Page 72 of The Secretary Volume II

“I’m not comfortable with this.”

“You will be,” Stewy says.“They have new tech.It’s basically a nap.”

“You’ve been calling people all day,” Andra adds.“You know how hard it is to get someone to say yes.We’re not asking for your firstborn, Lena.We’re just asking you to step up.”

“You’re asking me to get oral surgery.”

“It’s not surgery,” she says.“It’s a demonstration.”

“Of what?”

“Resilience,” Stewy says, handing me a tablet.“Just sign anywhere.”

I hesitate.

Andra leans in slightly.“This is a chance to show the partners you’re adaptable.”

The word partners lands with a thud in my chest.Not Ellis.Not my boss.The next tier up.The invisible decision-makers.

“Lena,” she says, softer now.“They’ll remember who helped.”

I look at the tablet.The box is already highlighted.

Stewy says, “We’re all counting on you.”

I think about going back to that cubicle.To the cold calls.

I sign.

And just like that, I become the clean data.

41

Lena

The waiting room looks like a hotel lobby.A diffuser puffs something that smells like eucalyptus and bleach.It’s the kind of sterile calm that makes you want to panic quietly.The receptionist smiles too much.Her teeth are perfect.She tells me someone will be with me shortly and hands me a tablet already loaded with intake forms.

I sit.

The chair cushions barely give.Designed for posture, not comfort.My name is printed on the screen in bold serif type, like this was all prearranged—like the form’s just a formality.The questions are vague but extensive.Do you bleed easily?Do you respond poorly to anesthesia?Are you experiencing memory loss?

I pause.Tap no.

A man sits across from me, fidgeting.He clears his throat loudly.Once.Twice.Three times.I glance up.He’s frowning at his tablet.At some point, he clears his throat again and when I look up, he gestures with his pen.

“Sorry,” he says, handing me the tablet.“Do you know what any of this means?”

I glance at the screen.

You consent to all recommended interventions, including those deemed necessary during intraoperative review.

I hand the tablet back.“It means they can do whatever they want once you’re under.”

He laughs, like I’m kidding.

He fumbles around, sighing loudly, until eventually, I help him flip back to the previous page.He drops his ID; I hand it back.He asks if he’s in the right place.Like I should know.He tells me he left his reading glasses at home, they said he wouldn’t need them.

Asks if I can help with the tablet.He says his vision is bad and his hands shake when he’s nervous.

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