It took so much load off my chest that I couldn’t let it go. One sentence from her. And I couldn’t let her go. I should. I definitely should, now even more so. I should be glad she didn’t?—
At that moment, it knocks on the door.
“Enter,” I say, and relax my hands.
She comes in, and what I see is not her. Not the one she was yesterday. My eyes narrow as I take in the slightly on-edge woman, so different from yesterday.
Her eyes are wide, and she smells like she brought an entire bar with her.
“You are late,” I say as my eyes wander down to her clothes. She’s wearing the same she wore yesterday. Her hair is in a messy bun. And it makes me wonder if it has anything to do with what she was evading yesterday.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “Got late yesterday.”
“I can smell that,” I say.
“You said yourself that freshmen should be partying,” she says defiantly, with her hand still on the doorknob.
She stares at me for another moment.
“I shouldn’t have come,” she says, turns, and opens the door again.
“I also said I have a lot to teach,” I say to de-escalate the rising tension. She stops in the doorframe.
“Please sit and close the door,” I tell her, and point at the chair opposite my desk.
Her struggle shows in her expression. Whatever lies underneath what happened yesterday, she felt it necessary to protect herself. To lie, to shoot harsh words at me, and to get drunk.
But she does close the door and sits down.
When she is settled, I take the folder in front of me and hold it out for her to take.
“This is an offer,” I say. “But if you take it, there will be clear rules, because I will not have any form of mess around me.”
She takes the folder and reads through the documents. It’s paperwork for her becoming my research assistant, a very special NDA because my research is government-funded, a request for clearance, and a proposal for her involvement.
“That’s a lot of paperwork,” she says dryly.
“Research always is. You are new, so you wouldn’t know. I’d be willing to take the risk of bringing in a freshman, because I think you have a lot of potential. Your way of pattern recognition, while simultaneously questioning your own approach, would be a useful addition to the research and is a necessary skill for what I do.”
“What exactly are you researching?” she asks, looking at me with her head slightly tilted. Her pupils are so tiny that they are almost invisible. I don’t even want to know what else happened last night—well, actually, I do.
“Did you take drugs?” I ask.
She stares at me, apparently considering her options.
“Yes,” she finally says.
I condemn drugs, but I am glad she decided not to lie to me again, so I say, “Thank you for not lying again.”
“If you decide to sign, that will stop,” I add. “If you do, I can tell you everything. Right now, the only thing I can tell you is that I work on an advanced prediction model for criminal behavior, much more advanced than my prior model. There is more, however.”
“What are the rules?” she asks.
“No drugs, no drinking, no mess, or being present half-heartedly. It will be strictly professional. The research has your full attention and focus. You do as I say, but I am willing to be challenged in my perceptions and biases.”
She breathes in deeply and blows her cheeks.
“I don’t do well being told what to do,” she finally says. “I don’t think I am the person for you.”
