Page 35 of The Associate
He was not just late; he was catastrophically, unforgivably late. The pristine record he’d maintained since his first day of kindergarten, through parochial school’s draconian tardiness policies, through university lectures, through every internship and this very job, was shattered.
“Wait!”
The plea was ripped from his throat as he skidded to a halt before a closing elevator door, the polished steel panels gliding together just as he reached them. He slumped, hands braced on his knees, sucking in ragged gulps of air. A wave of dizzying frustration and self-loathing washed over him.
Of course.
Of course the universe would align to emphasize his failure.
Suddenly, a hand shot into the narrowing gap between the doors. Long fingers, clean, blunt nails, a sliver of crisp white cuff and a charcoal wool sleeve. The sensors registered the obstruction and the doors sighed back open.
Samuel straightened, a gasp of relief on his lips, a grateful, automatic smile beginning to form. “Thank you, I…”
The words died.
The smile froze, a brittle, pathetic thing on his face.
Standing in the center of the elevator car, alone, was Gael Wise.
His boss.
He stood there, impeccably composed, his sharp gaze already taking in Samuel’s disheveled state; the heaving chest, the slightly crooked tie, the undisguised panic in his eyes.
Samuel’s mind went blank, white noise filling his ears.
The frantic drum of his heart seemed to stop altogether, leaving a hollow, airless vacuum in his chest. The elevator, with its muted lighting and reflective walls, suddenly felt like the smallest room in the world.
Fuck.
The word was the only coherent thought in the white-noise static filling his head. Seconds ticked by. His hands hung useless, trembling at his sides. His mind was a blank, wiped clean by the sheer, catastrophic reality of being caught, byhim, of all people, in this state of unraveling.
He knew, on some distant level of self-preservation, that he should move. Stop gawking like a stunned animal and just get in the goddamn elevator. But his body had mutinied. His muscleswere locked, tendons pulled wire-tight. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. Couldn’t do anything but stare into Gael Wise’s dark, impenetrable eyes from six feet away.
“Get in.”
The voice was low, a vibration that seemed to bypass Samuel’s ears and travel straight down his spine.
His body obeyed before his mind could protest. He straightened, a jerky, mechanical motion that made his starched shirt collar dig into his damp neck, and took one stumbling step forward into the elevator. His eyes never left Gael’s. The doors slid shut behind him with a softshush.
Beautiful.
The thought was a spark in the void. It felt insane, thinking such a thing about a man like Gael Wise. But in the flat, intimate light of the elevator, Samuel saw it.
The dark eyes weren’t just dark; they were deep, liquid obsidian. The severe arch of his brow, the unforgiving cut of his jaw, it was a harsh, exacting kind of beauty.
It terrified him. It captivated him.
A small, politepingannounced their ascent, the sound absurdly loud. Samuel flinched, his whole body jolting as if struck.
The spell broke. Reality crashed back in. He whirled around, turning his back to the man, a pathetic attempt to hide. His trembling hands flew to his tie, trying to straighten it. He raked fingers through his hair, feeling the chaotic strands beneath his slick palms.
“Mr. Wise. Good morning, Sir.”
The words scraped out, thin and reedy, barely a whisper. He stared, unseeing, at his own pale, wide-eyed reflection in the bronze doors, a ghost haunting the edges of Gael’s tall, dark silhouette. His breath hitched in his chest, a broken, stuttering rhythm. His heart was a trapped bird beating itself to death against his ribs.
This was it. The ax would fall now. A cold query about his dedication. A slicing remark about professionalism. Dismissal.
On this morning of all mornings, it felt like the only possible, deserved end.
