The Mafia Boss Thought His Secretary Betrayed Him — Until He Found Her Scrubbing Diner Floors To Pay A Debt His Empire Created
PART 3
She tore the badge from her uniform. “What are you doing here?”
“I needed your signature.”
“The Antwerp authorization. My phone is in the employee locker. I can log in from the manager’s computer—”
“Sit down.”
“My manager is watching the floor. If I sit with a customer when I’m not on break, he docks my pay.”
“Wren. Sit down.”
She slipped into the booth opposite him but remained perched on the edge.
“Your shift begins when?” Weston asked.
“Eight.”
“And ends?”
“Four.”
“You leave my office at six, travel here, work until four, go home, sleep perhaps two hours, and return to my office before eight. How long?”
Wren looked toward the counter. “Six months.”
The answer landed more heavily than Weston expected.
“How are you standing?”
“I’m fine.”
“You are trembling.”
Before she could respond, a harsh voice cut across the diner. “Cindy, what the hell are you doing?”
A short, balding man emerged from the kitchen carrying a clipboard. “Table four needs cleaning. You aren’t scheduled for a break until three thirty.”
Wren started to rise. “I’m sorry, Gary—”
Weston closed one hand around her wrist. Not painfully. “She’s occupied.”
“I don’t care what she’s occupied with. I pay her to work.” Gary pointed the clipboard at her. “Get up now or don’t bother coming back tomorrow.”
“Mr. Kade,” Wren whispered, “please. I need this job.”
Weston released her and placed five hundred-dollar bills on the table. “That covers the remainder of her shift.”
“This isn’t how—”
“You will take the money. You will forget Wren Ashcombe ever worked here.”
“Her name’s Cindy.”
“No. It is not.” Weston’s voice remained soft, yet every nearby conversation seemed to fade. “If you speak to her in that tone again, I will purchase this building before lunch and ensure every restaurant owner within fifty miles knows exactly why you are unemployable. Do you understand?”
Gary collected the bills with a trembling hand and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Remove the apron,” Weston said.
“You cannot simply storm into my life and buy my shift.”
“I just did.”