Friday

"Give it to someone else, Vince. Please."

I had followed him all the way to his office at the back of the club, still in my black silk, my hairpins half out.

Vince sat down heavily behind his desk. "They asked for you, Claire. By name."

"Then tell them I'm sick."

"They paid double." He tapped the tablet. "Deposit's already cleared. You know what double means for your end?"

I knew. Double for one night was more than I made in two weeks at the Doyle Group.

"I work for that company now," I said quietly. "In the day. For the man who runs it."

Vince rubbed his tired eyes. In six months, he had never once raised his voice at me. He didn't now, either.

"Then you've got a problem," he said. "Because if you skip a booking this size, I can't keep you on. You know the rules. Same as you've got yours."

I did the math the way I did it every night at the kitchen table. Without the club, the Doyle Group paycheck covered rent and groceries. Nothing else. No echo test on Thursday. No refill of the little white pills Ethan took with his orange juice every morning. No money set aside for the surgery the doctor kept calling *probably* and *before he's twelve*.

I pressed my palm flat against Vince's cold metal desk.

Four hundred dollars in my account, and Thursday two days away.

"Fine," I said. "Small stage. Nobody touches. Nobody talks to me."

"Same as always." He went back to his screen. "Friday. Nine o'clock. Wear the blue."

The next morning, I opened Adrian's calendar before he came in.

Friday, 8:00 p.m. [Hartwell client dinner. Venue booked by Marcus.]

"Marcus," I said as casually as I could when he wandered past with his coffee. "The Hartwell dinner Friday. Where is it?"

"Oh, God. Hartwell's guys always want something wild." He rolled his eyes. "Some club downtown. The Silver something. Why?"

My coffee cup tipped in my hand. I caught it just before it spilled.

"No reason. Just updating the calendar."

"Don't worry, the boss hates those dinners. He usually leaves after twenty minutes."

'Twenty minutes,' I thought. 'Please, just twenty minutes. Please leave before nine.'

When Adrian came in, I followed him into his office with the day's folder.

"The Hartwell dinner," I said. "I could find another venue. Somewhere quieter. Better for business."

He looked up. "Hartwell chose it. His company, his choice. We just pay." He tilted his head. "Why? Do you know the place?"

I held the edge of the folder so tightly the cardboard bent.

"I've heard of it," I said.

"So have I. That's why I'll be leaving early." He took the folder from my hands. His fingers brushed mine. "Anything else?"

"I need Thursday afternoon off. A doctor's appointment."

"Take the whole day."

"I don't need the whole day."

"Take it anyway." He had already turned back to his screen. "You've been here two days and you've fixed more than my last secretary did in a year. Go."

I stood there a second too long, holding nothing.

No one had ever told me to take the whole day.

On Thursday, I paid the clinic with every dollar I had and every tip from the last two nights, folded into an envelope.

Ethan sat on the paper-covered bed while Dr. Patel listened to his heart. He swung his legs and watched me the way he always did, like he was checking whether I was okay.

"Mom," he said on the bus home. "Is your new boss nice?"

I thought about a folder carried three blocks, and a man who didn't laugh at my resume, and *take the whole day.*

"Yes," I said. "He's nice."

"Nicer than Mrs. Pratt?" Mrs. Pratt was his math teacher. She had once confiscated his rocket drawing, and he had never forgiven her.

"Much nicer than Mrs. Pratt."

Ethan nodded seriously. "Then he can stay."

I laughed, a real laugh, loud enough that the woman across the aisle smiled at us.

Friday night came too fast.

The back room of the Silver Room was dim and blue. A long table filled with men in expensive suits, glasses clinking, laughter rising. The small stage stood in the corner under a single soft light.

I stood behind the curtain in the blue dress, my hands cold, counting the way Ethan counted his heartbeats.

"It's nine-fifteen," Priya whispered beside me. "Your boss probably left already. Twenty minutes, remember?"

"I know."

"Breathe, Claire."

The music started.

The heat of the light hit my bare shoulders. The room smelled of whiskey and cigar smoke. I walked out the way I always did, chin up, eyes on the lights, never the faces. In my head, I was at Ethan's kitchen table, listening to him laugh.

I didn't look at the table once.

The song was almost over. Almost. One more minute, and I could walk off and it would be done.

The door at the back of the room opened.

A draft of cold air swept across the floor, and a man walked in, pulling his phone from his ear. Tall. Dark suit. No tie. He stopped just inside the door to say something to Hartwell.

Then he looked up at the stage.

Adrian Doyle's hand froze halfway to his pocket.

His gray eyes met mine across the dark room. His eyebrows went up. His lips parted. Then his jaw locked, and his whole face shut like a door.

The music ended.

The men at the table clapped and whistled.

Adrian didn't move. He didn't clap. He stood by the door and looked at me like he had never seen me before in his life.

Then he turned and walked out.

Somehow I got off the stage. I remember Priya's hand on my arm, and her voice saying my name, and the narrow back hallway that led to the dressing room.

"Was that him?" she whispered. "Claire. Was that your boss?"

I couldn't answer. My legs were shaking so badly I had to put one hand on the wall.

'Monday,' I thought. 'He'll fire me on Monday. I'll lose the job and the money and Ethan's next appointment and...'

"Go get changed," Priya said. "I'll tell Vince you're sick."

I nodded and turned the corner toward the dressing room.

Adrian was standing at the end of the hallway.

He had his back against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest. The red exit light turned his face hard and unreadable.

He hadn't left. He had been waiting.

"Hello, Ms. Whitfield," he said quietly. "Or should I call you cousin?"