I like that.
A polished charity woman would be useless to me. One with discipline, connections, a strong stomach, and something to prove may be another matter.
“Why should I hire you?” I ask.
“Because I am competent, discreet, and available immediately.”
“Many people are competent.”
“Not many people are competent in rooms with power.”
I hold her gaze.
“No,” I say. “They are not.”
Her fingers tighten once in her lap, then relax.
“You should also know,” she says, “that I am not looking for charity. From you or from Dante.”
“Dante got your foot in the door. He does not decide who I hire nor influence whether I am satisfied with your work.”
“Good,” she says, and I believe she means it.
“Just to cover our ground, your father’s name earns you nothing either.”
“I would prefer it didn’t,” she says carefully. “In fact, I would prefer he has nothing to do with this.”
I look at her for a long moment.
A judge’s daughter asking me, in my office, to tell her father nothing.
Yes, there is a story here.
Dante knows more of it than he said Saturday night. Not for long.
“Your personal life remains personal until it touches my business,” I say.
She hesitates before answering. “I understand.”
“If it does touch my business, you tell me before I discover it myself.”
“I understand.”
“And if I hire you, Dante does not hover outside my office every time you enter it.”
Her mouth presses together.
This time, she is definitely hiding a smile.
“I will speak with Dante.”
“Do better than speak.”
A flash of humor lights her eyes. “You and Dante are more alike than he would enjoy hearing.”
I laugh once under my breath.
She has courage.
