Then a forty-minute bus ride to Beacon Hill.
Then laundry.
Then checking whether her mother had taken her evening medication.
Then six hours of sleep if the universe behaved unusually well.
Billionaires did not belong anywhere on that list.
Her mother, Rosa, was awake when Maya got home.
Rosa Evans sat at the small kitchen table wearing a cardigan over her nightgown and reading a library mystery novel.
“You’re wet.”
“Sharp observation.”
“Umbrella?”
“Customer needed it.”
Rosa looked over glasses.
“Customer in car?”
“Yes.”
“With roof?”
“Mother.”
Rosa smiled.
“Handsome?”
Maya took off jacket.
“I’m going to bed.”
“That means yes.”
Maya opened refrigerator.
“There’s soup?”
“Second shelf.”
She reheated it.
Rosa watched.
“You had an interesting delivery.”
“How do you know?”
“You used the blue bowl.”
Maya looked down.
She had.
Apparently she used different dishes for emotional states.
This was alarming.
“Billionaire.”
Rosa closed the book.
“What?”
“The customer.”
“Was a billionaire.”
“Which one?”
Maya laughed.
“How many do you think I deliver pizza to?”
“This is Seattle.”
“Fair.”
She told her.
Not everything.
Just rain.
Lily.
Umbrella.
Assistant.
Name.
Rosa listened.
Then asked:
“Was he kind?”
Maya paused.
“Yes.”
“Then why are you irritated?”
“Because he knew I didn’t know who he was.”
“Did he lie?”
“No.”
“Did you ask?”
“No.”
“Then?”
Maya sighed.
“I don’t like surprises involving several billion dollars.”
“Reasonable.”
Rosa returned to the book.
Maya stared.
“That’s it?”
“You want prophecy?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I’m tired.”
Maya carried soup to her room.
Before closing the door, Rosa said:
“If he calls, don't decide who he is before he speaks.”
Maya stopped.
“You always tell me not to trust strange men.”
“Still true.”
“So?”
“Listen from safe distance.”
Maya smiled.
“Very useful.”
“I raised you.”
“Somehow.”
Maya went to bed.
Alex did not call.
Not because he did not want to.
Because he had no number except the delivery service relay, and asking his staff to obtain Maya’s private information felt exactly like the sort of billionaire behavior she would despise.
Eleanor solved the problem accidentally.
Three days later, she visited Harper Global headquarters.
The building occupied twenty-nine floors near Elliott Bay and employed thousands.
Eleanor still called it “Alex’s office.”
She entered through the public lobby wearing a gray coat and carrying her unnecessary cane.
Security recognized her.
She waved them off.
Then deliberately walked toward the delivery entrance instead of elevators.
Her assistant, Margaret, sighed.
“Mrs. Harper.”
“Yes?”
“The elevators are that way.”
“I know.”