Page 3 of Something Like Hail

“Hey!” Noah protested, butit went unnoticed.

“I agree,” Nathaniel said,addressing Marcello again. “Will do.” He set down the phone andconsidered for it a moment before speaking. “Look, if you reallywant to be a model, get into shape, or better yet, find an agent.Right now, we’re not interested.”

Noah’s mouth fell open. “I’m not herebecause I want to be a model!”

Nathaniel’s jaw clenched in response. “Thenyou either tell me why you’re here, or get out. I’ve got betterthings to do than play guessing games.”

Noah wasn’t in the moodfor charades either, but his purpose here was illegal. From what heunderstood, that part of the business was secret and not openlyadvertised. He also knew that Studio Maltese wasn’t just a front.They really did hire models—the respectable kind—and producehigh-profile advertisements. That’s not the job he was after, buthow to discretely broach the subject? Unless that’s what Nathanielwas attempting.

“When you say model,” Noahtried. “Do you mean model ormodel?”

“They sound the same tome,” Nathaniel grumped. Then he seemed to understand, leaning backin his chair slowly, expression guarded. “You’re interested inmovies.”

“No,” Noah said. He knewabout those as well, but that would be too much. Too permanent.“The other thing.”

“Dating?”

“Exactly!” He felt happythey had finally gotten there.

Nathaniel didn’t look so pleased. “Do youhave a reference?”

“Sorry?”

“A reference,” Nathanielrepeated. “Who sent you here?”

Oh. In other words, how did he know aboutthe escort service? That was complicated. Noah was loath to say theperson’s name, so he scrambled to find a different one. Someone whowould know the same information and could get him where he neededto be. “Tim Wyman.”

That did the trick. Nathaniel sat upright.“Tim?”

“Yeah,” he said, praying hehad gotten the last name right. Was it Tim Wyatt instead? No. Hehad heard it said often enough. Noah was certain.

“Seriously?”

Uh oh. What choice did he have but to stickwith his story? He nodded.

Nathaniel considered him,then looked at the door. “And this is why you felt the need to bustin here like your life depended on it? Because you’re interestedinthatsort ofwork?”

Noah would have swallowed if he had anypride left. “Can I talk to Marcello now?”

“I think you’d better.”Nathaniel said, sounding exasperated. He picked up his phone againand turned around in his chair, voice a low murmur that Noahcouldn’t hear. After a short discussion, Nathaniel hung up thephone and stood. “Come with me.”

Noah was led back down the hallway to theelevator. He wondered if he was being shown to the exit. Tim’s lastname might be Wyatt after all. Once they were in the elevator,Nathaniel punched a code into a keypad, the doors closed, and thelittle box moved.

“Are we going up?” heasked, not hiding his surprise.

Nathaniel looked over at him. “I’m guessingyou took the stairs. They don’t go to the third floor.”

“I didn’t know there wasone.”

“It’s just an additionbuilt onto the roof.”

He tried to picture what awaited him there.A rooftop garden where Marcello pruned exotic plants whileoverseeing his criminal empire? He certainly didn’t expect such alarge and luxurious space. The lush carpets strewn about the stonefloor, and the wet bar that occupied one wall, made it resemble aliving room. On the opposite side of this, near the windows, twocouches faced each other, separated by a low coffee table. The deskat the far end of the room was cluttered with files, papers,knickknacks, and a large monitor. An imposing man sat behind this,already eyeing him critically. Just an elaborate office then.Nothing so dramatic as a rooftop garden, but Marcello still wouldhave made a great Bond villain.

Nathaniel led the way and stopped when theyreached the couches. There he sat. Noah looked to him for guidance.When none came, he proceeded to the desk. Marcello didn’t rise tomeet him, or offer his hand. His gaze was appraising. Perhaps hewas deciding if Noah was hot enough for the job. Marcello wasbasically what Noah had imagined: old, overweight, and dressed in aconservative suit. Exactly the kind of client he could expect toentertain. Those dark eyes though, they were shrewd! Noah had ahard time meeting them, but he forced himself to as he held out ahand.

“Hello,” he said. “It’s anhonor to finally meet you. I’m Noah.”

“You’ve caused quite astir,” Marcello said, standing finally. His voice was husky, hispalm warm. “Let’s start from the beginning. Why are youhere?”