Chapter 3 - Day Nine
Tessa followed Damian down the corridor feeling certain she had just lost both of her jobs.
Not the diner job, obviously.
The Costa estate couldn't fire her from Murphy's Diner.
But losing the housekeeping position would be enough.
Her rent was eleven days late.
The electric company had sent another warning.
And that morning she'd found a collection notice taped to her apartment door where every neighbor could see it.
She needed every twelve-dollar hour the Costa family gave her.
Damian entered a study and left the door open.
Tessa stopped outside.
"You said we needed to talk."
"I did."
"Am I allowed inside?"
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Why wouldn't you be?"
Tessa almost laughed.
Because you're Damian Costa.
Because employees whispered that men stopped making eye contact when he walked into a room.
Because three armed guards stood between the employee entrance and his breakfast table.
Because she'd once watched a delivery driver accidentally bump Damian's car and look like he was considering fleeing the country.
Instead, she entered.
The study was enormous.
Damian pointed toward a chair.
Tessa sat carefully.
He remained standing.
"What happened to your hand?"
She glanced down.
"Broken pitcher."
"I know."
Her head lifted.
"How?"
Damian didn't answer immediately.
That was when she remembered the cameras.
There were little black lenses everywhere in the estate.
"You watched?"
"Yes."
Tessa swallowed.
"Okay."
"You crossed broken glass."
"Your mother was scared."
"You were injured."
"She was more scared than I was hurt."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I've got."
Something flickered behind Damian's eyes.
He walked behind the desk.
"Why do you feed her?"
Tessa frowned.
"Because she needs to eat."
"That's the nurses' responsibility."
"Apparently nobody told your mother."
"Don't be clever."
"I'm not."
"You aren't paid to care for her."
"No."
"Then why?"
Tessa stared at him.
For all the stories surrounding Damian Costa, something about the question bothered her more than his reputation did.
"You really don't know?"
His face hardened.
"Know what?"
"Why someone would help another person without getting paid?"
The room went still.
Tessa immediately regretted it.
"That came out wrong."
"No. It didn't."
Damian sat.
"Answer."
Tessa looked toward the windows.
"My sister was sick."
He said nothing.
She continued.
"For three years. Hospitals, chemo, surgeries, doctors. Some nurses were incredible. Others..."
She rubbed her thumb over the edge of her bandage.
"Some stopped seeing Emily. They saw leukemia. Room 318. A medication schedule. A difficult patient. Near the end, she hated being talked to like she was five years old."
Damian's gaze remained fixed on her.
"Your mother hates it too."
"I noticed."
"So I talk to Beatrice."
"You call her by her first name."
"She asked me to."
"When?"
"Second day."
Damian hadn't heard that.
Tessa gave a tired smile.
"Sometimes she remembers more than people think."
Damian's expression changed.
"Does she talk about me?"
Tessa understood immediately that this was the real question.
"Sometimes."
"What does she say?"
"Mr. Costa—"
"Damian."
Tessa hesitated.
"She misses you."
His face became unreadable.
"I see her every day."
"Do you?"
The words slipped out.
Damian's eyes sharpened.
Tessa stood.
"I should go."
"Sit."
"I've got six rooms left."
"Sit down, Tessa."
Hearing her first name from him made her stop.
She sat.
Damian leaned back.
"Explain."
Tessa wondered whether honesty was a form of unemployment.
Then she thought about Beatrice.
"You visit her body," she said. "You ask the doctors questions. You check medication. You stand at the foot of her bed for five minutes. Then you leave."
Damian's jaw tightened.
"You're remarkably comfortable criticizing your employer."
"No. I'm terrified."
That surprised him.
"But you're doing it anyway."
"Being scared doesn't automatically make somebody wrong."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Damian asked, "Why didn't you report your injury?"
"It wasn't serious."
"You needed stitches."
Tessa blinked.
"How do you know?"
"I had the footage reviewed by my physician."
"You showed my hand to a doctor?"
"Yes."
"That's..."
She stopped.
"That's what?"
"Weird."
For the first time, Damian Costa almost smiled.
Almost.
"I'll arrange treatment."
"No."
"It wasn't a request."
"Then we're going to have a problem."
His eyebrows rose.
Tessa stood again.
"Medical care costs money."
"I'm paying."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because then I owe you."
Damian stared at her as if she had spoken another language.
"Tessa, I could purchase the clinic."
"Congratulations."
His eyes narrowed.
"Sit down."
"I'm going back to work."
"Tessa."
She reached the door.
His next words stopped her.
"Your debt is eighty-six thousand seven hundred forty-three dollars."
Everything inside her turned cold.
She slowly faced him.
"What?"
"Your medical debt."
Her face lost color.
"You investigated me."
"I investigate everyone."
"Not like that."
"No. Not like that."
Humiliation burned hotter than fear.
"You had no right."
"My house. My mother. My employees."
"My sister wasn't your employee."
Damian said nothing.
"Emily wasn't a line in one of your security reports."
"I know."
"No, you don't."
Tessa's voice cracked.
She hated that.
