“Amai?” Truth said, her voice uncertain. “What are you?—”
“I’m here to give you something,” I said.
Truth’s eyes widened slightly. She glanced at Amber again, then back at me.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “Um. Let me just?—”
“Before you do that,” I said, cutting her off. I turned back to Amber, who was sitting frozen behind her desk. “I want you to know something.”
Amber swallowed hard.
“Truth Renois,” I continued, my voice calm but edged with something sharp, “is under mine now. That means if I ever hear you disrespect her again. If I ever hear you say one more wordabout her that isn’t professional and respectful, I will make sure you regret it. Do you understand?”
Amber’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air.
“I said, do you understand?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Good.”
I turned back to Truth, who was staring at me with wide eyes.
“Amai,” she hissed, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the hallway. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Checkin’ shit.”
“You can’t just—” She lowered her voice as we walked down the hallway, away from the front desk. “I need this job. I can’t afford to piss people off.”
I stopped walking.
Turned to face her.
“You don’t need that underpaid, ungrateful ass job anymore.”
I held up the manila envelope.
Truth stared at it. Then at me.
“What is that?”
“The contract.”
Her breath caught.
I gestured toward a door at the end of the hallway. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
Truth hesitated. Then nodded.
“Conference room,” she said quietly.
The conference room was small. A table that seated six. Whiteboard on the wall with someone’s half-erased notes about medication schedules. Fluorescent lights that buzzed faintly overhead.
Truth closed the door behind us and leaned against it, her arms crossed over her chest.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said.
“Yes, I did.”
