"I'll call you Steve," she adds brightly, like she's granting him something.
I wait for the correction. Steven has never been "Steve" to anyone in this house. Or probably anywhere else.
But Steven doesn't correct her, so I let it go.
"Steven," I say, "I want a head of staff assigned to Lindsay. Someone competent. Discreet. Vetted. Not impressed by money."
Lindsay straightens. "A head of staff?" Her tone isn't offended, but I hear the edge. The implication that she's about to become a project.
Before she can spiral into it, I add the part that matters. The part I want her to hear.
"Your staff will answer to you," I don’t look at her when I say it, I'm still looking at the mess. "Not me."
Steven's gaze flicks to mine—small approval, almost invisible. He understands the difference between support and control. He understands what I'm trying to do, even if Lindsay doesn't yet.
Lindsay's expression shifts, her suspicion softening into something more cautious. Not trust. Not yet. But less braced.
Steven asks, "Do you have preferences?"
Lindsay hesitates, then says, "Someone who won't call mema'amlike I'm eighty."
Steven nods as if that's perfectly reasonable.
"And also," Lindsay adds, "someone who doesn't think my clothes are trashy."
That catches my attention. I look at Steven, whose expression reveals nothing.
"Of course," he says smoothly. "I'll begin interviews."
Lindsay's shoulders relax slightly. She closes one of the tabs on her screen. Then another.
"In the meantime," Steven continues, "I can have your accounts temporarily managed. We can filter messages through a secure server that flags priorities and contains the rest."
Lindsay considers this. "Will I still see everything?"
"If you wish to," Steven replies. "But you won't have to."
She nods slowly. "Okay. Let's try that."
Steven takes her devices one by one, explaining each step as he goes. Setting up filters. Creating barriers. Building a system that lets her control what reaches her and when.
I watch the process with detached interest, and a flicker of something less comfortable at how easily it works.
Lindsay seems to relax as the notifications slow, then stop altogether.
Her shoulders drop, the tension leaving her.
She tests the system, sending herself a message that arrives properly flagged and sorted.
"That's impressive," she admits.
"It's temporary," Steven assures her. "Until we find someone who can manage this to your specifications."
Lindsay nods, then glances at me. There's something in her expression I can't quite identify. Relief, certainly. But something else too. Something cautious and considering.
"Thank you," she says, looking between Steven and me.
I nod once, acknowledging.
