“I’ll get you the rest of this month’s money and next month in advance. Then will you stay?”
“Obviously I would. You know how much I care about Max. About all of you. But how will you get that kind of money?”
“I’ve got a job now. It pays really well. I can afford it. I’ll get it to you by the end of today, then you won’t have to worry. Deal?”
“Safi…”
“Do we have a deal, Anthea? Please.”
There’s a slight pause. I know that Anthea loves Max as much as I do. She doesn’t want to leave him, she just needs the money.
I’ll make sure she has it.
“Anthea?”
“Sure, Safi. We have a deal. You promise I’ll have the money today?”
“You’ll have it.”
We both sign off, friends still. I love my sister-in-law, but Teri has been a mess ever since the accident. It devastated her. Devastated us both. But where I managed to find a way to make my life work, she’s fallen apart. I know how much she’d hate to see Max in a group home, just taking the kids to see him there during visiting hours. I also know my brother. I know how much that would hurt him and I can’t do it.
Taking a deep breath, I find the number for my bank online and call, ready to plead with whoever I need to plead with.
Twenty minutes later, I’m in tears again.
The bank manager gave me a flat out no. Apparently, having this job doesn’t make any difference until I’ve paid off my overdraft and shown with a few paychecks that I’m a good risk. By the time I can mange that, I’d be able to pay for the care myself out of my earnings, so what good exactly is that?
My mind is racing. I need to find the money, or I need to call Anthea and tell her to take that other job. It’s not fair on her to keep her waiting. I drop back into the sofa as I think through my options, or lack of them.
It’s a much nicer sofa than my ratty old one that’s currently standing on its end beside me. I told the removals men to leave it, but apparently Roman ordered them to bring everything in my place, no matter what anyone else says. He’s really taken care of me, it’s obvious that he cares not just about my cooking but about me as a person.
Even if he doesn’t like me in the way I think about every time I picture him in my mind, he clearly likes me.
But could I ask him to help me out again?
Is it pushing things to ask for an advance on my salary? I mean, one month would more than cover the cost of private nursing care. I could even afford to give Anthea a little bonus to say thank you for all she does.
Would it hurt to ask him?
If I explain the situation, he might take pity.
“Are you all OK to carry on bringing in my things?” I ask as one of the removals men walks past. “I need to head over to the Casino to see Roman.”
“Whatever you need, ma’am.”
“Right. Whatever I need.”
I’m breaking out in a cold sweat as I stand in front of the door.
Roman Schalk, CEO.
This is my last option. If he says no, what will I do then? It took me half an hour just to find his office, because apparently only a handful of the staff have ever been here. Most people tried to help, but most of them had no clue where I should go. Although all of them said they’d met him.
All of them.
Which seems ridiculous for a casino this size, but also makes me doubt how much he cares about me personally. If he’s personal with all his staff, then maybe I’m nothing special to him. Maybe he won’t even recognize me, or has forgotten he even offered me a job here.
I raise my hand, wondering if I should knock again. Is that rude? What if he’s in a meeting? Or…
No.
I shake my head, unwilling to even entertain the thought. The idea of finding him there with some other woman shouldn’t even bother me. We only met last night. He hired me to do a job, to be a professional. He could be married for all I know.
My heart almost breaks. Married? God, please don’t let him be married. I didn’t think to check if there was a wedding ring.
I’m an idiot. I should turn around and walk away right now. Perhaps get out of the casino, go back to my own life. If I never see him again, I can’t have my heart broken by the reality that I’m absolutely nothing to him.
That I’m just some girl he felt sorry for.
I bet his wife is amazing, too. A model or a ballerina or something. She is the patron of a charity, probably a homelessness charity, which explains why Roman—Mr. Schalk, as I should get used to calling him—wanted to give the food to the soup kitchen. It makes perfect sense now. It would look great for her at the next charity gala. Perhaps they could mention it as an anecdote to get their rich friends to open their wallets and give a few million more.