““I don’t have any interest in helping you keep your job,” I say, shifting my weight onto my heels, suddenly tired and resigned. “But I promise to do what I can to keep you from being fired over false pretenses. If you get thrown out of here, it’ll be your fault, not mine, and not Mr. Dade’s.” “You say that now—” “—and I’ll say it tomorrow.” I turn and pull open the door. “Good night, Asha. Go home and get some sleep.” “I’m not tired.” “Then go to the park and pull the wings off butterflies,” I say with a sardonic smile. “That seems like the kind of thing you would enjoy.” She smiles back, shakes her head. “Butterflies are too weak.” “Then shoot a coyote, whatever,” I suggest. “But your work day’s over. We all need our rest and if I’m going to be a dictator, I’m going to try to be a benevolent one.””
