Chapter 2
Afaint dinging sound registers in my brain, and I’m ushered into my new reality as the elevator doors slide open. Taking a step forward, I can already hear the hustle and bustle down the halls behind reception. The fourteenth floor of this downtown high-rise that I now call my office hosts a symphony of ringing phones, shuffling papers, and the gliding metal of file cabinets being opened and closed.
A voice like champagne bubbles floats over the hum, interrupting my thoughts.
“You must be Avery! I mean, Attorney Anders! I’m so sorry,” a young woman gasps, words tripping over each other.
Pivoting, I see her: straight, glossy brown hair laid perfectly against a pale blue blazer, a smile so wide it could be on a billboard for a dental office. She radiates the sort of warmth that makes you wonder if she’s powered exclusively by the sun.
“I’m Maddie, the receptionist,” she chimes.
I’m unprepared for her energy. It’s the kind of unfiltered enthusiasm typically reserved for cult leaders. I blink, recalibrate, and remember to smile back.
“That’s me. Just Avery is fine,” I manage, keeping my voice carefully neutral.
Her lips part, and I see a flicker of surprise before she corrals it into a practiced, professional beam.
“You’re a lot more...chill than I imagined,” she says, her eyes running an appraising circuit over my navy pantsuit.
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. Not the nervous, high-pitched titter I usually deploy in awkward professional situations, but something almost genuine.
“It’s all a front,” I confess, letting my guard drop just a hair. “I’m actually the textbook definition of neurotic.”
She nods knowingly. “Don’t worry, you’ll fit in here just fine.”
I inhale, soaking in the ambient noise and nod.
“I think you’re right.”
“You’re meeting with Attorney Sterling, right? His office is just down this hallway. First one on the right,” Maddie explains, motioning behind her. “We’re glad to have you here, Avery. Happy first day!” she beams, unconcerned with the anxiety I’m fighting to conceal.
Her optimism settles into me, filling up the spaces where nerves and doubt had been living. For a moment, I’m convinced that I really can start fresh here. I turn towards my future, eager to meet it head-on.
The whisper of my heels on the marble floor competes with the patter of my pulse. Glass walls glint in the early morning light. Everything gleams. My fingers trail over gold accents, savoring the lavish attention to detail.
I find a door marked with a nameplate that reads “Attorney Sterling” and stop, sure that the partner who sat on my interviewpanel must be expecting me on the other side. I hesitate, then tap softly.
“It’s open,” calls a rough voice.
I reach for the handle, panic sinking in. He sounds so…grouchy? Gruff? A vision of him as an irritable, demanding boss with no patience for newly barred associates like myself flashes through my mind. I try to steady myself, remembering the cool professionalism I practiced.
I’m not the fragile mess I was when I left my last firm. At least, I don’t want to be.
A deep breath and I’m turning the knob, bracing for my second encounter with the imposing senior partner.
I step inside and freeze, stunned.
He’s not what I expected, or rather,whoI expected.
Nothing like any of the older men on my interview panel.
The man seated behind the desk is so physically arresting, so far from what I expected, that for a full three seconds I forget how to breathe.
He’s young, or at least young-adjacent. Mid-thirties, probably.
He remains absorbed in his work, pen moving across the page with deliberate strokes. The furrow between his brows deepens as he reads, completely unbothered by my presence.
Not wanting to break his focus, I take the opportunity to look him over.
