The phone skidded across the floor, landing face-up, still lit with the Hewitt assistant's number.
For a beat, no one moved.
Then I rounded on Sofia. "What the hell was that for?" My voice cracked, not sharper than I meant.
Sofia clutched the phone to her chest like a lifeline, and her eyes suddenly went wild. "Because you don't understand! You can't just throw away the Hewitts. Do you have any idea what kind of chance this is?"
"Chance?" I repeated, so she hear how stupid she sounded. "You mean slavery in an apron. You've never worked a day in your life—what would you know?"
For once, she didn't have a comeback ready. Instead, she whispered, "At least they'll keep us alive."
Sofia leaned forward, her tone suddenly softer and coaxing. "Josephine, you have to take this. You can't let her talk you out of it. Think about it — a roof, food, and a steady job. It's better than… this." Her eyes swept the cracked walls and the stale sandwiches like they were proof.
