“Meh,” she says and wraps up her papers.
“How did this happen?” I ask. “Did you take anything?”
“I didn’t,” she says defensively. “Couldn’t sleep.”
A part of me wants to ask her why. A part that already suspects why. But in doing so, I’d violate my own rules. And it cannot happen again.
“Let me show you something that will keep you occupied,” I say instead, and tilt my head towards the computer screen.
“I’m reviewing the applicants from Coleman, you will probably find it as interesting as I do.”
“So many,” she says as she stares at the screen.
“Yes, I was suprised too.”
“How are we even allowed to do this under the 45 CFR part 46 regulations?” she asks, and I only shake my head.
“You know, one day, I want to study your mind,” I say. “That memory of yours is truly impressive.”
“I don’t believe you want to do that,” she says without looking at me, but scanning over the screen.
“And why wouldn’t I?”
“Because the only thing you will find is a brain that has been trained to memorize everything to protect me from fatal consequences.”
Another piece of her.
And because she gave it to me, I leave the conversation exactly where it was to give her a positive experience of maintaining boundaries.
“I have free rein in picking the applicants,” I say. “It doesn’t matter what they’re in for.”
“Hm,” she says. “It’d be interesting to categorize them, especially in the prevalence of neuropsychiatric disorders. I’d say we have a high likelihood of some scoring high on the psychopathy spectrum, while others only have anger issues. Can we get fMRI’s beforehand?”
I look at her, and a smile appears on my face. She was the right choice, she confirms it again and again.
“We can,” I say. “It’s a very expensive and laborious process that would require us to travel to Florida.”
“I’m so in,” she says, elated. “I wanna see their scans.”
It’s rare to meet a person whose eyes light up when presented with the proposal for brain scans. And maybe that’s the one thing that makes me overlook the fact that she has been dishonest and hides her real self.
Excitement like this can’t be faked.
“October 29th,” I say. “Plan for three nights, all expenses are covered, don’t expect anything nice.”
“I don’t need nice,” she says.
“Not?” I ask because this wasn’t the typical answer for a girl who has a penthouse in Tribeca. “So what is it you need?”
“Brainscans,” she says and laughs. “I like simple.”
“So how come you and the blonde ended up together?” I ask before I can control myself.
Her body tenses, and she draws back.
“Why?” she asks with narrow eyes.
“Because you two are very different, I am just curious,” I say to de-escalate the tension.
