Chapter 2 - The Man Behind the Name
Morning arrived with Leo asking whether cereal counted as soup.
Naen stood at the counter, trying to make the last banana feed two people.
“Only if you eat it with a fork.”
“That’s wrong.”
“You asked an expert.”
He giggled, then winced and touched his ear.
The sound reminded her why she couldn’t spend the morning being afraid of wealthy strangers. She needed work.
Mrs. Alvarez offered to watch Leo while Naen visited three restaurants and a hotel café. Two managers accepted applications. One asked whether she could work every weekend without exception.
She said yes before remembering the preschool’s holiday schedule.
At the café, her borrowed phone rang.
Elena had called the number Naen left on her application at Laura. Kesler, apparently, had been unusually helpful once he realized whose attorney wanted it.
“Mr. Voss is awake,” Elena said. “He’s asking whether you would be willing to visit. I can arrange transportation, or meet you somewhere public another day.”
Naen watched a bus pull away without her.
“Why?”
“To thank you.”
“People usually do that with flowers.”
There was a brief silence.
“I advised against flowers.”
Despite herself, Naen smiled.
She agreed to twenty minutes.
The hospital was real, with fluorescent corridors, overworked nurses, and a volunteer who directed Elena to the wrong elevator. Somehow, that reassured Naen more than any promise could have.
Roman occupied a private room at the end of the surgical wing.
Without his coat and the shadows of the alley, he looked younger than she expected. Thirty-eight, perhaps. Exhaustion darkened the skin beneath his eyes.
He started to sit when she entered.
A nurse pointed at him.
“Try that again, and I’ll have your visitor help me explain your stitches.”
Roman settled back.
Naen liked the nurse immediately.
After Elena stepped outside, silence filled the room.
“You stayed,” Roman said.
“You were having a pretty bad afternoon.”
“So were you.”
She folded her hands to hide a torn thumbnail.
“I’m glad you’re alive.”
His gaze dropped to her throat.
“In the alley, I put my hand on you.”
Naen went still.
“That was wrong,” he said. “Pain doesn’t excuse it. Neither does fear.”
She had prepared herself for money, arrogance, perhaps a demand that she forget everything.
She hadn’t prepared for an apology.
“And your friend?”
“Gabe will apologize himself, if you’re willing to hear it.”
“I’m not sure yet.”
Roman nodded.
“Fair.”
A machine hummed beside his bed. Outside, a cart rattled over a loose floor tile.
“How is your son?” he asked.
“Better.”
“You said he needed medicine.”
“He has it.”
“And your job?”
Naen’s expression answered before she could.
Roman looked toward the window.
“What happened?”
She gave him the plain version. No trembling voice. No mention of picking her paycheck off the floor.
When she finished, he remained quiet.
That frightened her more than anger would have.
“Don’t hurt him,” she said.
Roman looked back.
“Your manager?”
“Yes. I don’t want somebody disappearing because I had a terrible shift.”
“I wasn’t considering that.”
“Good.”
“I was considering why a manager at one of my properties thought he could deduct wages without proper review.”
Naen blinked.
“One of your properties?”
“The building. My hospitality company also holds a controlling interest in the restaurant.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“He fired me in your restaurant.”
“Yes.”
“After I saved you.”
“Yes.”
A short, startled laugh escaped her.
Roman’s mouth curved faintly, then tightened as the movement pulled at his injury.
“I’d like to offer compensation for what helping me cost you.”
“No.”
“You haven’t heard the amount.”
“That’s why I’m saying it now.”
He studied her.
Naen leaned forward.
“I need a job. A real one. I need my earned pay. I need someone to look at the tip records, because I’m not the only person whose envelopes come up short.”
Something sharpened in his expression.
“Tip records?”
“Maybe it’s nothing.”
“What made you notice?”
“Rent makes you good at subtraction.”
Roman reached for the notepad on his bedside table.
“Tell me.”
She explained the missing cash tips, altered closing totals, and Tuesday deposits that never matched what the staff counted Sunday night.
For the first time, he looked at her without gratitude.
He looked interested.
When Elena returned, Roman handed her the page.
“Independent payroll review,” he said. “And an employment attorney for the staff. They choose whether to speak.”
Elena read the notes.
Then her face changed.
“What?” Naen asked.
May you like
Elena looked at Roman.
“These are the same Tuesday deposits you were investigating.”
