My stomach drops through the floor.
How does he know that?
The question lodges in my throat. I've been in my apartment all day. Haven't told anyone. Haven't posted anything online of course.
"How do you—" I start.
"This is something my mother needs to do." He talks over me like I haven't spoken. "She won't let you avoid it."
Anger sparks in my chest. Hot and bright.
"It's not that simple," I snap, keeping my voice low so Lily doesn't hear. "I can't just say yes to dinner with strangers. I have a daughter. I don't know you. I don't know your family. I don't?—"
"If someone from my family wanted to hurt you, this phone call would be a waste of time."
The words land like ice water.
I go still. Completely, utterly still.
Because he's right. And we both know it.
If these people wanted to hurt me there wouldn't be a reason to call me right?. They found my phone number. They know I got fired. They probably know my address, my social security number, my blood type.
How do rich people work?
Like this, apparently. They don't ask. They inform.
"Be ready at seven," he says.
"Wait—"
Click.
He hung up on me.
The bastard actually hung up on me.
I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at the screen. Call ended. Twelve seconds total.
Twelve seconds to completely upend my life.
"Mommy?" Lily's voice drifts from the dining area. "Your pasta's getting cold."
I press my palm against my forehead, trying to process what just happened.
A strange man called me. Told me he knows I lost my job. Informed me—not asked, informed—that a car would be picking up me and my daughter to have dinner at his family's house. And then hung up before I could refuse.
What the hell just happened?
I walk back to the table on autopilot. Lily's pushing her pasta around her plate, watching me .
"Who was that?"
"Nobody, baby."
I sit down. Pick up my fork. Put it down again.
My hands are shaking.
