Page 19 of Unsuitable
He has a deep scar on his chin and one cutting through his eyebrow, which is pulled toward the other in a frown. Roman nose. High cheekbones. Jaw like a razor. His hair is dark brown, collar-length, and swept back off his face. He looks like he hasn’t shaved in days. Everything about him shouldn’t work, but it does.
It really does.
There’s something strangely compelling about him.
Compelling enough to have me staring.
I’m staring.
Flushing, I push a few loose strands of hair behind my ear as my eyes sweep the floor.
“Hi.” I clear my throat as I lift my eyes back to him.
He’s staring at me blankly. No smile or friendly look. His brows are still drawn together, and that’s when I finally notice his eyes.
They’re black. Hard and cold.
I force a smile onto my face. “My name is Daisy Smith. I’m starting work here today as a maid.”
The frown deepens. “You said that already.” His voice is as hard as his eyes. It sounded much sexier on the intercom. Maybe he’s not the guy I spoke to.
“I did?”
“At the gate. On the intercom.”
He’s the guy.
“Oh, right. Of course.”
And I feel like a prize idiot.
Great first impression I’m making here.
Come on, Daisy, you can do better than this.
I hook my thumb under the strap of my bag and meet his eyes again, forcing another smile. “I was told to ask for Mr. Matis—”
“I’m Kastor Matis.”
Kastor.
Unusual name. Suits him.
“My friends call me Kas. My employees call me Mr. Matis.”
Guess I know which category I fall into.
He’s still staring right at me with those cold eyes of his. I decide that they remind me of coal. Hard and unyielding.
“Okay, Mr. Matis, it is. Matis…is that Greek?” I tip my head to the side in question.
A flash of surprise enters his eyes.
Yes, I’ve been in prison, and I might be a glorified cleaner, but I’m not completely thick.
He moistens his lips, and that’s when I notice his upper lip is fuller than his lower. The kind of lip you suck on. Not that I’m going to be sucking on his lips anytime ever.
“It is,” is his brittle answer.
