I simply can't believe he hired me! If I were any less puzzled, I'd start to worry for his mental health.

"The good part is, I didn't lie about my strengths either," I say, sounding almost meek.

After he offers me a salary three times the sum I expected, not just almost. I sound positively docile. I kind of hate it. Which doesn't hold me back from accepting it with a big, strong, unfaltering yes, of course.

"Good," Mr. Warren says.

I would feel inappropriate to call him Mark now. Even mentally, now that he's my boss. And probably my boss's boss. And my boss's boss's boss even, and so on, depending on the structure of the company.

Which also means that I won't see him again in the next five years. Except for Christmas parties, when he gives a speech.

It's a comforting thought. I smile even wider than before. He doesn't smile back. I don't expect him to either.

"You don't have any other income, as I understand it," he says abruptly. Or asks. I really can't decide. But I try to be polite.

"Not at the moment."

"What about later?" He looks around, with a contemplating expression on his face. Probably wondering if I'll be able to make ends meet here, with no help. And, more importantly, trying to make sure that I won't trouble his company with further demands. I have no idea what kind of allowances employers are bound to give to poor, single mothers. None, I guess, but still he looks troubled. It's a bit humiliating. Maybe that's why I tell him the truth.

"Well, maybe one day I'll get my royalties transferred. At the moment, the state is holding them back since I left the country illegally. They have three months to do so, after that they must convict me of a felony, or let it pass."

His eyes narrow. I'm sure he's going to ask if they have anything against me. But he surprises me.

"Are you a writer?"

"No." I shrug.

"What else, then?"

"I'm not a writer now. I only was. It's in the past. Now I'm a legal assistant. I'd like to focus on that. I'm sure it will be a challenge in itself, even without being ridden with a fake nostalgia."

He opens his mouth but says nothing. Only sighs. Maybe he agrees with me. Maybe he doesn't. I'll never know, I guess.

"Thank you for the opportunity, anyway," I go on, with a polite little smile, to prevent further inquiry. "I will try hard to meet the requirements."

He certainly notices the change in my tone. I'm an employee now, getting into the role. He closes his eyes for a moment, looking tired all of a sudden.

"About the other thing you planned for tomorrow," he starts tentatively. "I don't think you should leave your son in the local school. There's another one. Very close. A private one."

"A good one?"

"Much better. And safer."

"Hm." I muse. "I guess I'd have to pay for it. How much?"

He tells me. I laugh.

"That's out of the question."

"Your son's not fit for the local one, believe me."

"You mean, he's too soft?"

"Not at all," he protests.

"You're right," I admit. "You're observant, aren't you? But he needs to toughen up. I won't be there to protect him. That's exactly what he needs."

"Not to this extent. I know this city, and—"

"And I don't have the money, so—"

"I'll cover the tuition fee. As a fringe benefit."

"What?" I feel my eyes bulge a little. "Doubling my money, literally?"

"It goes directly to the school, it's not money."

"Whatever. It's still a no," I say frankly and squarely.

"Why not?" he asks, looking confused.

I need to drop out of the good employee tone again. Just when I got into the mood. And I don't appreciate it.

"Why? Just think for a moment. What if I lose my job? No, don't object, you don't even have to fire me. What if I want to go? I couldn't leave, right? I'd be tied down because of my son. I wouldn't get this anywhere else in the same position, so I would depend on you!"

"So what?"

"I'd rather be dead than dependent."

He makes a frustrated gesture.

"And how is this different from getting paid by m... erm... someone else?"

"I tell you how." I shrug. "I can find another job anytime. Okay, you have the right to doubt it, but I don't. So, if it pays less, I can live more modestly, and that's it, I'm not picky at all. But I would never let Ben down after he's got used to something nice, that's how!"

"All right. Two semesters in advance. That will give you enough time to cover the expenses if anything happens."

"What?! Why would you do that?"

"Because," he says, spreading his hands, "because you're intransigent!"

"I don't even know that word!"

He doesn't explain the meaning. Instead, he asks me if I have questions. It's quite obvious that I freaked him out.

"Do you have a dress code?"

It sounds stupid, but knowing the range of clothes I can choose from, it's an important question. And a little embarrassing. He has exactly the same level of knowledge of my choice of clothes as me, after unpacking all those boxes.

"Just regular office clothes," he says with a shrug. It's the first time I see him a little insecure. "This may not be working for the court," he adds, gesturing towards my frilly, orange dress, with green lizards on it. Giving the impression that he was seriously considering if it would pass or not.

I try not to laugh.

"You know what, Ollie will know everything." He shrugs again. "She will call you later. She's much better at answering questions, I think."

I give him my number. He shakes my hand again.

Bill's still outside. I kind of forgot about him. He's deep in conversation with my son. Knowing that they don't have any language in common, the scene looks even more interesting.

We say goodbye, and I close the door after them. I'm a bit shaky. A lot has been happening today. I can hardly believe how lucky I am. After the things I've been through, it's even harder to believe.

I look out the window.

Mr. Warren and Bill are still there. They are arguing. Better said, Mr. Warren looks angry, and Bill is apologizing. I know I shouldn't do it, but I open the window without making any noise.

A moment later, I know for sure that I shouldn't have opened it.

They are arguing over me, of course.

I can't hear them very well. I'm only able to recognize a single word in the constant noise of the city.

Charity.

Uttered in that beautiful, deep, smooth voice of Mr. Warren.

I try not to feel hurt.

I tell myself that it doesn't matter, as long as he pays me well.

I tell myself that if he's stupid enough to give away positions as a charity, his firm seriously needs me to save it from bankruptcy.

I tell myself that if he's too polite to refuse me outright, I will take advantage of it without a trace of remorse.

I tell myself that he can fuck himself. And his opinion of me as well.

But it still stings. More than I find it acceptable.

Maybe because for a short time I felt almost alive.