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“Do you have any phones, recording devices, cameras on you?” the guard asks me as he rummages through my bag. “They’re prohibited, you know.”
“None of the above,” I say. “Why are they prohibited, though?”
“Visitors aren’t permitted any devices that may pose a privacy threat. We get a lot of reporters who try to sneak them in, after claiming that they’re here to see a relative,” he explains.
He looks at me like he suspects I’m smuggling all of the above in my anus, so I flash him a smile. There’s no way in hell I’m handing my phone over to this guy. The last thing I need is for the guy I have to walk past every week to think I’m a sexual deviant because he’s been snooping through my phone.
“My phone broke last night,” I explain. “The screen smashed. Damn thing is going to cost a fortune to fix.”
“Yeah,” he finally nods. “My daughter smashed hers last month, so I feel your pain. Though my wallet feels it more.” He chuckles. He reaches for his scanner and my heart drops. “You’re not going to do what my girl did, and go hit up Daddy to fix it for you?”
“Daddy isn’t in the picture, but Judge Hunter is about to be my stepfather, so I guess I could try that …” I muse.
I hate myself so much for namedropping, but desperate times and all that. Thank God, it works. He puts the scanner back down, then gives me a wink.
“Go on,” he mutters, waving me through.
I smile and then I quickly move through, before he can change his mind. The first chance I get, I’ll turn it off and then for tomorrow it stays at home—locked in a drawer, where Mack can’t get his dirty little paws on it.
I sit in an area near the back end of the hospital, waiting. My orientation was supposed to begin nearly twenty minutes ago and the more time that passes, the more on edge I am. I don’t know much about the person who’s supposed to show me around, other than her name is Sarah Sanders. I shift in my seat to tug the hem of my skirt down, which suddenly feels way too short—or maybe it’s just the way Mother Teresa, is scowling at me from behind her desk.
My phone. Shit.
I’m reminded the damn thing is still on when it buzzes softly in my pocket. I wait until the receptionist has turned her back, then I fish it out, but before I can turn it off, a voice startles me. I look up to find a woman in her late thirties smiling at me.
“Darcy?” she guesses.
“Yes,” I quickly reply.
I flash her a confident smile as I stand up, while simultaneously sliding my phone back into my pocket. I’m pretty impressed with my stealth abilities, except I’ve missed everything she’s said to me up to this point.
“Anyway, you’ll learn more about that later,” she says, ushering me into a room.
“Can’t wait.” I grin.
I quickly realize we’re in her office. She closes the door and I sit down in one of the two chairs in front of the desk. I study her as she walks around to her seat. I’m not sure whether I like her or not yet. She’s nice and all, but something about her is … off.
She sinks down into her chair and smiles at me.
“So, a little more about your role.” She glances at me. “I’ll be honest with you and say that we don’t really have a name for what you’ll be doing. We don’t have a dedicated intern program here at all.” She pauses to give me the once over. “You’re the first of your kind to work here.”
The first of my kind? I keep the smile plastered on my face but suddenly I feel the latest attraction at the zoo.
“To begin, you’ll be assisting me. I’ll have you observe at first, then over the coming weeks, we might look at what areas you feel more comfortable with taking on an autonomous role in. I am hoping things like client interaction and our basic group counseling sessions are tasks you’ll feel comfortable enough to lead after a few weeks. Sound good?”
No. It sounds terrifying.
“It sounds fantastic,” is what I actually say.
“Okay, great. Before we progress any further …”
She reaches into her drawer and pulls out a folder, sliding it across the table to me.
“I’ll need for you to fill out this mountain of paperwork. You’ll find in there a confidentiality agreement and a non-disclosure statement. We have a lot of very high-profile people who use our services. Their privacy is extremely important to us.”
I nod. “Of course.”
“I’ll show you to the staff room. Coffee is in there for you if you want while you fill those out.”
A rush of relief hits me. Because coffee.
