Chapter 4 I was shaky the rest of the night, unable to stop replaying it all in my head. His voice. His words. The way he left. The actor was pissed and tried to play it off to the point where he attempted to come after me and grab me to bring me back onto his lap when both my manager and a bouncer stepped in. By the time I got home, showered, and got into bed beside my little girl, I still wasn't settled, and sleep evaded me. I tossed and turned, alternating between shivering cold and blazing hot. I was oddly turned on by the guy intervening on my behalf and yet rattled by him. How does that even make sense? Or possibly it's because it's been a very long time since someone has stood up for me like that, and it happened twice in one day with two different people. This guy was protecting me. From what, I don't know other than an asshole customer, which isn't new. In the two days since that happened in the club, I still haven't been able to stop thinking about it. Or him. In my head, I've morphed the coffee shop guy and this guy into the same man, though I know that's impossible with how differently they looked. Yesterday I had clinical at the hospital, and last night I caught up on schoolwork. Things were starting to even back out. And now this... "I'm so sorry, Liora," the owner, Leo, says with a contrite expression. "I don't know what to say." Fear strikes a path through me, and my hands start to shake. "I'm fired? For real?" "Not fired," he states gently. "Laid off. There's a difference. You've been a great employee these few weeks, and I'll be happy to give you a good recommendation anywhere you apply. It's my son, and you're the last hired." Therefore, first fired. Leo wants his son to work here and learn the business, and that means someone has to go to make room for him. I get it. But fuck. And why hire me three weeks ago if he knew this was going to happen? There goes daycare unless I can find another position on campus, and those are nearly impossible to come by, especially this late into the semester. I was lucky enough to get this. A cold sweat breaks out on my skin, and my heart pounds in my chest. I can't say anything or I'll cry, and I don't want to cry. Hell, I don't cry. Tears get you nowhere and help nothing. "I really am sorry. Here's a gift card for fifty bucks you can use here." He places it in my hand, and I stare down at the rectangular piece of plastic with the happy-looking sun on it and almost laugh. A gift card. That's my severance. Like I'll be coming back here to use it. I turn and walk out of the kitchen area, only to remember I'm still wearing my apron. I rip it off, and slam it down on the counter in front of everyone. I don't even care. The moment I gain any footing over my life, something else comes along and rips the rug out from under my feet. What am I going to do? The cold Boston air hits me in the face, and I take two steps to my right and sag against the building. I've done everything I can not to be angry or resentful of the cards I've been dealt. I've tried to keep my smile even when life got to be way too much for me. I saw a lot of things as fate. As a helping and guiding hand. But this last year since Mattia left has been some of my darkest and hardest to bear. It's not his absence. No, it's certainly not that. It's how he left me and Hazel and took everything from us. Worse than that, he spent money I didn't have. "Are you okay?" A soft voice drags me out of my spiraling thoughts and into the kind, warm eyes of an older Black woman. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to intrude, but I couldn't help but overhear what happened back there in the café." "Oh. Yes. I'm fine. I'll be fine," I amend. "But you needed the job," she states plainly, her lips pursed as she studies me. "Are you a student?" "Yes. Part-time nursing student." "How old are you, hon? If you don't mind me asking. I'm not trying to be rude. Everyone looks younger than me these days, but you look a little older than eighteen or nineteen." "I'm twenty-six." She taps her lip with her long, hot-pink nail. "Hmm. That manager said you're a good employee. What sort of hours and work are you looking for?" I blink, unsure what to make of this conversation. "Um⁠-" She laughs, loud and boisterous. "I'm sorry. Where are my manners? I'm Champagne Goodall." She sticks her hand out for me, and reflexively I shake it, practically wincing with how firm her grip is. "Champagne?" "I know. But what can you do?" She shrugs. "My mother named me that because I'm full of bubbles and sweetness, and her favorite R&B singer, Evelyn King, used Champagne as her middle name. Honestly, I think my mother liked the alliteration of it since her name is Chandra." I laugh despite myself. "I love that. And I love champagne." Not that I've had any recently, but when I lived in California, it was something I'd do with my friends because we could get cheap bottles of sparkling wine. That was when I had friends and no debt. I didn't have family, but I had friends and a job. "Oh, darling, me too, though I'm more of a vodka woman now. Anyway, the reason I'm stopping you and chatting your ear off on the street like this is because I'm set to retire in two months, and my boss needs a new assistant." Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ Find_Nøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. My eyebrows take a nosedive, and I point at my chest, more than a little incredulous. "And you think I'd be a good fit for this? You don't even know me." "No, but I see enough to know. Besides, my instincts about people are never wrong, and you need a job." "I'm a barista. A checkout girl." "You're also a nursing student, which means you're smart, organized, efficient, able to multitask, and very capable. All nurses, and baristas for that matter, are." "I um. I'm sorry, you're very kind, and I appreciate what you're doing⁠-" Her expression grows serious and imploring. "Don't say no. I understand how odd this is, but I promise it isn't a scam. This is a real opportunity. One you shouldn't pass up. Our building is just up the block. Why don't you come with me and meet him?" I push myself away from the building as I twist my bracelet around my wrist. It's been a very odd couple of days, and I'm not sure how much more I can take at this point. "Him?" "Yes. My boss. He's the one you'd work for." "I already told you I'm a student, and I have clinical hours with that, even if my classes are online." "And what are those hours like?" she presses. "Mondays and Wednesdays from seven to noon." She waves me away. "Oh, that's nothing. My boss works odd hours, and mornings aren't his favorite time to be anywhere. Plus, the company offers full benefits, including tuition reimbursement." Benefits? Tuition reimbursement? And Champagne is dressed like she just stepped out of the pages of a magazine. If