Page 3 of The Secretary Volume II

For you.

For me.

For the next one.

Your lips part.The drug has stolen your voice—but not completely.You don’t suffer fools, so it is strange when you ask for your mother.

You lock eyes with me one last time, and in that final flicker of awareness, I see it?—

The moment you realize.

The moment you understand.

But then your hand moves, and something shifts.

Not just in me.Not just in you.

The room.The air.The rules.

I know it the second I hear the monitor spike.The second the attendants step back.

The second I realize—whatever I thought this was, I was wrong.

We all were.

1

Lena

Five weeks earlier

Istare at the script in front of me, mouthing the words silently before my next call.

“Hello, I’m calling about a life-changing opportunity to protect your loved ones…”

Christ.The only thing changing lives around here is the soul-crushing fluorescent lighting slowly giving us all vitamin D deficiencies.

The phone rings exactly four times before someone picks up.I launch into my pitch, trying to sound enthusiastic about term life insurance, while clicking through Zillow listings that might as well be fantasy real estate porn for someone with my bank balance.

“Yes, ma’am, for just pennies a day?—”

Click.Dial tone.

Fantastic.That’s twelve hang-ups in half an hour.A new personal record.

I click on an apartment listing that’s only slightly out of my price range—meaning I’d have to skip meals three days a week instead of two.The photos show gleaming hardwood floors and windows that actually open.Luxury living compared to the backseat of my Honda Civic, where I’ve been sleeping for the past week, perfecting the art of contorting my body around the gearshift.

“Dianne!”

Marjorie’s voice slices through the call center like a scalpel.She materializes behind me with the supernatural stealth of someone who spent her formative years studying the hunting techniques of large predatory cats.

“I noticed you were off-script on that last call,” she says.

“I was just trying to sound more natural,” I say, hastily trying to close the apartment tab.

“Natural doesn’t sell policies.”She leans in close enough that I can smell her cinnamon gum.“Remember, every uninsured person who dies is a missed commission opportunity.”

Jesus.

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