the college feminist

Her name is Meredith, 21 years old, leader of a Hardcore resistance movement at Berkeley. It's no surprise that the most vocal opponents of the President are in the first round of attendees. She's naturally attractive but trying desperately not to be. Her red hair is frizzy and undone, not a spot of makeup on her face. She wears thick rimmed glasses, a flannel shirt, high-waisted jeans, and a septum piercing.

She greets you with these words on her first day. "I just want to say that this is bullshit. Whatever you're trying to accomplish by bringing me here, it will never, ever work on me."

You chuckle and nod. "Okay. I need someone to manage my appointments, make phone calls, keep the office organized..."

"Oh yeah? You think I'm your fucking serving girl?" Meredith glares at you from the seat across from your desk. "I know your type. You think you own me. You think you can make me..."

"Meredith!" you interrupt. She seems shocked that you know her name or are addressing her by her name. "I'm not going to make you do anything unseemly. I need a personal assistant. That's it."

"Yeah and I'm not buying your nice guy routine either." Meredith snaps at you. "Nice guys are assholes. And assholes are assholes." She crosses her arms intently. She's as upset as anyone you've ever met. She has reason to be. "Find someone else to do your free labor. I'm not a fucking indentured servant."

But you remain cool. You have every reason to be. You're in charge. And it's not like you didn't suspect that Meredith would need a little incentivizing.