Martins shook his head in disbelief. “People like you are rare to find.”
Claraara’s eyes stung.
She didn’t like praise. Praise felt dangerous. Praise felt like the kind of thing that came before life slapped you.
Martins’ voice turned businesslike again.
“Where do you work, Claraara?”
Claraara hesitated. If she answered, would she lose her job? But she couldn’t lie.
“I work at a restaurant,” she said quietly. “A modern restaurant in town.”
Martins’ brow lifted. “Name?”
Claraara’s mouth went dry. “Blue Palm Restaurant.”
The moment she said it, Martins’ mouth became still. Then he gave a short nod like he had just confirmed something important.
“That restaurant,” Martins said, “is owned by me.”
Claraara’s knees almost gave way.
Owned by him?
Martins stared at her and said, “From today, Claraara, you are the new manager of Blue Palm Restaurant.”
The compound went silent.
Not normal silence. Not quiet like night.
This was the kind of silence that made even breathing sound loud.
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