Chapter 6: The New Roster
The quarterly review photo hung in the digital space between them, a ghost in every spreadsheet. Aidan spent the hour before his evaluation mechanically updating a client ledger, his fingers clumsy on the keyboard.The numbers blurred. Each time his phone vibrated with a Slack notification, his pulse jumped. It was never about the photo; it was about expense reports and filing deadlines, a mundane world that now felt like a poorly constructed facade.
At four o’clock exactly, he stood outside Catriona’s office. The glass wall offered no privacy; she sat behind her desk, typing.She looked up, smiled a thin, professional smile, and beckoned him in.
“Close the door, Aidan.”
He did.The room was quiet, insulated from the office hum. A faint trace of her perfume lingered in the air, something expensive and floral, now forever tainted for him.
“Sit.”
He sat in the client chair, its leather cool through his trousers.“Your technical work is adequate,” she began, lacing her fingers together on the polished wood. “A few errors in the Montgomery file, but nothing catastrophic. Your efficiency is improving.” She paused, letting the compliment hang.“However, this firm thrives on more than numerical accuracy. It thrives on cohesion.On mutual understanding. On meeting all of the job’s requirements.”
She leaned forward, her green eyes locking onto his. “The initiative in the break room today was a good test of your… adaptability.But it was just a test. The real work begins now.” She reached to the side and produced a whiteboard easel, turning it to face him. It was blank except for a grid she’d drawn in harsh black marker.
“We have twelve female staff members,” she said, her voice calm, analytical.“Including myself, Delia, and Irina. The others have seen the group chat.They understand the new… benefit structure. Your core duties will remain, but your performance review will now include a secondary metric.” She picked up a red marker. “Completion.”
With a swift, jagged hand, she wrote twelve names on the board. His own colleagues.The receptionist, Millie.The two other senior accountants, Sarah and Liz. The new data intern, Clara.All in a list.“Starting immediately, you will be available. Scheduling will be managed through me to avoid conflicts with client meetings.” She capped the marker. The scent of solvent cut through the perfume.“We’ll begin with the newest member.Clara. She needs to be properly integrated into our culture.The break room. Now.”
Aidan’s mouth was dry.“Clara? She’s… she’s an intern.”
“And?” Catriona’s eyebrow arched.“Her probationary period includes understanding all aspects of our workplace environment. This is a facet of it.Come.”
She stood, not waiting for a response. He followed, a marionette with strings of cold dread. As they walked through the main office, heads stayed down, but he felt the weight of every hidden glance. Delia gave him a quick, thumbs-up from behind her monitor.Irina didn’t look up from her spreadsheet.
Catriona pushed open the break room door.The space was empty, still bearing the ghost of their earlier meeting. The sickly vanilla cake had been wrapped in cling film, a monument to the absurd. “Wait here,” she commanded, and left.Aidan stood alone in the humming silence. He stared at the counter where he’d been made to perform.The linoleum felt unsteady under his feet.
The door opened.Catriona returned, ushering in Clara. The intern was twenty-two, fresh from university, with a nervous smile and clothes that still aimed for professional. She clutched a notebook to her chest like a shield.
“Clara,” Catriona said, her tone shifting to that of a mentor.“You’ve seen the firm’s unique approach to team bonding. Active participation is expected.It’s how we build trust.” She gestured to Aidan. “Aidan is a key resource. Consider this part of your orientation.”
Clara’s eyes, wide behind her glasses, darted from Catriona to Aidan and back. Her knuckles were white on the notebook.“I… I don’t understand. Is this… is this a joke?”
“It is not a joke,” Catriona said, the warmth evaporating. “It is a requirement.Your continued internship is contingent upon your engagement with all firm policies. This is one of them.Aidan, the table.”
The command was a bucket of ice water down his spine. He looked at Clara’s terrified face. A part of him wanted to refuse, to shatter the entire terrible tableau. But the larger part, the part that needed the job, the part that was already complicit, moved him forward. He saw the resignation settle over Clara’s features, a sick understanding replacing confusion.
“It’s… okay,” Clara whispered, not to him, but to the room.She placed her notebook carefully on a chair.Her movements were stiff, robotic. She hiked her practical knee-length skirt up around her waist and lay back on the cool Formica table, turning her head to stare at the flickering light fixture.
“Proceed,” Catriona said, leaning against the sink, her phone held loosely in her hand.Aidan unbuckled his belt. The mechanical actions felt like they belonged to someone else. He was aware of Clara’s shallow, held breath, of the rough texture of her inexpensive tights as he pushed them down, of the stark vulnerability of her body against the sterile table.He entered her. She gasped, a short, sharp sound of pain that she bit off into silence.Her eyes squeezed shut.
There was no pleasure here, only a grim transaction.Catriona watched, a clinical observer noting technique and compliance. The only sound was the rustle of clothing and the relentless hum of the refrigerator. Aidan moved, driven by obligation and a deep, shameful instinct to simply get it over with. When he finished, the release was a hollow physical spasm, devoid of anything but relief that it was stopping.
He stepped back.Clara didn’t move. She lay there, exposed, a quick flush on her cheeks the only sign of life.
“Well done, Clara,” Catriona said, pushing off from the sink.Her tone was approving, as if the intern had mastered a difficult software. “You may get cleaned up. Welcome to the team.”
Clara slowly pushed herself up, not meeting anyone’s eyes.She pulled her clothes back into place, her movements now trembling slightly.
Catriona turned her phone around. She had taken a picture: Aidan turned away, zipping his trousers; Clara, vulnerable and pale on the table; Catriona herself, reflected in the stainless-steel door of the microwave, a faint, satisfied smile on her face.
“One down,” Catriona said, looking at the imaginary whiteboard in her mind.She glanced at Aidan. “Your next appointment is with Millie at the front desk.In fifteen minutes. Don’t be late.”
She left the room, the click of her heels fading down the corridor.Clara finally looked at Aidan. Her eyes were glistening, but her voice was surprisingly steady, cold. “Does it get easier?”
He had no answer.He smoothed his shirt, unable to hold her gaze. The smell of burnt coffee was stronger now, mixing with the new, shameful scent in the room.
“Fifteen minutes,” he echoed softly, and walked out, leaving her alone in the fluorescent tomb. The list was no longer on a board; it was etched behind his eyes, a ledger of impending violations. He had eleven more names to go.