“Marianne?” she said, loud and startled enough that Tanya’s kids stopped chewing candy and turned around. Lydia froze in the hallway, completely lost. “Allison, you know our Marianne?” she asked carefully, as if she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.
Allison slowly removed her gloves, folded them neatly into her bag, and stepped into the room without taking her eyes off Marianne. She set the bag on a chair. “Know her? That’s putting it mildly.”
“Marianne and I work together practically every day. She runs the commercial side of my beauty company—three of the largest salons in the city. The business she oversees brings in well over $70,000 a month.”
Andrew slowly turned his head toward Marianne. He looked like he wasn’t sure he had heard correctly. This was the same woman who had talked about a rented room, train rides, and a modest paycheck. “What’s your salary now?” Allison asked, slipping into the brisk tone she used in meetings.
Marianne straightened her back, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin. In that instant, it was as if a different person had appeared in the small room. Gone was the shy woman from a small town. In her place sat someone used to making hard decisions.
“About $3,200 a month after taxes, plus an annual performance bonus,” she said evenly.
“Three thousand two hundred?” Andrew whispered. In that whisper was everything—shock, confusion, and the sudden fear of losing something he had already started to think of as his.
Lydia sat down hard on the nearest chair and put a hand to her chest. “So you’re not just a receptionist?” she asked weakly. “No,” Marianne said calmly.
“I oversee the commercial operations for the whole company. I’ve spent the last three years helping move it into the top tier in our market.” Tanya’s mouth fell open. She forgot about the kids, the potato salad, the rolls—everything.
Sam let out a low whistle and leaned back in his chair. He looked at Marianne as if she had just stepped off another planet. Andrew went pale, then red, then pale again.
He stood in the middle of the kitchen with no idea what to do with his hands. He looked at Marianne as if he were seeing her for the first time. “But you… you said…” he stammered.
“The room… the train… the salary…” Marianne met his eyes calmly. No shyness now, but no anger either. “You started that story yourself, remember?” she said gently but firmly…
