The man paused, glancing between Paul's designer suit and my worn clothes.
"Two thousand five hundred a month," I answered. "Includes meals."
I checked the clock and untied my apron. "Boss, my shift's over."
He handed me a bag of vegetables. "Make something nice for your daughter."
Clatter.
Paul's chopsticks hit the floor. "You remarried? You have a child?"
"She's adopted," the owner said proudly. "Serena has a heart of gold."
I offered no explanation and headed for the door.
During our marriage, the stress had destroyed my health. Doctors said I'd likely never conceive. When I found my daughter, I took her in. Two broken souls who became family.
Outside, the rain had turned vicious. The last bus was gone.
I calculated: subway didn't reach my district, taxi would cost a fortune. Walking meant saving money for my daughter's treats.
I opened my umbrella and stepped into the storm.
A hand clamped around my wrist.
"I'll drive you."
Paul's grip was iron. His expression—disgust mixed with something I couldn't name.
I stepped back. "No need. Thank you, Mr. Gilbert."
He didn't ask again. He dragged me to the Rolls-Royce, shoved me into the back seat, and tossed his umbrella at my feet.