Mob Mistress. Sheri WhiteFeather

school she’d attended.

      Feeling like a knobby-kneed kid, Maya kept her hands at her sides. Sister used to scold her when she fidgeted.

      Brian didn’t offer her a seat. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of tropical fish.

      And then she saw Justin. He stood near the corner of the aquarium. He’d shoved on a pair of threadbare jeans over his swim trucks, leaving the top button undone. His hair, disheveled from diving into the pool, lent him a bad-boy quality.

      Rich and spoiled looked good on him. Too good, she thought, scowling in her mind.

      Brian finally told her to sit, which she did, taking a chair near his desk. Justin stayed close to the aquarium, enhancing the marine beauty.

      “My nephew spoke to me about you,” Brian said.

      Maya glanced at Justin, but he didn’t react, other than to smooth his hair. The ends were still damp.