“Perfect. You have access to my calendar.” The microwave beeps, and she takes out her bowl of soup. “The second thing. Finding Donna's replacement. It's been challenging, but I think I’ve finally found someone who might work. She has a lot of relevant experience, and she’s coming in this afternoon. If you have time, I’d like you to interview her.”
I cannot keep the surprise off my face. Historically, Patricia conducts all our interviews. “Me?”
She smiles. “Yes, you. I turn fifty-two in February. As much as I’d like to pretend I’m still as young as I was ten or twenty years ago, it’s made me realize I need to think about succession plans. A lot of nonprofits are held together by the founder, and when she retires, the organization falls apart. I don't want that to be the case with us, which means I need to train my successor.” She takes in my dazed expression. “That's you.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. For a second, I really thought she was going to fire me. “I'm beginning to understand that.”
“So, can you do it?”
She’s talking about the interview. “Yes, of course.”
The candidate Patriciahas chosen is Arlene Webb. I didn’t have time to look at her resume before the interview, so it’s not until she's in the lobby that I realize with a start that she looks extremely familiar. I am trying to figure out where I know her from when her face breaks out into a smile. “Sophia,” she exclaims. “What a delightful surprise. We worked together at Harrisburg General Hospital, remember? I was Florence Caldwell's administrative assistant.”
My body goes cold. “Of course,” I choke out. “Please come in.”
I conduct the interview on autopilot. “I retired last year,” Mrs. Webb tells me. “For the first few months, I was delighted. I spent time gardening, baking, and making clothes for my grandchildren.” She smiles ruefully. “And now I'm bored. This job is temporary, but it will keep me busy, and it'll keep my mind active.” She looks up at me. “Is that going to be a problem?”
“Will what be a problem?”
“Well, I'm sixty-seven, dear.”
It's not as if we have hundreds of candidates beating down our door. Even if we did, it wouldn’t matter. I remember Mrs. Webb. The hospital was a miserable place to work in, and Mrs. Caldwell had been a terrible administrator. But Arlene Webb was always calm, always composed. She was an oasis.
Patricia told me I was in charge of this decision. “No, it’s definitely not a problem. If you want the job, it's yours.”
Pleasure fills her face. “Thank you,” she says. “When would you like me to start?”
“Tomorrow?” I ask hopefully. “I can get you the paperwork right away. I'm not going to lie; we’re more than a little desperate.”
She laughs. “How about Wednesday?”
I print out an offer letter, and she signs it. She gets up to leave, and she hesitates at my door. “I might be out of line,” she says. “But I'm so happy to see you thriving, Sophia. What George and Florence did to you was so very unfair.”
“George?”
“You wouldn't know, would you? Well, it's been ten years, so there’s no harm in telling you. George Turner came into the office to talk to Florence, and I overheard their conversation.” Her expression turns disapproving. “He made some disgusting insinuations about you, and Florence believed him.”
George Turner, the guy on my team? “What did he say?”
“I don’t feel right repeating it,” she replies primly. “It wasn’t decent.”
My heart is beating faster. “Please, Mrs. Webb. It's important to me.”
“He said that you were with more than one man.” She shakes her head. “It was obvious that he was out to cause trouble. Florence should have sent him away at once, but instead, she fired you. She was always ready to believe the worst of you.”
“Because I have two fathers,” I reply on autopilot. My brain is working overtime. George Turner didn’t accuse me of sleeping with Damien; it was more specific than that. He evidently told Mrs. Caldwell I had a threesome.
But how did he know? We’d been at Club M. Xavier Leforte prides himself on discretion. How did George Turner find out?
“Even so, it was a vicious lie and—”
I could let her believe that, but something inside me rebels at the idea. I'm not going to hide who I am anymore. I'm not going to hide Damien and Julian. “It wasn't a lie,” I interrupt. “It was true.” I hold her gaze. “If that changes your mind about working here, then I understand.”
Her mouth falls open. She blinks. For a long moment, she struggles for words but seems to reach a decision. “Your personal life is your business, my dear. I cannot judge you. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.” She gets up and holds out her hand to me with a small smile. “I’m looking forward to working here, Sophia. I'll see you on Wednesday.”
After Mrs. Webb leaves,I text Damien about Patricia’s dinner invitation, and we pick a date in two weeks. He said he was only here in Highfield for four weeks, but the dinner date we pick is past when he’s supposed to leave. I want to ask him about it, but I don’t.
I try to focus on my work, but concentration is impossible. Over and over, I keep circling around the same thing. How did George Turner find out about my night at Club M? Was he there? I can't see it. Club M’s members have always been part of the billionaire class. George was like me: neither of us belonged to that world.