Page 23 of His Good Girl

I nearly smiled too much at that. The formality of my name sat stiffly on her tongue, and I knew at once Benjamin had gotten to her in the elevator. Good. Maybe good? Maybe necessary. There were lines here. There had to be. I had asked her into my office for an interview, not a look into the past.

I asked if I could hug her because not asking would have been careless and she let me.

It was brief. Proper. The way a godfather hugged the daughter of his closest friend after too much time and not enough contact. That was what I told myself as I put one arm around her shoulders and felt her go still for half a heartbeat before sherelaxed. She was warm from rushing, smelling faintly of soap and wet city air and some light floral scent at her throat. I released her quickly, but not too quickly.

That was the problem. I noticed the distinction.

I guided her to the chair and took my seat. She sat very straight at first, knees together, hands folded around the edge of the folder. She was trying to look composed. Trying, in the way young professionals tried when they had not yet learned that composure was not the absence of nerves, but the refusal to let nerves steer them.

She had no idea how much of herself she gave away. I could see the pulse at her throat, the quick wetting of her lower lip before she answered a difficult question, the small flash of temper when Benjamin came up, and even how embarrassment made her spine go a bit straighter. She had always had that. Even as a child, Avery had hated being pitied more than being scolded. Robert used to say she came out stubborn and suspicious of comfort.

I began gently. I asked her real questions, starting with her work history, her responsibilities, what had happened at Marlena’s firm, and where she thought she had failed. I asked her what she wanted. She answered too fast at first, then corrected herself, then laughed in places where the laugh clearly functioned as a tourniquet. I let the humor stand when it helped and cut through it when it didn’t.

She needed that.

Was that the first dangerous thought of the morning, or was my count higher?

I was trying not to want her. Want was not new, though I had spent months refusing to give the word a place to sit in my mind. I thought of the last time I had seen her at the charity dinner. I had done enough damage there, with her black dress and bare shoulders and the startled way she looked up when I put a hand at her back in the crowd. I had filed the memory away under unacceptable and left it there. But needing something from me—structure, steadiness, a firm edge that did not humiliate her—was more complicated than attraction. Desire I could discipline. Responsibility I could justify. Combined, they became something dangerous.

When she told me Marlena had said she was not hungry enough, I felt my hand close around my pen.

I did not let my anger show. Instead, I asked what happened before that, starting with what instructions had been given, what documentation existed, and whether any of the criticism had been fair. Her expression changed at that last question, a flicker of hurt before intelligence caught up and made room for it.

Good girl, I thought, and then immediately hated myself for it.

She looked down at her hands and admitted, slowly, that she over-explained, and that sometimes she anticipated too much. She also said that she stayed too long because quitting felt like failing and that when things went badly, she turned the whole thing into a story where she had meant to leave all along. I watched her make herself tell the truth, and pride rose in me so intensely I had to temper it before it reached my face.

Her resume was uneven but not disastrous. The formatting tried too hard to make gaps disappear, which only made them more visible. The bullet points had the strained optimism of someone who had performed miracles in rooms run by lunaticsand then had to translate those miracles into human resources vocabulary. But beneath it, there was substance. She was good at communication, coordination, client handling, and writing. Mostly though, it showed a strange, flexible competence that had been bent around bad structures but not broken by them.

She was funny too.

Humor was not rare. Plenty of people were funny when they were comfortable. Avery was funny under pressure. It slipped out of her sideways, dry and bright, sometimes at her own expense and sometimes aimed so precisely that I had to be careful not to encourage it too much. Encouragement could become warmth. Warmth could become familiarity. Familiarity, with Avery, was a road I needed to watch carefully.

I suspect there were moments I felt her watching me as more than a potential employer.

I might have imagined it. I told myself I had imagined it. A man in my position had a responsibility not to mistake nerves for interest, admiration for invitation, old affection for adult desire. But there were tiny betrayals. Her eyes dropping once to my mouth and jerking away. Color rising when my voice went firmer. Her reaction when I told her to say more than yes.

That one nearly cost me.

She had said she understood it was a real job. She said it earnestly, carefully, like she was placing each word in front of me and asking me to inspect it, but my mind, unhelpful and apparently determined to ruin my morning, translated the posture, the flushed face, the obedient cadence into something else entirely.

Yes, I’ll be your good girl.

The sentence arrived in my head with a heat that did not belong in an office, and I swallowed hard before averting my eyes. I looked down at her resume until I could trust my face.

When I spoke again, I made my voice firmer. I told her that this would be real work with real hours and real expectations and she listened. Her eyes flashed once or twice, and I saw pride bristle under the surface. Good. Pride was not the enemy. Undisciplined pride was. Pride could be trained into high standards if a person was willing to suffer the training.

She told me she wanted the job and I believed her.

It was one thing to need rescue. Most people did at some point, whether they admitted it or not. It was another to be offered a rope and decide to climb instead of asking to be pulled. Avery was frightened, embarrassed, and seriously under-rested, but she had come. She had put on the blazer, printed the resume, survived Benjamin’s charming little reign of terror, and sat in my office while I asked her to look directly at her own part in the mess. That was enough for an interview.

It was not enough for blind faith, however.

So I offered her the position on a probationary basis. Ninety days as an executive projects coordinator. She would handle operations, communications support, meeting preparation, proposal materials, and whatever Benjamin decided had become a matter of national security before lunch. Dana would test her, Benjamin would test her, and the work would test her. If she broke under reasonable pressure, better to learn it early. If she did not, she might become very useful.

Not to me, I corrected internally. To the company.

Benjamin came in when I called, and from the look on his face, he had been waiting outside with the patience of a preschooler and the optimism of a prosecutor. He processed the decision with only mild theatrical suffering.