Not another word is spoken as Kamila leads the children out of the penthouse, taking Braden to school and Mercedes to whatever activities she has planned for her. If Jessica ever intended to actually introduce me to her kids, she’s clearly forgotten about that.

“It must be hard,” I say, making my voice heavy with sympathy.

“What?” Jessica asks. She’s still staring out the window, maybe at the sky, maybe at nothing.

“Raising two kids when your husband works so much.”

“Oh, not at all.” She raises her hand up, rotates her wrist a few times. “What’s hard is not being allowed to raise them at all.”

“Not being allowed to?”

Jessica stills her hand so that now her wrist is flexed back, her diamond ring unable to reflect the natural sunlight. “There are things I’ll need you to do,” she says, ignoring the question. “Errands you’ll need to attend to for me . . . I’ll need you to show me respect in public and in front of the children, and please . . .” She turns to me, her eyes unfocused and misty. “If you fuck my husband, keep it to yourself.”

I don’t answer right away, allowing the room to fall into silence as we both take inventory of the moment: How much hostility is in the room? How much understanding?

“I’m not going to sleep with your husband,” I say quietly.

Jessica smiles again, staring past me as if I’m not there. “Of course. See, that was good practice for the future.”

I don’t answer. Instead, I watch the way Jessica is sort of swaying as she sits on the couch. I don’t know what she’s on, but I know that she’s stoned out of her head. She’s floating, vulnerable . . . She’s made both her mind and her will weak, which means she can be easily manipulated.

It’s perfect.

I sigh loudly enough for her to hear and take a seat by her side. “Why are you married to him?” I ask. “Why don’t you leave?”

It’s a ballsy thing to ask, but what I’ve seen of her marriage has been so mind-bendingly horrific that not asking would be almost insensitive . . . and I don’t want Jessica to see me as insensitive. I want her to see me as someone who feels for her. More importantly, I want her to see me as someone who is on her side.

“It’s a long story,” she answers.

“You’re literally paying me to listen.”

Jessica laughs softly, shakes her head. She’s still swaying slightly and I can’t help but wonder what I’m supposed to do if she passes out.

“Seriously, though, I want to listen,” I press. “I don’t care what your husband says, I applied for a job to be your assistant, and as far as I’m concerned that’s what I am. I like you.”