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Rib-eye steak with Cobb salad.
My stomach rolls in painful anticipation. “I’ll have the burger and fries, please.”
Fionnella smiles. “Anything else?”
“Soda?”
Her gaze drops over my body. “How about we make it a milkshake? Unless you don’t like milkshakes?”
I barely stop myself from telling her I’d give both pinkies for a banana milkshake. “Okay. Banana. Thanks.”
She gives me a happy nod and picks up a sleek phone on her desk. My order is relayed in crisp tones. “It’ll be here in ten minutes. Now, let’s get started.” She places the clipboard in front of her and spears me with a slightly less maternal look. “Fair warning, it’s in your best interest to be as truthful as possible. Everything you say here will be held in the strictest of confidence, but the boss doesn’t take well to liars. Okay?”
I want to cough out the fear knotted in my throat. But that would give me away. So I nod. It satisfies her and she’s back to being kind and gentle Mother Superior.
She clicks her pen. “I have your contact details but you don’t have a permanent address?”
“No, not yet.”
“Okay. For the purposes of this job, this will be your address. Is that okay with you?”
I want to ask why she’s asking. It’s not like I’m going to file taxes or cite this gig on my resume anytime soon. But the look in her eyes says she wants an answer, so I nod again.
“Great!” She looks me over again for a second. “If you don’t mind my asking, are you normally this weight?”
“No.”
“Can you tell me how much weight you’ve lost recently?”
“Umm, about twenty pounds.”
She nods thoughtfully. “And is the reason a medical one? You’re not on drugs or anything, are you?”
“I’m not on drugs, no.”
She pauses. “Let me be specific. We’re going to put you on a healthy meal schedule. Will there be anything stopping your weight from coming back to normal if you eat right?”
“No.”
She smiles and scribbles on her clipboard. “Do you exercise regularly?”
I curb a hysterical laugh. Sure, I exercise regularly if you take a cross-country run for my life as exercise. “I keep fit,” I prevaricate.
“Perfect. You’ll be assigned a fitness instructor as of tomorrow.”
I frown and remember a work schedule was one of the questions I meant to ask Mechanical Man. “I have to work tomorrow.”
Fionnella’s brow creases. “I’ll check with the boss. I’m sure we can rearrange a few things.” She scribbles some more and ticks a couple of boxes, then turns over the page.
“You’re sexually active?”
“Yes.”
“When was the last time you had sex? Weeks or months?”
Ridge’s sweaty face swims before my eyes and I suppress a shudder. “Umm, weeks,” I say. My voice doesn’t emerge as firm as I wish, and I earn a peculiar look from Fionnella.
“Dr. Allen will go through this more thoroughly with you, but are you on birth control?”