"Spite's a good fuel," Sadie said flatly. "Burns dirty, but it gets you there."
Beatrice let out that dry, rattling laugh again; it sounded like pebbles in a tin can. "Exactly. You understand. Richard doesn't. Richard was born into a house with central heating and a trust fund. He thinks money is a spreadsheet. He doesn't know it's a weapon you forged to stop people from stepping on your neck."
The old woman sighed, shifting her weight on the stiff leather.
"I went back there on Tuesday because I felt myself slipping. Not my mind—my teeth. I am surrounded by yes-men, doctors who treat me like an infant, and a son waiting to inherit the kingdom. I wanted to smell the butcher shop again. I wanted to remember what it felt like to be hungry." She tapped her cane against the floor. "And then I tripped over my own feet and proved Richard right."
"You didn't prove him right," Sadie retorted, her cynical edge flaring up. "You tripped. I saw a guy in a $3,000 suit trip on that same curb last month and dump a large iced coffee down his pants. Pavement doesn't care about your portfolio."
Beatrice smiled—a genuine, warm smile that reached her pale eyes. "I need an assistant, Sadie."
Sadie blinked. The pivot was so sharp she almost got whiplash. "You have an assistant. You have a whole floor of them, probably."
"I have sycophants," Beatrice corrected bitterly. "I have people on my son's payroll who nod when I speak and then report my every tremor back to him. I need someone who isn't afraid of me. Someone who won't flinch when I bleed, and who absolutely refuses to take a bribe."
Sadie stood up. Her flight instinct was kicking in; the air in the room suddenly felt too thin. "I don't know anything about corporate whatever-this-is. I sling hash. I balance a tray of six plates. I don't know how to run a schedule or answer a multi-line phone."
"I have software for the phones," Beatrice said dismissively. "I need someone to stand at my door and tell Richard to go to hell when I'm too tired to do it myself. I need a guard dog, Sadie. And you have excellent teeth."
Sadie looked at the door Richard had vanished through. She thought about Frank back at the diner, yelling at her for being late because the bus broke down. She thought about the smell of old grease that was permanently fused to her DNA.
"What does it pay?" Sadie asked, her voice hard.
"Double whatever you make in a year," Beatrice countered instantly. "Full benefits and a clothing allowance. You cannot wear those sneakers in this building."