Chapter 1 #2
“Mhm.” She stood, smoothing the front of her tailored blazer. “He likes new associates early. And unfiltered.”
Samuel rose as well, gripping the orientation packet a little too tightly, the plastic crinkling in his hand.
Lauren walked him to the door. “His office is down the main corridor. Last door on the right. You’ll know it when you see it.”
He managed a polite, “Thank you,” before stepping back into the hallway.
Fifteen minutes.
To meet the man half the floor treated like a loaded weapon.
Fuck.
∞∞∞
Exactly fifteen minutes later, Samuel stopped in front of the last door on the right and took a moment to steady his breathing. The hallway was unnervingly quiet here, the kind that made his own pulse sound too loud in his ears. A simple, unadorned black placard beside the frame read:
GAEL WISE
Senior Partner
He knocked twice, the sound sharp. He adjusted his sweaty grip on the folder and pushed the heavy door open when a low, baritone “Come in” carried through the wood.
The office was bright in a stark way. Blinds were half-drawn, slicing the afternoon light into severe, clean angles that striped across a floor of dark, polished wood.
Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined an entire wall; legal texts and bound case files were arranged with military precision.
A single, large abstract painting hung above a low credenza, its muted grays and charcoals interrupted only by a single, violent slash of deep blue cutting through the center.
At the wide, minimalist desk sat Gael Wise.
For a second, Samuel forgot the greeting he’d practiced. His mind went blank and static.
The man looked nothing like the stiff, corporate portrait on the firm’s website.
He was tall, Samuel could tell even with him seated, his frame long and lean beneath a charcoal suit that fit too good to be off the rack.
He wasn’t bulky, but there was a quiet, coiled strength in the line of his shoulders, the way the expensive fabric drew taut and cleanly over his arms.
His features were sharp, almost severe: a straight nose, defined cheekbones, a cut jawline softened only slightly by the shadow of a day’s stubble. His skin was warm, olive-toned; his hair thick and dark, trimmed close at the sides.
He didn’t look at Samuel immediately.
He finished whatever note he was making on the document in front of him, the pen moving in small, unhurried strokes. Only when he set the pen down parallel to the edge of the blotter did he lift his eyes.
Samuel felt the weight of the look before he could process it, a physical pressure in the space between them. A deliberate, sweeping assessment that skimmed over his suit, his posture, his hands clutching the folder, then returned to his face as if cataloging every detail without visible effort.
“You’re Ruiz,” Gael said.
“Yes,” Samuel managed, his throat tight. “Samuel Ruiz.”
Gael nodded once, a minimal gesture toward the empty space in front of the desk. “Stand there.”
Samuel did, moving forward and holding his folder in both hands to keep his fingers from betraying the fine tremor he felt crawling under his skin.
Gael leaned back slightly in his chair, the leather sighing quietly, and studied him with the same calm, unnerving concentration he’d given the document moments ago.
“Your record is solid,” Gael stated. “Top grades. Strong recommendations from your clerkship.”
He didn’t say it like praise. It sounded like he was reading neutral facts off a page, facts he was already cross-referencing against what he saw in front of him.
“Thank you,” Samuel said, the words feeling automatic and inadequate.
Gael’s eyes flicked down to his hands, too still, too white-knuckled where they clasped the folder, then back up to his face, and Samuel felt the glance like a touch.
“Sit.”
Samuel crossed the short distance and lowered himself into the sleek, low-backed chair. He tried to move at a normal, controlled pace but felt himself adjusting halfway through the motion, slowing down, correcting a descent that had suddenly felt too quick, too graceless.
Gael noticed. Samuel could tell by the slight, almost imperceptible shift in his gaze, a silent note taken and filed away.
“You’ll be supporting litigation research,” Gael said, his voice even and devoid of inflection. “Initial drafts. Deposition summaries. Deadlines vary, but they’re firm when set. If you need clarification, ask once. Not repeatedly.”
“Yes, Mr. Wise,” Samuel said, his own voice sounding thin in the expansive room.
Gael’s head tilted a fraction. “You answer quickly.”
Samuel felt a sudden, hot flush in his chest, a rush of blood that he was sure was visible at his collar. “I want to keep up,” he said, immediately regretting the slight defensiveness he heard in his own tone.
Gael considered that for a moment in a way that made Samuel hyper-conscious of the very rhythm of his breathing. Then he gave a small, slow nod, almost thoughtful, before reaching for another file on his desk without breaking eye contact.
“You’ll get your first task before lunch.”
“Yes.”
Gael didn’t dismiss him immediately. He watched Samuel a moment longer, his gaze unreadable but heavy, then finally broke the contact and went back to the document, turning a page.
“You can go.”
Samuel stood. He was just reaching for the door handle when Gael’s voice stopped him, quiet but clear, the tone cutting through the room and freezing him in place.
“Ruiz.”
Samuel turned, his pulse kicking hard against his ribs. “Yes?”
Gael didn’t look up from the file. “Don’t hover in the hallway before you come in next time.”
Samuel felt something cold and tight coil low in his stomach. “I… yes, Sir.”
He stepped out into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind him, careful not to let it slam, the click of the latch unnaturally loud.
The moment it sealed, the tightness he'd been holding in his chest finally slipped, leaving him feeling hollow and slightly unsteady.
His hands were damp against the cardboard of the folder, and he adjusted his grip twice before it felt secure.
He started walking, more out of instinct than direction, the echo of his own footsteps sounding off-beat and clumsy in the hushed corridor. His breathing was steady enough, but there was a fine, persistent tremor running beneath it that he couldn’t shake.
He rounded the corner toward the workstations, trying to settle his posture, trying to smooth the tension from his shoulders and not look as completely off-balance as he felt.
It didn’t help much.