“And please, don’t talk to Dellie about the clothes in the trash. Dellie has three daughters, no spousal support and seeing this careless treatment would be hard on her heart.”

 Emma frowned. “But why?”

 “Because her ex is an asshole, why else?”

 “No—why are these things in the trash?”

 “Some of that stuff we don’t see, Emma. Her parents are never around, her mother’s assistant buys the clothes, Bethany doesn’t want them. In fact, she resents them and does it out of spite. But they can’t end up on an employee’s daughter. Who knows how much trouble that could create.”

 “Shouldn’t her mother know?”

 “Do you know her mother?” Makenna asked, lifting her dark brows.

 “Well, no, but if I—”

 “Don’t project. Don’t extrapolate. Telling her mother might only create bigger problems for us.”

 “How?”

 “She’ll fire us and hire a new service merely because we looked too closely and presumed to know more about her family than she does. Trust me. Or, to keep from getting in trouble with her mother, sweet little Bethany will claim we stole the clothes.”

 “Doesn’t she care?” Emma asked Makenna.

 “I don’t know. And neither do you.” And with that, Makenna stuffed the beautiful clothes back into the trash can and handed it to Emma.

 Emma did as she was supposed to do and emptied that trash can into the big plastic bag she was carrying from room to room. She so hoped she’d see some of those expensive new things on a homeless person. “If she were mine...”

 “I’m sure you’d care enough to take her shopping, listen to her likes and dislikes and be a perfect mother. Congratulations to you.”

 “I bet there are some homeless people who’d like to know where the best trash cans are,” she muttered when she was out of Makenna’s earshot.

 She didn’t say another word but she could begin to see how you could become hard, cynical. If the dirt the clients left behind wasn’t enough to turn you, the private lives they thought no one could see might.

 “We need to be invisible,” Makenna reminded her. “We can’t afford to be enmeshed with the client. It’s not good for business.”

 Emma was surprised no exposé had been written by a member of her Manhattan household staff. Had she and Richard been more clever in concealing how obscene their private lives were? Looking back she thought she’d been a very decent mistress of the house but it was true; she didn’t remember the names of all the people who served them. She knew the housekeeper, the driver, the cook, her part-time assistant. The cleaning people changed regularly, the florist’s delivery people were always different, she’d had seven different personal shoppers in five years.

 They had been invisible to her.

 * * *

 At the end of the second week on Friday afternoon, she went with Makenna back to the office to pick up her car.

 “Here’s your schedule for next week. Meet your team here. You can take a van to your appointments. And Riley asked me to tell you she’d like to see you if you have some time.”

 She was the boss. How could Emma not have time?

 When she got up to the second floor, Jeanette was gone for the day and Riley’s door was ajar. There was laughter coming from inside. Emma tapped lightly.

 “Come in, come in,” Riley called. “Well, you look pretty decent for a Friday night.”

 “I do?”

 “You do,” she laughed. “Emma, this is Brazil Johnson, our accountant and CFO. We go way back. Brazil, this is Emma Shay and we go back even further—we first met in fourth grade.”

 Brazil, a tall, lanky African American woman in jeans and crisp blouse with a scarf tied around her head, stood and put out a hand. “Emma,” she said. “I like that. Emma. Is it short for anything?”

 Emma shook her head. “No, and I wasn’t named for anyone that I know of.”

 “I used to clean houses with Brazil,” Riley said. “We were almost the original team.”

 “I’m happy to meet you,” Emma said.

 “Come in and sit,” Riley invited. “Brazil isn’t around the office too much and when she is I like to take advantage of her stories.”

 “My mother is an invalid now,” Brazil explained. “I work from home as often as I can so I’m there for her. Most days she drives me out of my mind. But it’s very good practice for me—might make me conscious of what it’s like and keep me from burdening my daughter with the same.” She shook her head. “Woo-eee, Denise wouldn’t put up with a tenth of what Mama gives me!”

 “Denise is an attorney,” Riley said. “Also a single mother. So many of us.”

 “Do you have children?” Brazil asked Emma.

 “No,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s just me.”

 “Well, your old friend Riley has created a company that welcomes single parents and makes it easy for them to work at a decent wage. She should get a medal.”

 “I’m thinking a statue in the town square,” Riley said with a laugh. “How’s work going? Any problems or revelations?”

 Emma was a little uncertain. She bit her lip for a moment. “Work is fine. Is there a suggestion box around here?”

 Riley’s eyebrows were raised in question. “You have a suggestion? Already?”