"I'm not trying to settle a debt," Stan said. "I want to help. If there's anything. Anything at all."
"Work," she said at last, quieter. The embarrassment sat on her without making her smaller. "It has been difficult. If it stays like this…" Her eyes moved, unwilling, toward Mia. "Even school. Velaris Crown. I don't like saying that to you. You used to fall asleep on that sofa with your shoes still on."
Stan took it the way he took most serious things: without flinch. "I have receptionist posts open. Several companies. Different offices. Pay depends on the site, twenty thousand to sixty thousand dollars, depending on what you want to carry. You look at them. You pick. You start when you're ready. Grayson will walk you through all of it." He took out his phone, wrote the number on the back of a receipt that had been holding the salt, and slid it across the wood. "That's him. He answers."
