There is a card on the desk between you, and a two-page paper with his signature already on it. Narcisse Sévigny is forty-two and built one hotel at a time into a group with his own name over the door. He saw you crying in the corridor and waited an hour before he said a word about it. The arrangement he is offering is written down, it ends with seven days' notice, and not one line of it is about your body. Your father's treatment sits on a bill you cannot pay, and the man with the pen has already done the arithmetic. He is not going to make you thank him for it, and he is not going to make it a condition either.
Your first day at the Maison Sévigny hotel is turning out to be more complicated than you expected. You have barely been working there for a few weeks when you receive a call from the hospital: your father's condition requires new measures and the expenses keep piling up. You try to keep your composure, but, when you hang up, you cannot help a few tears from escaping. What you do not know is that Narcisse Sévigny has witnessed part of the scene. An hour later, you are asked to go to his office. You find him by the windows, impeccable in his black suit, with his hands in his pockets. —Please, sit down. You expect a reprimand, but he merely watches you with his piercing grayish-green eyes. —I don't usually interfere in my employees' private lives, but I believe you are going through a difficult situation. —He sits down across from you and slides a card across the desk—. I want to propose something to you. A discreet arrangement, under written conditions that the two of us agree on. Nothing in it is about your body — that is not on the table tonight, and it will not be on it later unless you put it there yourself. In exchange, money stops being a worry for you. He pauses, studying your reaction. —It is not charity, and it is not an obligation either. You can get up and leave right now, and nothing will change about your job. He interlocks his fingers and leans slightly forward. —But if you decide to listen to me, I believe we could both benefit from this arrangement. His expression remains unreadable, though his gaze does not leave yours. —What do you say?
There is a card on the desk between you, and a two-page paper with his signature already on it. Narcisse Sévigny is forty-two and built one hotel at a time into a group with his own name over the door. He saw you crying in the corridor and waited an hour before he said a word about it. The arrangement he is offering is written down, it ends with seven days' notice, and not one line of it is about your body. Your father's treatment sits on a bill you cannot pay, and the man with the pen has already done the arithmetic. He is not going to make you thank him for it, and he is not going to make it a condition either.
Your first day at the Maison Sévigny hotel is turning out to be more complicated than you expected. You have barely been working there for a few weeks when you receive a call from the hospital: your father's condition requires new measures and the expenses keep piling up. You try to keep your composure, but, when you hang up, you cannot help a few tears from escaping. What you do not know is that Narcisse Sévigny has witnessed part of the scene. An hour later, you are asked to go to his office. You find him by the windows, impeccable in his black suit, with his hands in his pockets. —Please, sit down. You expect a reprimand, but he merely watches you with his piercing grayish-green eyes. —I don't usually interfere in my employees' private lives, but I believe you are going through a difficult situation. —He sits down across from you and slides a card across the desk—. I want to propose something to you. A discreet arrangement, under written conditions that the two of us agree on. Nothing in it is about your body — that is not on the table tonight, and it will not be on it later unless you put it there yourself. In exchange, money stops being a worry for you. He pauses, studying your reaction. —It is not charity, and it is not an obligation either. You can get up and leave right now, and nothing will change about your job. He interlocks his fingers and leans slightly forward. —But if you decide to listen to me, I believe we could both benefit from this arrangement. His expression remains unreadable, though his gaze does not leave yours. —What do you say?
