Chapter 9

Miranda limped into the stylish dining room, took a look around, and wondered what money could not buy. The redwood décor, the embossed cushions, the waxed panelled wooden floor, the table, and the thick white quilt covering it. Everything in the room smacked of luxury and wealth, although it was simply a dining room.

She stepped gingerly into the room, partly because of her painful knee and partly because she knew this was not a place for her.

She reached the table at the centre of the room and took a seat, sinking into the soft cushion. The tassels of the table cloth brushed her knee as she sat and she used her black skirt to cover the knee, arranging her legs so it would not hurt as much.

She exhaled, trying to calm her runaway heart. She was going to meet him again.

Mr. Devin. She had no idea what he wanted from her but she had brought the jacket in case he wanted it back. Not that she wanted to give it back.

A click sounded and the door swung open and Matthew Devin walked in. Miranda tried to stand but her knee disagreed so she remained sitting, watching him walk towards her.

He was a very handsome man. That was the first thing she thought when she saw him that horrible night and she was thinking it again today. The simple black suit he wore juxtaposed against the intricate interior of the room and highlighted his beauty.

"Good evening, sir. It's nice to meet you again," Miranda said as he took his seat opposite her.

"Good evening, Miranda. The pleasure is all mine."

His voice. She loved his voice. It was deep, rich, and calming. The way her name rolled off his tongue relaxed her and excited her at the same time. She wished she hear more of his voice but she did not even know if she would ever see him after tonight.

Miranda shifted in her seat. The thought was a highly depressing one. But if they would never see again, then she had to use this chance to show her gratitude.

She took a deep breath. "Please allow me to say thank you for everything you've done. Mr. Finn brought some clothes for me yesterday. I've been very comfortable in the hotel and I've been well fed. Thank you very much, Mr. Devin. Thank you. I don't know what I would have done without your help. You've saved me in more ways than one. Thank you. If there is any way I can pay you back, then please let me know."

Miranda waited tensely for a reply. Matthew ran his hand aimlessly on the table cloth, his eyes never meeting hers.

"I don't need anything from you," he said in a low, controlled tone. His jaw was tight as if he was wrestling with his emotions and words.

After a period of silence, she raised the jacket above the table. "I brought the jacket with me. It has been dry cleaned and pressed. Thank you."

She offered it to him but he raised a hand to stop her. "You're welcome but I don't need it. You can…keep it if you so desire."

"Oh…okay." She lowered the jacket, laying it across her thighs once more. Her brain was doing all sorts of mathematics but nothing was adding up. She had assumed that this dinner was a polite way of him getting his jacket back. Especially the sachet of drugs she had found inside it.

But no, he just rejected it. Then, what did he want?

Anxiety strolled its way past her reasonable thoughts and took centre stage. Was he sending her away? Handing her over to Karly or her family? Was this dinner just a nice thing to do before returning her and her woes to where they came from?

Miranda gazed at the silent man across the table and found no indication of his thoughts on his handsome face. She swallowed and clenched the jacket in her fists.

The atmosphere was oppressive or maybe it was just her. The silence stretched on until she found it difficult to breathe.

"Mr. Devin…"

The door opened and a waiter dressed in white and black livery entered the silent room. He approached the table, smiled at them, and said in a cheery voice, "My name is William and I…"

Matthew dismissed him. "Return in five minutes," he said and picked up the golden menu and opened it. He perused it for a few seconds before looking at her over the menu.

For the first time that evening, their eyes met. Butterflies erupted in her stomach and she looked away hurriedly. Such intense eyes.

"What would you like to eat?" he asked

"Eat?" she asked dumbly. He gestured to the menu on the table in front of her. "Oh, eat," she said, feeling very stupid. They were here to eat. It was dinner after all. She picked up the menu and promptly felt even more stupid.

What was all of this? Was this food? French, Italian, and even Spanish words. All of them were there and more. Even the English words, she was finding very hard to understand.

She didn't want to look stupid but she also did not want to order something she could not eat because she had no money to order anything if she didn't eat here.

"Ermmm, Mr. Devin. I…don't…know what to order. Can you please assist me?"

Matthew looked up from his menu and into her eyes. His striking grey eyes gave her the impression that she was being measured or assessed. "Is there something, in particular, you'd like to eat?"

