Chapter 2 - The Job Nobody Wanted
I laughed.
Nobody else did.
Adrian remained perfectly serious.
“You're offering me a job because I insulted your father?”
“You didn't insult him.”
“I threatened him.”
“You corrected him.”
“With a threat.”
“Apparently that's the only language he still understands.”
I pushed the business card back.
“No.”
Adrian looked down at it.
Then at me.
“That was fast.”
“I'm practicing.”
Dana covered her mouth.
Adrian actually smiled.
“I understand why my father likes you.”
“Your father doesn't like me.”
“You'd be surprised.”
“I wouldn't.”
I picked up my coat.
Adrian stepped aside rather than blocking me.
That surprised me.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “Ten a.m. Moretti Holdings.”
“I'm not coming.”
“Probably not.”
“Then why tell me?”
“Because you'll change your mind.”
“You're very confident.”
“No. I saw you checking your phone.”
I stopped.
He continued quietly.
“Four calls from St. Matthew's Hospital while we've been talking.”
My stomach tightened.
“Don't.”
Adrian's expression changed.
The amusement disappeared.
“Your mother?”
“That's none of your business.”
“You're right.”
He took one step back.
“I apologize.”
That stopped me more effectively than any threat could have.
A Moretti had apologized.
I walked outside.
My phone rang before I reached the bus stop.
St. Matthew's.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Carter?”
“Yes.”
“This is Dr. Lawson.”
I closed my eyes.
“What happened?”
“Your mother's stable, but we need to discuss the next stage of treatment.”
“How much?”
A pause.
Doctors always paused before saying numbers that could destroy your life.
“We'll discuss everything tomorrow.”
“How much?”
“Emily—”
“Please.”
He told me.
I sat on the wet bus-stop bench.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
When I finally reached the hospital, Mom was awake.
She wore an oxygen cannula beneath her nose.
“You look terrible,” she said.
“Thanks.”
“Bad shift?”
“Got fired.”
She stared at me.
“Again?”
“That's unfair. The bakery wasn't technically firing.”
“You called the owner an idiot.”
“He was an idiot.”
Mom smiled weakly.
Then she noticed my expression.
“What aren't you telling me?”
“Nothing.”
“Emily.”
I sat beside her.
She reached for my hand.
“Treatment?”
I nodded.
“How bad?”
“We'll figure it out.”
“That's not an answer.”
“It'll have to be tonight.”
She studied me.
“You can't destroy your life keeping me alive.”
“Watch me.”
“Emily.”
“No.”
“Listen—”
“No.”
Her fingers tightened around mine.
“You've always been stubborn.”
“You made me.”
“I regret that now.”
I laughed despite myself.
At 9:58 the next morning, I stood outside Moretti Holdings.
The tower looked like it owned half of downtown Chicago.
Maybe it did.
I entered.
The receptionist looked at my jeans and inexpensive coat.
“Can I help you?”
“Adrian Moretti.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
She smiled professionally.
“Mr. Moretti doesn't accept unscheduled visitors.”
A voice behind me said:
“She isn't unscheduled.”
Adrian stood near the elevators.
He looked at his watch.
“Two minutes early.”
“I haven't accepted anything.”
“Of course not.”
We rode to the forty-third floor.
When the elevator opened, I expected Adrian's office.
Instead, I found Vincent.
He stood beside enormous windows overlooking Chicago.
He turned.
“You.”
“Me.”
Adrian closed the door.
Vincent looked at his son.
“Explain.”
“I hired her.”
“No, you didn't,” I said.
Vincent's eyebrows lifted.
Adrian sighed.
“I'm attempting to hire her.”
“For what?”
Adrian walked toward the conference table.
“For the Bellini Foundation negotiations.”
Vincent's face hardened.
“No.”
“Exactly,” Adrian said. “That's why we need her.”
Vincent looked between us.
“You brought a waitress into my company to advise me?”
“Former waitress,” I said.
His eyes narrowed.
I smiled.
“Your fault.”
Adrian coughed to hide a laugh.
Vincent pointed at the door.
“Get out.”
I turned immediately.
“Gladly.”
“Not you.”
I stopped.
Vincent was pointing at Adrian.
Adrian's smile vanished.
“Father—”
“Out.”
Adrian hesitated.
Then left.
The door closed.
I was alone with Vincent Moretti.
He walked toward me.
“You embarrassed me yesterday.”
“You threw a cup at my head.”
“You threatened me.”
“You started it.”
“Nobody talks to me that way.”
“That sounds lonely.”
Vincent stopped.
For the first time, something other than anger crossed his face.
Then he asked:
“How much?”
I frowned.
“How much what?”
“For your mother's treatment.”
My blood went cold.
“How do you know about my mother?”
“My son talks too much.”
“Stay away from her.”
Vincent studied me.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“I offer to help and you threaten me again.”
“You didn't offer anything. You asked for a price.”
“Everyone has one.”
“No.”
“Everyone.”
I stepped closer.
“My mother isn't for sale.”
Vincent's expression hardened.
“Neither is my dignity.”
Silence.
Then Vincent walked behind his desk.
“Fifty thousand dollars.”
“For what?”
“Three months.”
“Doing what?”
“Working directly for me.”
I laughed.
He didn't.
“You think I'm joking?”
“I think you're insane.”
“Possibly.”
“What would I actually do?”
Vincent sat down.
Then he gave me the strangest job description I'd ever heard.
May you like
“Every time someone in this building is too afraid to tell me the truth, you tell it instead.”
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