this job pays half as well as she looks, I can likely quit the club and still afford daycare. Still, if something is too good to be true, it usually is. "Why does this feel like a trap?" "No trap, and all I'm offering is a meeting with him. How it goes from there is between the two of you. But I will be honest with you. My boss is a bit... eccentric. He's one of those genius types who is too smart for his own good, but he has a heart of gold. Even if it's buried a bit beneath his slightly gruff exterior." I frown at that, but she quickly pushes on. "Just meet him and see if it's a fit for both of you. The people I interviewed yesterday were all wrong, but there's something about you that feels right." "I have no résumé, and I'm dressed, well, like I work in a coffee shop." I glance down at the black long-sleeved shirt beneath my open coat and slightly stained jeans. I hate wearing black. It makes me feel dark and sinister. I'd much rather be dressed like Champagne in bright colors that exude the happiness I'm desperate to feel. "Nonsense. You're beautiful. Besides, he hardly dresses professionally unless forced." "But-" "Let's go. Time's ticking, and he's already in the office. I came down here to grab him something to eat." She holds up a to-go bag as she takes me by my upper arm with her other hand and pulls me along. "That's rule one with him. You have to make sure he eats because he works twenty-four seven and takes the worst care of himself. If unchecked, he'd live off a vending machine and not be bothered by it. It's a wonder he isn't seven hundred pounds. He gets lost in his work, and hours along with everything else evade him when he does." "Brilliant, genius type," I parrot her words from before. "Exactly." I let her guide me because at this point, I have nothing else to lose, and more than that, I believe she might be fate once again stepping in for me. At least I hope she is. I have no choice but to hope she is. I never needed anyone to save me. I saved myself, and I continue to do so. But there have been angels-pun intended-along the way for me. I believe people come into your life when you need them most. That was Christine, who Hazel's middle name is for. I met her at a rest stop on the Mass Pike when my life fell apart. I was literally stranded since my car had run out of gas, and I had no money. I was crying in the bathroom, positive my life was ending, when she offered me a ride. She brought me out to California and got me a job. I thought Mattia was another one of those people for me, and yes, he gave me Hazel, but he left us in ruin. Now let's pray sweet, bubbly Champagne is another angel. The good kind. The building is up the block, just off campus, and is large, modern, and beautiful with a lot of glass and high-end furnishings and art. And that's just the lobby. She swipes us in with her badge and waves to the security guard, while I ogle my surroundings. There's a large sign overhead with the company name and logo, but I don't catch it as Champagne pulls me onto a waiting elevator. "What type of company is this? What sort of work do you do here?" "Cybersecurity." "Oh." Something I know nothing about. She must read this because she says, "Don't worry. Business is business, and your job, more or less, is simply to manage the CEO's calendar, his emails, ensure he gets where he needs to be when he needs to be there, and vet people who try to see or speak to him." My heart picks up an extra beat. "I'm sorry, did you say the CEO?" She throws me a side-eye. "I wasn't going to let that slip just yet, but yes, the CEO. But don't let that get you into a fret. He's a young, reluctant CEO, if that helps anything. He does his own thing most days, and his own thing is very private. If you're hired, you'll have to sign a lot of paperwork, including nondisclosure agreements and noncompete clauses, among other things. He's not big on trust, and it takes a while for him to get there, so just remember what I said about a heart of gold underneath." Oh boy. What the hell have I gotten myself into? Before I can fully question that-or perhaps run-the elevator doors open on the top floor, giving way to more polished refinement. It's early still. Not even eight in the morning, and the floor is fairly empty save for a few people coming and going. "This is the executive floor." I gnaw on my lip and fiddle with the half heart on my bracelet. "You're sure about this?" "Positive. Don't worry. You'll do great." She pans her hand out, and we walk down the long corridor. Our shoes-her heels and my ancient Vans-tap lightly against the industrial gray carpet that transitions to a trendy cement floor. "What brought you to Boston?" "How do you know I'm not from here?" She throws me a look as if to say it's obvious, but I'm not sure how it could be. "You have a bit of a different accent. I can't place it, but it's not Boston or Connecticut." Oh. I never realized, but I guess compared to hers, I do. "I was living in California before I moved to Boston with my ex," I explain as I glance around at the neatly arranged open-concept workspace. Offices line the periphery of the floor, while the center is cubicles and a smattering of comfy sitting areas, along with a few old-school arcade games and even a cornhole setup in the center. The skylight overhead lets in plenty of light, making the whole space feel airy and almost fun for an office. "He a jerk?" I turn back to her with a wry smile. "You could say that." "I just did." She winks at me. "I have one of those, too. Left me with our two girls and rode off into the sunset with my best friend." I blanch. "Damn. I'm so sorry. That's awful." She shrugs as if it's not a thing for her anymore, and I can't wait until I get to that point. "Yeah, but I got him good with child support and alimony, and I'm better off without them. So are my girls since he decided not to be their father either." "Mine left me and our little girl after he took all our money. We were never married, and he's an Italian citizen back in Italy. Hard to fight that in the courts." You also have to have money to fight it, and I don't. "Bastard. Men can be real pieces of shit. Not all of them, though. I have a man, and he's the best. Raised my girls like his own and holds my hand everywhere we walk. Before he came along, working here saved me," she tells me as we stop in front of one of the offices. "They pay well, and they care about their people. About loyalty." "I like that." Her hand squeezes my shoulder. "Good. Because here we are." "Wait, what's the name of the company?" "Monroe Securities." Monroe Securities. Monroe. That name. How do I know that name? Before I can figure it out, she raps her knuckles on the door, and a man with a gruff voice calls out, "Come in." That's when I see it. The name on the placard in black, bold font. Vander Moore, CEO. Holy shit.