"Potatoes…and maybe meat," she said. She lowered her eyes to the table cloth. He was the one paying for the dinner. She hoped she was not coming across as demanding.

"Potatoes and meat," Matthew repeated. "That'll be for the entrée. What would you like for the appetizer and dessert?"

Appetizer? Dessert? Oh, dear.

Miranda shook her head. "I have no idea. I have never…can you please assist me?"

"No problem. What about a drink?"

"Uhm, maybe a coke."

Matthew arched a brow. "A coke?"

Miranda swallowed. "Or maybe a sprite. I'll drink anything."

He gazed at her once more, eyes unreadable before returning to peruse his menu. The waiter re-entered the room and took their orders. The hesitation in the waiter's hand as he wrote the order for a coke along with Matthew's own response told her that coke was not something regularly ordered at such a place.

The waiter left the room and Matthew turned to her. "Is anything the matter?"

Miranda shook her head. "No, nothing," she replied. Only the fact that she just ordered coke at a high-end restaurant and her face was reacting accordingly.

Matthew seemed to notice her embarrassment and changed the subject. "Walter tells me you've settled well into the hotel."

"Yes, I have. It's been very comfortable," Miranda replied with a lump in her throat. Was this it? Was he sending her away now?

She reached for the glass of water on the table. The water shook and trembled in the glass as she brought it closer. Strange. Maybe her hand was shaking. She was numb so she had no idea. She managed to take a sip and return it without splashing or spilling and people say miracles don't happen.

"Do you have a job?" Matthew asked.

"No, I don't. I used to but…not anymore."

Matthew nodded, his expression showing that he understood why that may be the case. "What skills and qualifications do you have?"

For a moment, it seemed like he wanted to give her a job but she donned her reality-checking glasses and threw the idea away. "I have a bachelor's degree in journalism and I worked for a coffee shop so I can wait and make drinks."

Matthew reached for his glass and sipped a bit of the water, seemingly deep in thought. He replaced the glass on the table and regarded the woman opposite him. "Do you want to work for me?"

Miranda paused, not sure she heard right. "I'm sorry. I didn't quite get that."

"Do you want to work for me? My company?"

If a pin dropped in the room, it would have been clearly heard. The two individuals in the room were completely silent, each gazing at the other, trying to figure the other out.

Matthew started to speak when he saw tears trickle down the woman's face. He stared mutely as her silent crying turning into wracking sobs, shaking her entire frame. Matthew suddenly found it difficult to breathe despite the abundance of air in the room.

Why was she crying? Did he say something wrong? What was the problem? And why was his heart beating so fast?

He reached across the table to touch her before he realized what he was doing. He retracted his hands and balled them into fists.

"Miranda," he said softly. "Is there…is there something wrong? Did I say something wrong?" He waited for an answer anxiously. He could not bear the fact that she was crying because of something he said or did. "Please stop crying. I…please stop crying."

Miranda sniffed and wiped away her tears as much as she could and looked up at him with watery brown eyes. "Mr. Devin, I…are you offering me a job?"

Matthew paused, suddenly unsure. It was his offer of a job that caused her bout of tears. He was not sure how she would take it if he repeated it. And he was sure he never wanted to see her cry again.

"Well," he started, "I don't know. If you're interested, then a position can be arranged for you in the company. That is, only if you are interested in the job."

He waited again with bated breath for her response this time around. Unfortunately, the waiter chose this time to return to the tension-filled room. The waiter walked to the table and almost flinched upon seeing Miranda's tear-stained face.

His eyes flashed to Matthew's. "Do I need to come back, sir?"

Matthew looked at Miranda. She looked more stable but he was not eager to return to the conversation. "No need to," he said to the waiter. "We're ready to order."

Matthew picked up the menu and ordered anything he set his eyes on. The food was inconsequential. The only thing on his mind was the woman who sat opposite him. He regarded her carefully and although she had stopped crying, she seemed seized with an inconsolable sadness.

He ran his words over and over in his mind, trying to figure out his gaffe. He didn't find anything wrong with what he said. So why did she react like that? Did his words remind her of something? Her family or…what?

Matthew reached for the glass and gulped the water. Nothing was coming to mind. He hurt the woman. That was all he knew and now, he didn't know if he was going to be able to stomach the food the waiter was bringing.

"I-I don't know if Mr. Finn told you but…yesterday, I went to my family house."

