"I'm not comfortable with you asking me some personal questions, Mr. Johnson," Amaya said as she looked around her at her neat space, in which she felt so safely cocooned. These four small walls of her cubicle were tangible proof of how far she’d come and how quickly—tangible proof of the solid income that marked her steps along that road called financial security.
Her son had begged if he could visit her place of work, but Amaya had tactfully, and a little shamefully, killed the suggestion before it could take shape. She feared what might happen if Chase saw her son—what if he recognised him?
"Why? I'm merely asking so I can drop you off; the bus at this hour is—"
"I can handle myself; the bus is always busy, but I managed for the past two weeks. Thanks for the offer." She shoved her w
