“I’ll hold your calls until you’re done,” she replied with a smile.
I knocked and entered Nyah’s office.
Francois was there, breathing noisily, sweat visible on his brow.
Nyah looked pretty much the same—nostrils flared, eyes blazing. “Have a seat,” she said through gritted teeth.
Uh-oh.Whatever this was, it wasn’t a congratulatory meeting. What did Francois tell her?I sat opposite her desk.
“Under no circumstances should you say anything for the next half hour.”Half an hour? What is she planning?“Do you understand?”
My chest constricted, heat rushing through me.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I said, forcing an even breath. “I understand. But?—”
She raised her hand, cutting me off. Then she pressed a button on her phone.
“Amy, send the first one in.”
A few seconds later, a knock sounded, and a young woman entered. She looked distraught.
I recognized her from the restaurant staff list, though the photo hadn’t captured the puffy eyes or mascara streaks. She looked past me to Nyah and Francois.
“I’m so sorry, Ms. Rodriguez,” she said. “It’s like I toldMonsieurBoutier—I can’t work evenings. I just can’t.” Her voice broke. “I’m trying to earn my diploma and go to class at night. If I can’t stay on the breakfast shift, I’ll have to quit and go back to waiting tables at the diner.”
I shifted in my seat, realizing I was the cause of her distress. “I… um?—”
Nyah silenced me with another raised hand. “Don’t worry, Katherine,” she said. “You can still go to college in the evenings. Good luck with your diploma.”
“Thank you,” Katherine said, sniffling.
“I’ll come in early next week for breakfast and see how you’re going.”
“Thank you so much.” She left with a teary smile.
Nyah pressed the button again.
This time it was an older woman, maybe in her forties—one who’d undoubtedly been on Friday nights before I’d changed the roster. Her voice was thick with emotion as she explained that if she worked days, she’d never see her three young children. She’d taken the job specifically because evenings allowed her to spend the whole day with them before handing them over to her office-working husband for bath time and bed. Her posture sagged, her chin trembling. “A babysitter for three kids will cost more than I make here.”
My stomach dropped. I’d screwed up—badly.
“Greta,” Nyah said, “don’t worry about the babysitter. You’ll be back on evenings, just like before. We’re sorry for the inconvenience.”
Greta looked up slowly, relief spreading across her face. “Thank you so much.” She left.
“Okay,” I said. “I get?—”
“Not a word,” Nyah hissed. “I’m not finished.” She buzzed Amy again.
“Ms. Rodriguez,MonsieurBoutier,” said the muscular bartender I recognized, his eyes passing over me without a hint of recognition. “I gotta thank you for letting me work the bar midweek. It’s been a blast, and I’ve learned a ton, especially from you,Monsieur.” He nodded at Francois. “But I can’t shift to Fridays. I’ve been working this other gig—it’s dancing, not bartending—at a ladies’ club.” He shrugged. “The tips are pretty generous.” He sighed deeply. “If I have to choose between here and there… I’m sorry, but you understand.”
My jaw clenched. This was turning into a public dismantling. Each person felt like another nail being driven in, slow and deliberate.
“We understand perfectly, Milos,” Nyah said. “And I hope you won’t be offended if Idon’tcome visit you at your club.”
Milos reddened and shuffled his feet. “Yeah, I reckon that might be for the best, Ms. Rodriguez.”