Their eyes met and Matthew felt like someone had lit a fire in his chest. She was truly beautiful, even in her sadness.

"They burnt all my d-documents. Th-they burnt it all. Everything. It's all gone." Her lips trembled and tears spilled out of her eyes. "My d-degree…, my bank inf-information, my ID cards, everything. They burnt it. I can't get a job. I can't work for you."

So that was why.

Miranda hiccupped and cried profusely. "I'm sorry. I-I-I'm very sorry. P-please, forgive me. I…"

Matthew reached out again, wanting to comfort her but years of trauma could not be erased so quickly. He retrieved his hand once more, feeling like he had been scrubbed with a metal grate.

He couldn't touch her but he could help her in another way.

"Can they be recovered?"

Miranda heard him speak and tried to compose herself. "I'm sorry," she said, still sniffing and wiping.

"It's fine. Maybe we should eat first and discuss later."

Miranda nodded, the tears zigzagging with the motion. The waiter returned with the appetizer and reading the room, withdrew without a word. She ate slowly and without vigour. He had no doubt the food was tasteless in her mouth; the way it was in his.

But he was content to let the silence continue. She probably needed some time to organize and arrange her thoughts. The appetizer, entrée, and dessert were served and polished off before Matthew made any attempt at conversation.

"Miranda," he said and she slowly raised her head.

"Yes, Mr. Devin."

"Your documents, can they be recovered?"

She lowered her eyes but nodded. "But I can't recover them."

"Why?"

"I have no money."

Matthew glanced at the woman sitting opposite him with her shoulders small and burdened with the too-heavy load life had given her. He wanted to help her. He wanted to see what she looked like when she was truly happy, free from all that plagued her.

In what struck him as a startling turn of events, Matthew slowly removed his cheque book from his jacket and wrote a cheque for fifty thousand dollars. He replaced the book in his jacket and stared at the figure written on it.

He had given women more to simply walk away from him. This was the first time he was giving a woman money because he wanted to see her again. He was beginning to think she was special.

"Miranda."

She raised her eyes. "Yes, Mr. Devin."

"Here," he said, extending the cheque to her. Miranda received the cheque with both hands and automatically said, "Thank you," without knowing what she was collecting. When she looked down at the figure, however…

Her chair was knocked back forcefully as she stood in astonishment. She gaped at him, mouth open for a few seconds before dashing awkwardly to his side of the table and pushing the cheque towards him. "Mr. Devin. I-I-I can't…. I can't accept this… I can't…"

Matthew had risen from his seat as well, the sight of a woman rushing to him sending him into high alert. She pushed forward, holding the cheque like a spear in front of her.

"I can't accept this. I can't," she repeated.

He stepped backward as well. "You can use the money to recover your documents. When you recover them, I'll arrange the position for you in the company."

They stood frozen, staring at each other, both trying to figure the other person out. For Matthew, this was the first time a woman was rejecting money from him. And not just rejecting, she was outright demanding he take it back.

Miranda, however, seemed to notice his discomfort and drew back. She gazed trepidly at the cheque and back to Matthew. "Can I really keep it? This money?"

"Yes," Matthew said, regaining his composure. He straightened his suit jacket, though, there was nothing to straighten. "You can keep it. I will send Walter to the hotel tomorrow to assist you in retrieving your documents."

"Thank you. Thank you very m—" Miranda suddenly collapsed to the floor, her face contorting in pain. Matthew reached for her, trying to grab her before she fell but ultimately retracted his hands and let her fall to the floor.

She grabbed her knee, biting her lip in agony.

"Are you okay?" he asked stupidly, bending to look at the knee she held. "What's wrong?"

She pushed back the long skirt she wore and revealed a discoloured and swollen knee.

"What happened to you?" Matthew asked, shocked.

"I was…I was running from my father."

Matthew raised his eyes from the hideous injury to her tinting face. "Running from your father?"

"Yes. Yesterday, when I went home to get my documents, he caught me, and I had to run away. That's when I…"

Running from her father. That was how she got the swollen knee.

"I'm sorry about that." What was he even apologizing for? He didn't know but he continued. "You need to see a doctor." Restraining the accusation in his voice, he said, "Why have you not been to the hospital?"

Her silence was all the answer he needed. No money.

Well..."That's going to change."