Page 68 of His Good Girl

He turned and began walking, so I followed him through the glass doors and into the office. People moved faster than they had yesterday. Conversations stopped when Benjamin passed, then started again in lower voices. Phones rang. Printers hummed. Someone near a bank of monitors said, “No, don’t send anything until legal clears the language,” in a tone that did not invite creative interpretation.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

Benjamin did not slow. “No.”

I waited, but he did not elaborate.

“Excellent. Love the transparency.”

“You are a first-day employee. Transparency will be issued to you in small, bite-sized pieces after you demonstrate you can be trusted not to choke on all of it.”

“That was both insulting and oddly maternal.”

“I contain multitudes.” He stopped beside a workstation near the operations area, a tidy desk with a monitor, keyboard, phone, legal pad, pen cup, and a tiny stack of forms. “This is yours for now.”

I looked at the desk.

Mine.

It should not have moved me. It was laminate and ergonomic equipment and a chair that still had the instructional tag dangling from one arm. But after years of drifting through jobs that had never really made room for me, the sight of an assigned place tightened an embarrassing knot in my chest.

Benjamin noticed, because he was the patron saint of noticing things I did not want noticed.

“It’s a desk,” he said.

“I know.”

“Do not imprint on it.”

“I’m not a werewolf.”

“Debatable.”

I turned toward him. “Do you practice this?”

“Constantly.” He set the schedule down on the desk. “Today is orientation, systems access, HR forms, confidentiality training, workplace conduct modules, cybersecurity, document retention, and a brief introductory meeting with Dana, who has promised not to devour you until at least Thursday.”

“Comforting.”

“She likes competence, hates excuses, and has a medical allergy to the phrase ‘I’m a people person.’ Do not say it unless you want to see a woman leave her body from irritation.”

“Noted.”

“Mr. Rowe is unavailable this morning.”

I looked down at the schedule too quickly. “Okay.”

Benjamin was silent.

I could feel him looking at me.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“That was not a nothing silence. That was a judgment silence wearing a tiny hat and fake moustache.”

“Accurate.” He tapped the schedule. “Mr. Rowe is dealing with an urgent matter related to the Hartwell contract. You will not ask people about it. You will not speculate. You will not text your friends dramatized theories. You will not attempt to be useful in areas where you know nothing. Today, your job is to learn where the bathrooms are, sign forms, and refrain from becoming a subplot.”