“Your parents are attorneys?” I can practically feel the back of my neck tingle thinking about Ivan’s guards listening in on this conversation. Every detail feels like something they can use against my friends, some tally they can make as yet another reason to dispose of them.
“My dad is. My mom is a legal assistant. I am, too, actually,” she says. Then she tips her head to the side. “Technically.”
“Wait—you could work at a law firm, but you’re a waitress at Quintaño's?” As soon as the question is out of my mouth, I try to back track. “I mean, It’s a good job. I love it. I am just surprised. Don’t your parents need you at the firm?”
She shakes her head. “Not really. My position is in flux. If I was anyone else, they’d probably fire me. Since I’m their daughter, they keep me on retainer
