“What’s up, boss?”
I don’t sit this time. I stay standing behind my chair, needing the extra inch of distance between us. “I know what you’ve been doing, Dawn.”
Her brow furrows. “What’re you talking about?”
“With Wendell Tate.”
The name lands between us like a dropped plate. Her arms loosen where they’re crossed over her chest.
“I know you’ve been feeding him information. About the Bluebell. About me. About the inspection. The permits. All of it.”
Dawn doesn’t say anything at first. She just looks at me—really looks—and I watch the fight leave her shoulders.
“Shit,” she whispers.
I nod. “Yeah.”
She pulls in a shaky breath and pushes off the door. “Look Lark, I didn’t mean for it to… I didn’t know it would get so out of hand.”
“You thought giving him what he wanted was harmless?”
“No. I thought…” Her voice catches, and she shakes her head. “He offered me something I didn’t think I could say no to. A place near my daughter. A way to be with my grandbabies.”
“You could’ve come to me,” I say, throat tightening. “You could’ve told me you needed help. You’ve always had a place here. We could’ve figured something out.”
She nods, her eyes glassy now. “I know. I know that. I just didn’t want to feel like a burden. Or maybe my damn ego just got in the way.”
“You’re not a burden. You were family.” The words scrape on their way out. “You were here when Alice passed. You stayed after hours without me asking. You were in this with me. Or at least I thought you were.”
“I was,” she says. “I still am. I didn’t think he’d actually be able to shut the place down. I didn’t think he’d—God, Lark, I was so stupid.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “You were.”
She covers her face with both hands for a second. Then lets them fall. “I didn’t get the place, you know. The apartment in California. Turns out that part wasn’t so guaranteed.”
“Of course it wasn’t. He was using you.”
Her chin wobbles. “I’ve made some shitty choices in my life, but this one…this one hurts.”
I believe her. That’s the worst part.
“I don’t hate you,” I say. “But I can’t have you here anymore. I need people that I can trust on my staff.”
She sniffles and nods. “Yeah. I figured.”
Neither of us says anything for a beat.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“I know.”
The silence between us stretches—full of what used to be and what never can be again. My throat burns and I press a hand against the desk, just to stay upright.
“I’ll finish out the morning,” she says softly.
“No,” I say. “Take your things. I’ll pay out the rest of the week.”
Dawn swallows hard, blinking quickly. “Okay.”
