I wanted to argue, didn’t know how. Everything was so quiet, so still, for just a moment. Sawyer’s had never been this quiet. Tap tap tap. ‘So why have you always—’

‘Because you’re good at your job. Damn good. Even today. You’ve got the sweats and you’re clearly on the verge of something and you’re still good. Most of the time, ninety-five per cent of the time, you’re the best person I’ve got. And somewhere in there, you fucking know it.’ He sighed. ‘Ever since your first night. I gave you one shift and you took it like it was a lifeline.’

I nearly laughed. I hated how obvious it was. How obvious it had always been.

He’d been so sceptical, seen right through my lie about waitressing during uni. He’d complained to me about how Lenny kept hiring pretty young things with big boobs and how none of them ever knew what they were doing and I’d wanted to walk out but instead I’d pointedly looked down at my chest, barely there, and for some reason that had made him smile, and he’d given me a chance. One night, he’d said.

‘You just worked so fucking hard.’ He took a drag. ‘I thought, This one’s got something.’

It wasn’t long after the accident. I’d only planned to stay for four months—if that, if I lived that long. I had a ticket to New York but my savings were running low and I needed the money, but more than that I needed something to do, a reason to get out of bed. A distraction.

I walked home that night, for the first time. I walked home and I felt it there, the fear, all the way, but it felt … right. It helped. I felt tired, exhausted. I even slept, for the longest time since the accident. Not the whole night through, but long enough. It helped.

‘You didn’t care about the tips, or the prestige, or anything. I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t …’ He sat forward, elbow on his knee, chin on his hand, staring off at something I couldn’t see.

I finished my cigarette and put it out. The office was small and warm, full of filing cabinets and crates of glasses that didn’t fit anywhere else—so that the room was padded, almost—and I felt safe. I’d always felt safe here.

‘Maybe it wasn’t healthy, but I thought …’

I straightened, and it seemed to bring him back.

‘Go home, Caitie.’

My chest tightened. ‘Nic, please—don’t.’

‘I’m not firing you.’ He reached forward and took my hand. ‘Take the rest of the week. Go … hang out with your friends. Do something fun.’

I shook my head, my eyes widening in fear. ‘Nic, no. I can’t.’