Page 9 of The Associate
He drew in a slow, deliberate breath, or tried to. It caught halfway up his throat, a thin, unsteady rasp that did nothing to fill his lungs. His fingers curled harder around the edge of the sink. His pulse thudded in the hollow of his neck, a frantic,hammering rhythm that felt loud enough to echo inside the small room.
He dragged his gaze away from the haunted man in the mirror and forced himself to focus on the sleek, chrome faucet. Turning it on gave his trembling hands a simple task. He cupped his palms under the icy stream, and brought the water to his face, letting it run over his closed eyelids, down his cheeks, and drip in uneven, cold trails from his jaw onto the counter.
He did it again, leaning into the discomfort.
And again, until the chill began to numb the panicked heat crawling up his neck.
His chest loosened just enough to let him pull in a single, proper breath for the first time since stepping out of Gael Wise’s office.
He turned his wrists under the cold flow, holding them there until the skin flushed a raw, stinging pink.
He shut off the faucet with a twist and reached for a paper towel from the dispenser. He straightened his tie, pulling the knot tight against his collar. He smoothed the front of his jacket, brushing away invisible wrinkles. He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, even though he knew everything was already perfectly aligned.
He forced himself to meet his reflection again. The color still hadn't fully returned to his face, leaving a greyish pallor beneath his skin. His eyes looked too alert, too bright. But his expression was almost neutral, a carefully constructed mask of composure.
Almost.
He exhaled, a long stream of air that pulled his tense shoulders down a full inch. No one out there would know. No one wouldever guess what had just happened behind a locked bathroom door. They couldn't. He wouldn't let them.
He squared his stance, feeling the solid floor beneath his shoes, and stepped back from the sink.
He wasn’t ready to go back out there.
But he didn’t have a choice.
So he reached for the door handle, gathered the tattered remnants of his composure into a tight knot, and walked out because there was no other option.
The hallway lights felt harsher than they had earlier, their glare bouncing off the polished surfaces with an aggressive sheen, but he forced himself forward, retracing the exact path back to the open-plan workstations. Every step felt too loud in his own ears, the sole of his dress shoe making a faint, sticky sound against the carpet fiber, but no one looked up from their screens, no one noticed his passage, and that blessed anonymity gave him just enough room to pull the frayed edges of himself together.
His desk appeared in view. He sat carefully, the ergonomic chair sighing as it accepted his weight. His fingers brushed the edge of the keyboard before drifting toward the mouse. His computer screen glowed to life, and his inbox blinked with a single, new message.
From: Gael Wise
Subject: Assignment — Immediate
He hesitated only a second before clicking it open.
The email was brief.
Four sentences, no greeting, no sign-off. Just bullet-point instructions outlining a preliminary review of a high-value client’s financial discrepancies, hyperlinks to two dense attachments, and a tight deadline.
“New guy?”
The voice came from somewhere to his right, startling him. Samuel straightened abruptly, and looked up.
Two associates stood at the edge of his workstation. The man was slightly taller than Samuel, maybe early thirties, wearing a suit that belonged on the cover of a corporate magazine; a deep, liquid black, tailored within a thread of perfection, with cufflinks that probably cost more than Samuel’s entire wardrobe. His hair was styled, not a single strand out of place. He wore a faint, knowing smirk.
Beside him stood a woman, maybe late twenties, her dark hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. Her eyes were a warm brown. She offered a small, genuine smile that inexplicably eased a fraction of the tightness coiled in his chest.
“Hi,” she said, her voice calm and even. “I’m Alina. You must be the new associate on Wise’s team, right?”
Samuel nodded, his throat dry as he tried to find his voice. “Samuel Ruiz. Yes. First day.”
“Lucky you,” the man said, the words dripping with a lazy, condescending amusement. “George Wiseman.” He delivered his name like it should mean something, like it was a brand Samuel was expected to recognize. He didn’t offer a handshake, just a curt, dismissive nod. “We all rotate through assignments for Wise. Some of us get cycled out sooner than others.”
Samuel couldn’t tell whether that was meant to be helpful advice or a thinly veiled warning.
Alina slid a slightly exasperated glance at George before refocusing on Samuel, her smile softening at the edges. “He means the work is intense. But you’ll find your rhythm. How’s your morning been so far?”
