of ice falling against his mouth, and I watched the move of his throat when he swallowed the last of it.
“I’m sorry.” The words were rusty, the feeling of panic foreign, my hat not used to being in hand. I swallowed the last bit of my pride. “I really need this job, Mr. Brantley. Please don’t fire me.”
He raised a brow and said nothing. The silence pushed at my composure and I struggled to maintain it. “I can’t afford to replace it but I’ll work extra hours until it’s paid for.” A commitment that’d take five years to honor. I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t accept it.
He shook his head. “No. Just…” he let out an aggravated huff. “Don’t break anything else. Take your shoes off before you come in if you have to. I’ll deal with Nicole … tell her I did it.”
An honorable woman would have stood firm and pushed for a payback schedule. I took the low road, gushing my thanks, his hand lifting to stop my babble. “Go and find Nancy. I want to talk to her, make sure our stories are on the same page. Just don’t talk to Nicki about it.” No danger of that. I did some sort of grateful bow thing and then fled the room, in search of Nancy, my heart still beating hard in my chest.
I didn’t deserve for him to cover for me but couldn’t afford anything else. The man saved my ass and kissed Nicole’s, yet he was the one getting screwed over. How could she cheat on him? Why?
I wanted to walk back in his office and tell him what I’d seen. Let him handle it however he saw fit. It was what I would have wanted someone to do for me.
But then I thought of my new apartment—of the next rent payment, due in just two weeks. If I lost my job right now, I wouldn’t be able to pay it. And I couldn’t imagine Nicole keeping me on if I blabbed about her affair.
I continued upstairs and went inside Chanel’s room where I hid, like the chicken I was, until it was time for me to go home.
22. Have Morals, Will Sell
I stood in the doorway of the west guest room in shock. The bedroom furniture gone, there was a couch, doggie bed, and basket of toys to the left. To the right, against the window, a large desk, fresh roses, and a new MacBook. It was an office.
“This is for me?” I asked, confused. I had walked into the Brantley house a bundle of nerves over Nicole’s cheating and the broken crystal. I’d been terrified to see Nicole and worried over how she’d act. I certainly didn’t expect an enthusiastic welcome, her arm looping in mine and tugging me up the stairs. I half expected, when she dragged me toward the bedroom, that it would hold shackles and an ultimatum. Not this.
“Well.” Nicole clasped her hands together and turned slightly, surveying the room. “You certainly deserve a work space.” Then she beamed at me, this horrible fake smile with stretched cheeks, thin lips, and gleaming teeth. For a smile, it held no friendship, no kindness, no goodwill.
I said nothing, walking over to the desk, my hand drifting over the items.
“Plus,” she continued, “Filming will start soon on that new movie … the uh … you know…”
“Boston Love Letters.”
“Yes!” She snapped her fingers. I thought of her kiss with the stranger and looked away, focusing on the stapler. It was hot pink with sparkles, appropriate for a preteen girl. How could she forget the name of the movie? She wasn’t Angelina Jolie, juggling six projects at a time. It was the only thing on her plate. Then again, I couldn’t remember my middle name when I’d stared at the two of them. Maybe being in his presence killed brain cells.
“Also…” she started slowly, “I’ll need you more. On set, you know. The hours are long. Sometimes ten-hour days and I’ll need you to run errands, get me food, that sort of thing.”
I nodded and braced myself for whatever bullshit was about to come.
“Would thirteen hundred dollars work?”
I looked up from the stapler. “What?”
“A raise. Thirteen hundred a week. Would that work?”
She called it a raise, but I understood what it was. A bribe. I’d keep her secret and get paid. And she—she’d keep her affair.
The path to take was clear; I should gather up my dignity and leave. Ride the subway home and feel