless. What the hell was I supposed to do now? “Look, I know I don’t have anything resembling credit, but I swear I’ll pay it back and won’t miss any payments. I could handle being homeless if it was only me, but I can’t put my dad through that—” I stopped as he held up his hand.
“Angel, I don’t want to go through a bank,” Pietro told me calmly. “I’ll work out a loan for you myself. Cleaner to draft it directly to you.”
I blinked, sat back. “You will?” The dismay receded, replaced by wariness.
He took another placid sip of coffee. “Of course I will,” he said. “How much do you earn a month?”
I had a feeling he knew exactly how much I earned, but I told him anyway. After that came some questions about my expenses and my dad’s disability income—and again, I couldn’t shake the sense he knew it already but was being polite enough to actually let me volunteer the information.
Unfortunately, by the time we hashed out how much I needed to borrow and what I could afford to pay, even with more than reasonable financing terms, it came down to a loan that would take me over fifteen years to repay, and that was only if I got a shitty trailer, a very used car, and shopped at Goodwill for the next decade and a half. No eating out. Definitely no college classes.
“You need additional income,” Pietro stated, echoing the thoughts that churned in my own head.
I couldn’t hold back the sigh. With my education and skill-set, about all I could hope for would be to pick up some shifts at convenience stores.
“There aren’t many part time jobs that will be worth the effort for the compensation,” he pointed out, then surprised me by adding, “I’d much rather you work for me on occasion, or for Dr. Nikas. I guarantee the pay would be much better.”
Hello, Strings, I thought. I gave him as unwary a look as I could manage. “What kind of work?”
“Dr. Nikas told me you found the lab interesting,” he said, “and also mentioned that he wouldn’t mind your help with some of his projects.”
Okay, now that wouldn’t be a bad string at all. In fact, that would actually kinda rock.
“As for me,” he continued, “though I have nothing definitive in mind at this time, I know that having a smart female zombie can be useful on certain assignments, and you’ve certainly proven more than capable in stress situations.” He set his coffee cup down with a soft clink. “Apart from Alicia and Rachel, I don’t have many who are.”
Now that was the sort of string I’d been braced for. Yet even as he said it, I couldn’t help but think why not? So far I’d been “capable in stress situations” for free. I also couldn’t deny the little glow of pleasure that he thought I was smart.
Yet along with the glow came a creeping apprehension. Pietro operated in a moral grey area. Very dark grey at times. If I took a paycheck from him, I’d basically be saying that I was okay with some of the “less clean” aspects of his operation.
I could walk away right now. It would suck, but I’d find some way to survive.
However, I had my dad to consider. If I stayed on my rickety moral high horse, he’d be homeless.
“Can I say no to assignments I don’t like?”
“Absolutely.”
I didn’t know whether I believed him, but I also knew damn well that working for him would pay a shitload better than working the night shift at the XpressMart. I could give my dad a better life, and right now that was what mattered.
After that we hashed out the details of exactly how much I figured I needed. Pietro gave me the name of someone he knew at Harbor Homes who he said could give me a good deal on some cosmetically damaged properties, as well as the name of a guy who he promised would offer cost pricing on cars for me and my dad. After that he called Ms. Dane back in to have paperwork drawn up, and within half an hour I had a copy of the papers in my hand, and a confirmation that the entire sum would be transferred into my account as soon as the banks opened for business Monday morning.
Pietro stood and moved to the desk, opened a drawer and removed an envelope, then returned to me and held it out. “This isn’t part of the loan,” he said. “Use this to get some necessities—clothing and such. And don’t argue. I’m making small contributions to many of those affected by the flooding.”
He was crazy if he thought I was going to argue over a cash gift. Any pride that might have had me doing so had been destroyed along with my house. But when I peered into the envelope I still felt a jolt of surprise at the sight of what looked like about two grand.
Glancing up, I cocked an eyebrow at Pietro. “I’ll consider this retroactive pay for any assistance I’ve given you over the past week.”
His lips twitched. “Fair enough. But please don’t expect to always be paid at that rate.”
And with that he escorted me to the door, gave me a light kiss on the cheek, and sent me on my way to begin rebuilding my life.