Page 82 of The Secretary Volume II

“You look well,” he says, finally.“I’ve been thinking about your situation.”

“Which one?”I ask.“The illegal surgery or the dead guy?”

He smiles like I’m charming, not dangerous.Like I don’t still look a little sunken and pale.Like I’m not running on applesauce and ibuprofen, holding my jaw a half-inch tighter so it doesn’t throb when I talk.Like showing up in a skirt and mascara is enough to pass for recovery.

“I think I can help you solve it,” he says.“Your situation.We’ll have dinner.Discuss your options.”

“Great.I’ll bring my soft food menu.Hope the restaurant has a good purée section.”

He stands.Straightens a cuff.Doesn’t wait for my answer.

As he reaches the door, I say, “There’s a woman in the break room—I keep running into her.She said something about NHI.Asked me if I knew what it meant.”

His back stiffens.

“Do you?”

“No.Do you?”

“Of course.Add it to the list of things to discuss over dinner.The car will pick you up at seven.”

“That woman,” I say.“No one seems to be able to tell me her name.”

He turns fully then, looks me straight in the eye.“Have you asked her?”

It’s a reasonable question.I don’t have a reasonable answer.“No.”

“I have four thousand employees, Lena,” he says, turning back toward the door.“You think I remember every one of them?”

He’s gone before I can respond.

I sit in the chair he just vacated.

It’s still warm.

And for a second, I let myself believe this is all going to turn out fine.

47

Lena

The car arrives on time.Sleek, black, company-branded in that blank, threatening way that says:This isn’t luxury.It’s access.

I hesitate at the curb longer than I should.

Last time I got into a Shergar car without knowing the destination, I woke up with stitches in my mouth and a man dying behind a curtain.

But this is different.

At least that’s what I tell myself.

Ellis invited me.He used the worddinner.And it’s not like I’m showing up just because he asked.I have questions.I need leverage.A new badge and just enough plausible deniability to pretend I’m not walking straight into something I’ll regret.

So I get in.

The driver doesn’t speak.Just nods and pulls away from the curb like the route’s already written.

I don’t ask where we’re going.

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