Part 3
“Move,” Emmy said.
The attendant put a hand against the door.
Behind her, Vanessa was smiling again.
Emmy reached for her phone, but the outer door opened before she could call anyone.
Her husband came in first. A second man followed, and Mrs. Ferris hurried toward him with both hands extended.
“Welcome, sir. We’ve had a minor difficulty, but it’s under control.”
Emmy recognized Nathan. She didn’t recognize the man everyone seemed eager to impress.
Nathan stopped beside the blocked doorway.
“Why is she being detained?”
Mrs. Ferris looked past him toward Owen.
“One applicant copied another. We’re waiting for an acknowledgment.”
“Based on what?” Nathan asked.
Vanessa began talking about her family’s history in fashion. Mrs. Ferris added that Emmy had no professional record, only a market stall.
Nathan let them finish.
“You’ve described her income,” he said. “Try describing your evidence.”
Owen folded his arms and waited.
Vanessa’s eyes flicked toward him.
“My family’s private collection inspired the dress. Medieval clothing.”
“The cut is much later than that,” Nathan said. “Closer to the Renaissance. What did you change from the historical shape?”
“She’s under pressure,” Mrs. Ferris said.
“She seemed comfortable accusing someone.”
Nathan turned to Emmy.
“Tell us what you made.”
She wished he weren’t seeing her like this, cornered in front of strangers. Then she looked at the dress instead of the room.
“I wanted something for a woman who’d been through a hard time and was ready to go somewhere beautiful again. The ivory was deliberate. I didn’t want sorrow to be the first thing you saw.”
She touched the beadwork.
“These stay close to the waist instead of spreading across the whole bodice. The darker part belongs there, but it doesn’t get everything. I softened the neckline, then used a lighter sleeve so the dress wouldn’t look burdened by its own construction.”
Nathan opened her notebook.
The panel member who had first examined it cleared his throat.
“The measurements match. So do the fitting corrections.”
Owen stepped forward.
“I watched the feed. All of it.”
Mrs. Ferris’s mouth opened, then closed.
“Miss Dorr’s application is rejected,” he continued. “She won’t be considered by another Veylan company. The evidence of the copied work will be retained.”
“My uncle—”
“Will receive the same record.”
Nathan looked at Mrs. Ferris.
“Your conduct is under review. There will be no discretionary annual bonus. Your salary in any role retained after that review will be reduced by forty percent.”
Nathan lowered his voice.
“You threatened an applicant with a blacklist because she wouldn’t support your lie.”
Mrs. Ferris clasped her hands.
“I’ve worked here for years.”
“And used that authority today.”
Owen turned to Emmy.
“Your work qualifies you for the position. We’ll offer above the advertised starting salary. Human resources will send the details.”
She caught her breath.
“Thank you, Mr. Vale.”
Owen hesitated for a fraction of a second. Nathan looked away.
“You earned a fair review,” Owen said.
Outside the room, Emmy caught Nathan’s sleeve.
Emmy looked from Nathan to Owen. “You led him in here. Is keeping him safe part of your job?”
Nathan hesitated. “I check the rooms before he enters.”
“So that’s it. Security.” Her gaze dropped to his arms. “Not much muscle to spare. Please don’t get fired over me—your boss was very fair.”
“They’ve managed,” Nathan said. “And I’d like to stay employed.”
Owen coughed into his hand.
Owen waited until Emmy had gone to collect her appointment paperwork.
“Bigger arms,” he said softly.
Nathan pointed toward the exit.
“Not one more word.”
The welcome dinner invitation allowed one guest.
Emmy called Beatrice before she had even put it in her purse.
“It’s at Orlisse,” she said. “We can finally buy your cake.”
“I’d be delighted.”
When Nathan heard, he glanced up from his phone.
“You invited Grandma?”
“She started all this. I wanted to thank her.”
“She didn’t conduct your interview.”
“No, but I might have gone in expecting the worst if she hadn’t made me feel somebody believed in me.”
Nathan straightened a paper on the desk that was already straight.
“Enjoy yourselves.”
“You can come with me another time.”
“I’m busy tonight.”
He spent the next hour wondering why that was irritating.
The women from the counter weren’t working that evening. Still, Emmy’s stomach tightened when she led Beatrice through the door.
Orlisse had moved its café tables together for the company dinner. Small plates waited beside linen napkins. Emmy helped Beatrice with her coat and noticed the inhaler she tucked within easy reach in her handbag.
“Choose anything you like,” Emmy said.
