Santo-5 (2/2)

"Excuse me?" I answer without understanding.

How much do I take? How much for what," I can't help thinking inwardly.

"How much do you charge for this?" he repeats, slightly annoyed, probably because I'm wasting his time.

I tilt my head to the side and look down at the tray of petits fours.

Why, yes.

Of course, I do.

Santo must want to pay for my catering services.

"It all depends on the type of contract," I tell him.

He half chokes and reaches for the water carafe on the edge of the desk. He quickly pours himself a glass and swallows the liquid in one gulp.

Hey, what?

Does he think I'm moonlighting?

No, sir, I don't.

I have a work ethic. A contract, and that's it. I'm a respectable citizen with charges and taxes to pay. There's no way I'm going to risk being audited and fined for fraud.

"Contract?" he repeats.

I start counting on my fingers without looking at him, so annoyed that he wants to do it backward:

"It's all going to depend on the days, the hours... obviously, I