Chapter 12: The Morning Briefing
The whiskey glass caught the morning sun, throwing a distorted amber wedge across the ledger’s cover. Aidan stood before Catriona’s desk, the plush carpet feeling unstable beneath his feet. He hadn’t slept. The buzz of the break room fluorescents seemed to have migrated behind his eyes.
Catriona didn’t look up. She was scrolling through her tablet, a faint, clinical smile on her lips. The soft swish of her finger on the glass was the only sound. Finally, she turned the screen toward him. It was a gallery: Clara against the break room table, her face a blur of shock and feeling; the stark, proof-of-completion photo; a close-up of the whiteboard’s decree.
“Your work with Clara was satisfactory,” Catriona said, placing the tablet down. Her green eyes lifted to his. “Apprehensive subject. You managed the anxiety. The result was definitive. She won’t question policy again.”
Aidan said nothing. His tongue felt thick.
“However,” she continued, opening the leather ledger. The pages were neat columns, but not of numbers. He saw names, times, brief notations. Delia. Supply Closet A. 17 mins. Irina. Conference Table. 22 mins. Clara. Break Room. 31 mins. His own life, distilled into logistics. “Satisfactory internal maintenance is just the baseline. For the firm to grow, we must look outward.”
She slid the ledger around for him to see. Three new entries were highlighted in yellow. Theron Holdings. Jax Media. Sutter-Green LLP. Beside each was a name, a date, and a one-word descriptor. Marilyn (Assertive). Sofia (Curious). Linda & Vanessa (Collaborative).
“Client appreciation,” Catriona said, as if explaining a new tax deduction. “A tiered loyalty program. These three clients contribute forty percent of our annual revenue. Their retention is non-negotiable. Their requests, therefore, are also non-negotiable.”
Aidan’s mouth was dry. “Requests.”
“They’ve seen our quarterly reports. They’ve heard, through the inevitable gossip, about our… unique corporate culture. Our competitive edge.” She leaned back, steepling her fingers. “They want to experience it. A personal audit, if you will.”
The city outside the windows was beginning to move, cars like dull beetles creeping along the grid. Aidan felt severed from it, anchored in this golden, suffocating room.
“You want me to… with clients.”
“I want you to perform your duties where they best serve the company’s interests. You’ll travel to their offices. You will be courteous, professional, and exceedingly thorough. The no-condom rule extends to all company-sanctioned engagements, obviously. You are a living testament to our commitment to full transparency.” A sharp smile. “No barriers. No hidden liabilities.”
He stared at the names. Linda & Vanessa (Collaborative). The air in the room felt thin.
“This isn’t what I agreed to,” he heard himself say, the words hollow even to him.
Catriona’s smile didn’t waver. She took a slow sip of whiskey, the ice clinking. “You agreed to be a company resource. Resources get allocated. Would you prefer I re-allocated your entire position? The job market for junior accountants is quite saturated, Aidan. And references are everything.” She let that hang. Then her tone shifted, became almost conversational. “Besides, you’re good at it. I’ve seen the data. Look at Clara. She was terrified. Now she’s pacified, integrated. You have a talent.”
The compliment was a knife. He felt himself splitting down the middle—revulsion on one side, a dark, unwanted thread of pride on the other. He had been competent. He had done what was required.
“Come here,” she said, her voice dropping.
He moved around the desk. She didn’t move her chair, just patted the space between her knees on the carpet. It was worse than the desk, more infantilizing. He knelt. The wool of the carpet prickled through his trousers.
“This is an expansion. A promotion, really.” She uncrossed her legs, the whisper of nylon loud. She guided him forward with a hand on the back of his head. The familiar, bossy scent of her engulfed him. “You are our ambassador. Our best and brightest.”
As he serviced her under the shadow of the desk, his world reduced to sound and sensation, she kept talking. Her voice was a calm, running commentary over his head.
“Theron Holdings is first. Friday. Marilyn likes control, so let her think she has it… Jax Media, next Tuesday. Sofia will probably want to film something. That’s fine, but our watermark must be visible… Sutter-Green is the week after. A double-billing scenario. Logistically interesting…”
She punctuated certain words with a sharp squeeze in his hair. Her breathing hitched only slightly. This was routine maintenance for her, a meeting he was merely attending.
When she finished, her thighs tensing around his ears, she held him there for a long moment. Then she pushed him back. He sat back on his heels, disoriented, the taste of her claiming his mouth. She neatly rearranged her skirt, then picked up a pen and made a precise checkmark in the ledger beside his name.
“Your schedule is on the shared drive. Travel is pre-paid. You’ll submit expense reports for cabs and meals.” She looked at him, her gaze assessing, impersonal. “Your performance here remains paramount. Internal cohesion fuels external success. Don’t let the travel disrupt your core responsibilities.”
He stood, his knees protesting. He felt used in a new way—not just as a body, but as a product being shipped out.
“Aidan,” she said as he reached the door. He turned. She was holding up her phone, angled down. The flash went off—a documentation of her own satisfied state, the creamy evidence of his recent attention trapped on the glass. “Think of it as networking.”
Out in the hall, the normal office sounds—the printers, the hushed calls—sounded like they were coming from another planet. He walked back to his cubicle. On his screen, a calendar notification had already auto-populated.
Appointment: Theron Holdings. Marilyn V. Friday, 2pm. Address: 44 Commerce Street. Suite 1200. Notes: Be prepared to present full capabilities.
He minimized the window. In the break room, Clara was microwaving a soup. She saw him, flushed a deep red, and gave a tiny, awkward nod before looking swiftly away. A member of the team. Integrated.
Aidan sat down, his chair creaking under his weight. The city sprawled beyond the dusty window of his cubicle. He looked at his hands. They were just hands. But they belonged to the company, and now, it seemed, so did the rest of the map.