“I came to have supper with you. Cake is a bonus.”
Mrs. Ferris approached before they sat down.
Emmy hadn’t known she would be there.
“This is your guest?” the recruiter asked.
“Yes.”
“No husband? I hear he’s a bodyguard.”
“He’s working.”
“I suppose you didn’t want to explain him.”
Emmy set her invitation on the table.
“I’m proud of him.”
Beatrice pulled out a chair.
“Then that settles the subject.”
Mrs. Ferris turned on her.
“You stay out of it.”
“Don’t speak to her that way,” Emmy said.
The recruiter’s face flushed.
“I lose my bonus and nearly half my salary, and now I’m supposed to be lectured by you?”
Beatrice took out her phone and called Nathan.
“Come to the bakery,” she said. “Now.”
Mrs. Ferris snatched the phone before she could say more.
“There’s no need to bring in an audience.”
“Give it back.”
Beatrice stood too quickly. A tight, uneven breath caught in her chest. She reached into her open handbag.
Mrs. Ferris caught the inhaler first.
“Perhaps you’ll both learn some manners.”
Emmy reached for it.
“She needs that.”
“Then ask properly.”
“Please.”
Mrs. Ferris held it behind her back.
“Kneel.”
A nearby employee rose. “Mrs. Ferris, enough.”
“Sit down.”
Beatrice’s fingers closed on the chair back. Emmy went to her knees.
“Here. I’m asking. Give it to me.”
“No, Emmy,” Beatrice managed.
The café door opened hard enough to strike its stop.
Nathan crossed the room, took the inhaler from Mrs. Ferris, and passed it to Emmy. Owen was already calling for medical help.
Nathan crouched beside his grandmother while Emmy helped her use the inhaler.
“Slowly, Grandma. Stay with us.”
Mrs. Ferris stepped back.
“I was only trying to make a point.”
“You withheld her medicine,” Nathan said.
“You’re a bodyguard. You don’t get to threaten me.”
Owen lowered his phone.
“He speaks with my authority.”
“I didn’t know she was his grandmother.”
Nathan stood.
“She was sick. That was enough.”
Owen instructed the manager to preserve the café recording. Mrs. Ferris was dismissed and barred from employment throughout Veylan’s businesses.
She was still pleading when the medical crew arrived.
At the hospital, Beatrice patted the blanket as though she were settling a child rather than recovering from an asthma attack.
“The doctor says I need rest. Stop looking so miserable.”
“I took you there,” Emmy said.
“And tried to help me. Come sit.”
Nathan remained near the bed, his jaw sore from keeping his anger contained.
“I’d like to recover at Emmy’s,” Beatrice announced.
“You have nurses,” he said.
“They won’t argue with me properly.”
“My apartment’s very small,” Emmy warned.
“We’ll manage. Nathan can help.”
“There’s only one bedroom.”
“Then he’ll finally learn to be accommodating.”
By morning, Beatrice had changed her plan. A friend was collecting her for a quiet stay where someone could watch her closely.
Nathan stared at her packed overnight bag.
“You insisted on Emmy’s.”
“And now I insist on my friend’s. Try to keep up.”
She held out her hand.
“The key to that little employer apartment, Nathan.”
He looked at her for a long second before surrendering it.
Emmy glanced between them.
“Will you have somewhere to stay?”
“Not immediately,” he said.
“Then come with me until you sort it out.”
Beatrice’s friend honked outside.
“Excellent,” she said, taking her bag.
Emmy’s apartment occupied the back of a subdivided mill house. The hallway smelled faintly of laundry soap and somebody else’s onions.
She showed Nathan the bedroom and bathroom, then put a folded sheet on the sofa.
“I’ll sleep here.”
“No.”
“You’re the guest.”
“I can manage the sofa. I’m not putting you out of your bed.”
“Your job’s exhausting. Take the bed.”
“So is yours.”
“Your grandmother used her savings for me.”
“That doesn’t buy me your bed.”
She planted her hands on her hips.
“It’s my apartment. You can lose an argument in it.”
Nathan nearly smiled.
Before he could answer, she put a clean towel in his hands and pointed him toward the bedroom.
The bathroom heater clicked, rattled, and went quiet.
Emmy stopped outside the closed door with her work bag over her shoulder. She had warned Nathan that the wall unit was faulty. The landlord had promised twice to look at it.
Then she heard another metallic click.
“Nathan?”
He didn’t answer over the running water.
She pushed the door open just as he reached toward the heater’s casing. A towel was secured around his waist.
“Don’t touch that!”
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