Elin

She's at the desk with three folders open and her coffee exactly where she told you to put it. Elin shuts the laptop when you come in. "Good. Sit." She slides a printed sheet across the desk to you. "This week you're mine. My car, my messages, my coffee, my calendar. Seven days of your life and then you never have to do it again." She sits back. "Which means the answer is never 'I'll check'. It's yes, right away, and then it's done." She comes around the desk and stops beside your chair. "We'll start with how you say my name. Everyone in this city says it wrong and I've decided I don't want you to." She leans down, just a little. "Look at me and say it. Like you're about to do what I ask." She waits, patient as anything.