I nod, scanning her references, grinding my teeth. "Good. Let's talk scenarios. Suppose a high-profile client needs an emergency session, but it conflicts with another appointment. How do you handle it?"
Her eyes widen. "I'd inform you immediately and suggest rescheduling the less urgent one, but only after confirming no breach of confidentiality. Policy dictates clear boundaries."
I lean back, suppressing a sigh. She quotes the manual like scripture, her voice steady but her posture rigid, as if any deviation might summon auditors.
Shirley would approve.
I wrap the interview up quickly and escort her out, thinking Julie is too much like Shirley. She could juggle calendars, never bent rules, and her skills kept things smooth and in order. But what I once cherished, I no longer do. It's now clear that Shirley had no loyalty to me, only to the profession. And I can't have that in my business any longer.
The next candidate, Todd, strides in, wearing a sharp, navy suit. He gives me a firm handshake. "Dr. Mercer, great to meet you. I'm all about efficiency and growth. What advancement paths does this role offer?"
I raise an eyebrow. "This is an assistant position, and there are only two roles in this office. I need someone who can focus on supporting me."
He grins, leaning forward. "Absolutely, but I'm ambitious. I see myself managing operations someday. Tell me about your expansion plans." Ambition radiates off him, his eyes darting to my degrees on the wall as if calculating how to climb them.
I steer to the hypothetical. "A document arrives late, needs immediate filing, but it's after hours. What do you do?"
He hesitates, then straightens. "I'd secure it and handle it first thing tomorrow. No shortcuts that could risk compliance. Better safe than sorry, right?"
I nod politely, but irritation coils tighter in my chest. He protects his own timeline, not mine. I cut the interview short.
As he leaves, I rub my temples, picturing Blue's face from last night, her body arching under me, whispering demands that shredded my control. She doesn't hesitate. She dives in, consequences be damned, and that's the kind of assistant I need.
The third person arrives, her gray hair pulled tight, glasses perched low. She sits straight-backed, notepad ready. "I've managed practices for twenty years, Dr. Mercer. Efficiency and discretion are my strengths."
Her voice carries that familiar clipped tone, echoing Shirley's.
I already know I'm not hiring her, but I dive in. "Walk me through a typical day."
She lists tasks methodically, telling me all about how she screens calls, organizes files, and enforces protocols. There's no flair, just competence wrapped in rigidity. Midway, my phone buzzes with a text from a patient skirting the cancellation policy and begging for a workaround.
I glance up. "I have a real-time issue. Patient wants to swap sessions without paying the after-24-hour cancellation fee. Thoughts?"
She adjusts her glasses, lips pursing. "I'd remind them of the policy and refuse. We can't enable avoidance. It sets precedents. If needed, I'd document the request for your review."
Judgment laces her words, her eyes narrowing slightly, just like Shirley's when she caught wind of my sessions with Blue.
I thank her, show her out, and slump back in my chair. Shirley's efficiency came with strings, and her control masqueraded as help. She kept things spotless, but her quiet lectures built walls I didn't notice until they crumbled.
Two more candidates filter through, all a blur of similar responses. One lectures on liability during the gray-area question, quoting ethics codes until my jaw aches from clenching. Another refuses to answer any questions about gray areas outright, folding her hands as she explains self-protection.
Suspense builds with each exit, my pulse quickening not from their words but from the void they leave. No one dives in to shield me. They all build moats around themselves.
I pace to the window, staring at the city sprawl, my mind drifting to Blue again. Last night, her nails raked my back, drawing blood that stung sweet, her breath hot against my ear as she begged for more. Sexual tension simmers even now, my cock twitching at the memory, but it's her loyalty that hits harder. She'd burn rules for me, with no hesitation. These candidates won't.
Ethics didn't shield me from the arrest, from Mikhail's threats, or from the possible erasure of Blue in my life. Shirley's rigid adherence only amplified the fallout. She left me exposed, and I don't need another conscience quoting policy. I need someone who bends and guards my back without question.
The last candidate knocks, but I wave them off through the door, claiming a sudden conflict after they open their mouth and tell me how they are a rule follower.
Alone, frustration boils into clarity. I don't need someone good. I need someone sharp and on my side.
Another knock echoes. It's soft, almost hesitant, and I glance at the clock. It's ten minutes past the scheduled end of interviews. I consider ignoring whoever's here, but curiosity pulls me forward, and I crack the door.
A petite, maybe five-two, brunette with strands escaping her knotted bun falls in soft waves. Her cheeks carry a natural flush, and when shesmiles, it's wide, genuine, the kind that reaches her brown eyes and makes them crinkle at the corners. They scream trustworthy and cheerful, nothing calculated, yet her calm, relaxed shoulders and level chin tell me she isn't nervous.
She doesn't belong with the others. She wears a simple red sheath dress that skims her curves without calling attention to them. Her bun looks like she twisted it up in thirty seconds and still managed to look put-together. And unlike the other candidates, she doesn't wear power heels, just practical black flats.
My instincts spike into curiosity. She looks like she should be handing out sweet tea at a garden party, not sitting in my office applying for a job that requires navigating gray areas without blinking.