"She was twenty-one. She loved terrible reality shows and put ketchup on scrambled eggs. She wanted to become an elementary school teacher. She hated needles even after three years of getting stuck with them every week."
Damian stood.
Tessa stepped backward.
"Don't."
He stopped.
She wiped her eyes angrily.
"You don't get to turn her into information."
"You're right."
The apology was so unexpected she stared at him.
Damian Costa had apologized.
"I shouldn't have."
Tessa looked away.
"I need this job."
"You still have it."
"Then I'm going back to work."
He let her leave.
That night, Damian returned to the bunker.
Monitor Four showed Beatrice sleeping.
Monitor Seven showed Tessa mopping the west hallway.
Paul entered.
"Problem?"
"Cancel the investigation."
"On Miller?"
"Yes."
Paul looked surprised.
"All of it?"
"All surveillance beyond standard estate security."
"Interesting."
Damian turned.
"Was that commentary?"
"No, boss."
"Good."
Paul reached the door.
"Paul."
"Yeah?"
"Who owns her debt?"
Paul's expression changed.
"Most of the medical debt was sold. Two collection companies. The private loans are uglier."
"Names."
"Damian—"
"Names."
Paul gave them.
Damian recognized one immediately.
Frank Delaney.
A loan shark who operated outside Costa territory because Damian considered his business model disgusting even by criminal standards.
"How much does she owe Delaney?"
"Twenty-two thousand originally. With interest, almost forty."
Damian's voice went quiet.
"On a twenty-two-thousand-dollar loan?"
"That's how Delaney works."
Damian turned back toward the screen.
Tessa was pushing her cart.
"Not anymore."
On Day Eight, Damian didn't speak to Tessa.
He watched less, just as he had promised himself.
Instead, he went upstairs.
His mother was awake.
Beatrice stared through him.
"Ma."
Nothing.
He sat in Tessa's wooden chair.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Then Beatrice turned.
"You're too thin."
Damian almost laughed.
It was something she'd told him at sixteen.
"I'm fine."
"Your father working you too hard?"
The laugh died.
His father had been dead thirty years.
Damian could have corrected her.
Instead, he said, "Yeah."
Beatrice patted his hand.
"Don't become him."
Damian's chest tightened.
"What?"
But the moment disappeared.
"Where's the nice girl?"
"Tessa?"
Beatrice smiled.
"Teresa."
"Close enough."
"She sings badly."
Damian stared.
"Tessa sings?"
"Terrible."
For reasons he couldn't explain, he smiled.
That evening Tessa arrived at Murphy's Diner.
Her shift ended after midnight.
At 12:17 a.m., she walked into the alley behind the restaurant and found two men waiting beside a black sedan.
She stopped.
Frank Delaney leaned against the hood.
"Evening, Tess."
Her stomach dropped.
"I told you Friday."
"You told me last Friday too."
"I'll have something."
"You've been saying that for months."
One of his men moved behind her.
Tessa backed toward the wall.
"Please."
Delaney smiled.
"Your sister's dead, sweetheart. Time to stop using her as an excuse."
Tessa's expression changed.
"Don't talk about her."
"Oh, there's some fire."
He reached for her wrist.
A voice came from the darkness.
"Take your hand off her."
Everyone turned.
Paul Mercer stepped beneath the alley light.
Behind him stood four men.
Delaney released Tessa immediately.
"What the hell is this?"
Paul held out an envelope.
"Your money."
Delaney stared.
"From who?"
Paul smiled without warmth.
"You already know."
Tessa did too.
Her heart began pounding.
"No."
Paul looked at her.
"Tessa—"
"No."
She shoved the envelope back toward him.
"I didn't ask him to do this."
Delaney laughed nervously.
"Lady, when Damian Costa pays your debt, you let him."
Tessa looked at Paul.
"Tell Damian I don't want his money."
Paul's phone rang.
He checked the screen.
Then answered.
"Yeah."
A pause.
Paul held the phone toward Tessa.
"He wants to speak to you."
She stared at it.
Then took it.
"Did you do this?"
Damian's voice was calm.
"Go home, Tessa."
"You had no right."
"Delaney threatened you."
"How do you know that?"
Silence.
Her anger sharpened.
"You followed me."
"I had Paul make sure you reached work safely."
"That's following me."
"Yes."
"I don't need rescuing."
"No," Damian said. "But you're getting it anyway."
She almost hung up.
Then he added something quieter.
"Tomorrow is Day Nine."
Tessa frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"Come to work."
"Why?"
"Because tomorrow I'm going to correct something that should never have happened."
The call ended.
Tessa stared at the phone.
"What is he doing tomorrow?" she asked Paul.
Paul slid his hands into his coat pockets.
"For what it's worth, Miss Miller, I've worked for Damian fifteen years."
"And?"
"I have absolutely no idea."
For the first time that night, Paul looked genuinely unsettled.
And miles away, Damian Costa sat beside his sleeping mother with a legal folder open across his knees.
At the top of the first document were two words:
TESSA MILLER.
Beneath them was a number.
Not twelve dollars an hour.
Not eighty-six thousand dollars.
May you like
A number large enough to change a life.
And Damian had no idea whether she would accept it.
