Wrong Place Perfect Time Read Online Flora Ferrari

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Insta-Love Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
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JASMINE
Could today get any worse?
Could my whole life get any worse?
I know, I know. Everyone has their problems, but seriously?
My job and my apartment are all gone on the same day.
A help wanted sign looks promising, but once inside the place, I feel that something isn’t quite right.
It makes my existing problems seem pretty manageable when I think about it.

ROCKY
I’m on an errand that could get me killed if I handle it the way I want to.
After what they did last night to our family, it’s war they’ll get.
I’m Rocco, ‘Rocky’ Martinelli.
The Family’s number one guy, the big thug that looks so mean nobody dares cross him.
Time to pull my head in for once. Today’s errand could get me killed.
Or worse.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER ONE

Jasmine

Help Wanted…

Ain’t that the truth?

It takes a few moments, but by the time it sinks in, I’ve already walked past the sign in the restaurant window.

I stop in the middle of the sidewalk, and a few elbows jostle to pass me as it starts to rain.

The pink eviction is noticeable still in my hand. My termination of employment letter tucked neatly in my bag.

Could today get any worse?

Could my life get any worse?

I feel a ripple of emotion run through me, and despite the rain that would disguise some of them, I fight back the tears.

I’m stronger than this. I can deal with it…

Help wanted.

The sign might be another kind of sign too.

Like a way out of this mess I’ve found myself in.

Doubling back, I feel my sorrow turn to nerves as I realize I’m hardly dressed for, let alone in the mood to sell myself as anyone’s next employee of the month.

Restaurant work would mean one of two things. Washing dishes or waiting tables.

The first and last waitressing job I had was both, and I quit on day one.

My most recent job at the box factory just fired me. Apparently, it’s cheaper to lay off employees and find new ones than pay them what they’re due.

Catching a glimpse of myself in the window out front before I go in, I have second thoughts.

I look like a lunatic, dragging myself in from the rain. But also because I promised myself not to make any more rash decisions based on my situation.

Like being homeless and having no money? What’s there to think about, Jazz?

Get in there and get a job already.

The ‘me’ in my head is stronger, more determined.

The ‘me’ who has to function in the outside world, not so confident and too clumsy to be a waitress. Also, too much on the chubby side of ‘cute’ to win any points on first impressions alone.

True to form, I open the door and knock over a chalkboard menu that must’ve been brought in out of the rain.

It bangs loudly onto the floor, and three men at the nearest table from the door, all in long leather coats and Fedora hats, reach into their breast pockets for some reason.

Each of them eyes me like I’m the devil himself until a strong, deep voice tells the whole room to relax.

I wish it was that easy.

The soothing but commanding tone is from an older man at a separate table.

Even though he’s dressed in simple clothing, a single glance at him tells me that he’s the boss.

His cardigan and slip-on shoes, lack of a hat, and even the corduroy pull-up pants he has on do nothing to detract from his air of authority.

“Sorry…,” I squeak, grimacing and practically walking on tiptoes, so I don’t ruin anything else.

I think about bending down to pick up the sign, but with my hands already full, plus the looks I’m getting tell me I’ve already done enough.

My efforts also draw the attention of a younger woman who comes out from behind a set of swinging doors.

She must be about my age and looks around cautiously at first, annoyed once she spots me.

She’s beautiful.

That’s the first thought that occurs to me, but I often think that about other people. Never myself.

But she is different, kind of like a thinner, way prettier version of me.

At a glance, I assume our similarities with blond hair and a big chest should make us instant friends.

Wrong.

I smile awkwardly, but her mouth is crimped tight, like someone who’s used to keeping her mouth shut.

Her slightly green eyes aren’t blue like mine, and I’m sure I don’t make a face like that every time I meet someone new.

So I guess we don’t have much in common at all. We do seem to be around the same age, though.

“Help you?” she snaps before rolling her eyes, and I feel like I’ve been slapped, but only by her words.

She’s not like me at all. Who am I kidding?

God. Why do I even bother to try and think I’m anything like other people?

“Maria!” The older man growls at the girl, and the whole room turns to meet his stern gaze.

The only sound I can hear until he speaks again is me swallowing hard.

“That’s no way to treat our guest,” he croons, a wide smile making his whole appearance seem friendly in an instant.

But there’s still something in his eyes that makes me feel a level of alarm. Like something here just isn’t quite right.

It's a downtown restaurant with enough people sitting around to make it look like lunchtime, but there’s not a single plate of food.

The older man’s eyes scan me intently and settle on the pink eviction slip in my hand, reminding me not to be so judgmental and stick to the reason I walked in here in the first place.


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