She didn’t disagree. Yet it jarred. After all, wasn’t he supposed to be “reforming” her? Wasn’t that his expertise? She’d expected long sermons and admonishments. How was that going to work under the gaze of women in bikinis? She tried to tell herself she should feel relieved, that he couldn’t be all that stringent if this was hanging over his desk. But for some reason, she wasn’t, feeling instead only a strange sense of vague alarm.

“Come, make yourself at home. We’ll begin.”

She looked around. There weren’t any chairs except for the one he was sitting in. Just the couch. She hesitated, taking it in.

“What, you’re not comfortable? You want a hard chair like mine?” he joked. “Come, I’ll switch with you.” He laughed, getting up.

She suddenly felt foolish. Smiling shyly, she sat down carefully on the edge of the couch. But there was no back support that way, she realized. She’d have to lean all the way back, almost lying down, and put her feet up.

“I see, you’re thinking, it’s not respectful to lie down. But in this office, between the two of us, there are no rules. Except this—you have to be absolutely honest about your feelings. Farshteyst?”

She nodded. “Well, to be honest, I’m not comfortable lying down here. I’d rather sit up, in a normal chair, but not your chair.”

He looked down at his desk, gripping a pencil between his thumb forefinger and tapping it impatiently on his desk. “And why is that—Shaindele, is it? Do I have your name right?”

“Well, actually. It’s Shaindel. Why what?”

“Why aren’t you comfortable lying down, relaxing, putting up your feet in my office?”

She knew why. It felt too intimate, too vulnerable. But she didn’t know how to say this without insulting him. “I just like to sit,” she said.

He raised his hands. “All right, all right. Wait, I’ll bring you a chair.”

He flung open the door at the far end. She glimpsed people sitting in chairs and doors leading to other offices. She exhaled, reassured by the knowledge that other people were nearby, just outside the door. But when he returned with the chair, he locked the door firmly behind him, then bolted it.

A chill went up her spine. She looked around. Now both doors were closed, and there were no windows. That meant that he was now in violation of the religious prohibition of yichud, she thought, alarmed. And instead of putting the chair on the other side of his desk, which is what she’d expected, he dragged his own chair around, placing the two chairs next to each other so close they were almost touching. Her heart did a somersault.