And you're someone who just sacrificed her job to help a stranger. That tells me you understand what hospitality should be. It tells you I'm bad at self-preservation. A smile flickered across his face.

Maybe. Or maybe it tells me you have principles most people have forgotten. Emily looked down at her hands. Her nails were short, practical, no polish.

Her mom used to paint them for her on Sunday afternoons. Bright colors that made her feel fancy. She hadn't painted them since the funeral. What do you want me to say?

She asked quietly. that the industry is broken, that people treat service workers like garbage, that managers like Victor get away with being cruel because they meet their numbers. She looked up, met his eyes. You already know all that. You don't need me to tell you, but I need someone to help me fix it.

I'm a waitress. You were a waitress. What if you could be more? Emily laughed.

Couldn't help it. Mr. Sterling, Ryan, Mr. Sterling," she repeated firmly, "because using his first name felt insane.

I appreciate whatever this is, but I don't have the education or the experience to work for a company like this. I have a community college degree and a resume full of jobs I couldn't keep. I'm not I'm not executive material. The executives I have are part of the problem.

I don't need another MBA who sees people as profit centers. I need someone who sees them as human beings." That's a nice sentiment, but the consultation pays $500. 4 hours of your time this week.

You tell me about your experiences. I take notes. We both go on with our lives. No commitment beyond that.

He slid a contract across the desk. Simple. Emily stared at the paper. $500. That was almost 2 weeks of groceries.

Or half her rent. Or why me? She asked. Really?

Ryan was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was softer. Because last night in my lobby, you were the only person who treated a homeless man like he mattered. Everyone else looked away or looked disgusted.

But you stepped up even though it cost you. That's rare. That's just basic decency. Exactly.

And apparently basic decency is now a rare commodity worth investing in. Emily picked up the contract, scanned it. Standard consultation agreement. Everything looked legitimate. $500 for 4 hours.

No hidden clauses about signing her life away. If I do this, she said slowly, I need you to understand something. I'm not going to sugarcoat things. I'm not going to tell you what you want to hear.

If you want the truth about what it's like down there, it's not pretty. I don't want pretty. I want honest. She looked at him.

Really looked at him, trying to find the catch. Rich people didn't just hand out money to unemployed waitresses. They didn't care about basic decency or humanity or any of the things he was talking about, but his expression was serious. And there was something in his eyes that reminded her of, "Wait, the homeless man last night, the one she'd helped."

She'd looked into his eyes in that moment when she'd given him the umbrella, and they'd been the same color, the same intensity. Emily's breath caught. "No, that was impossible. Ryan Sterling wouldn't."

"Is something wrong?" Ryan asked. No, she said quickly. Too quickly.

I just I'll do it. The consultation. Excellent. When are you available?

I'm unemployed. I'm available whenever. That smile again, small and genuine. Tomorrow then, 10:00 a.m.

We'll start with coffee and conversation. Okay. She stood and he stood with her, extending his hand. She shook it and his grip was firm, warm.

Thank you, Miss Carter. Emily, if you're going to pay me to talk, you should probably use my first name. Emily. Then Sandra appeared to escort her back to the elevator.

Emily walked through the office in a daze, barely registering the expensive furniture or the view or anything except the surreal feeling that her life had just tilted sideways. In the elevator, Sandra handed her a business card. My number's on there. If you need anything before tomorrow, call me.

Thank you. Can I give you some advice? Emily nodded. Ryan Sterling is a good man.

Workaholic, sometimes ruthless in business, definitely intense, but good. If he's taking an interest in your situation, it's because he sees something worth investing in. Don't sell yourself short. The elevator opened onto the lobby, and Emily stepped out into the real world, feeling like she'd just visited another planet. $500.

She could pay her electricity bill, buy groceries that weren't ramen. Maybe if she was careful, put some toward rent. Emily walked back to the bus stop, pulled out her phone, and stared at her bank balance again. $12743. Tomorrow it would be $62743.

Assuming this wasn't all some elaborate fever dream, the bus ride home took 40 minutes. Emily spent it staring out the window, watching the city roll past, trying to process what had just happened. Ryan Sterling wanted her opinion. Ryan Sterling thought she had something valuable to offer.

Ryan Sterling. Her phone buzzed. Email notification. She opened it expecting spam.