Page 3 of The Associate
Lauren, to her credit, didn’t acknowledge the reaction.
Instead, she clicked the screen away and continued in the same steady tone.
“Mr. Wise runs a high-volume, high-stakes docket. Mostly complex corporate litigation, some international arbitration, occasional federal overlap. His team is small by design; he doesn’t delegate unless he trusts someone’s work. That takes time. Don’t take it personally.”
“I won’t,” Samuel said, though his voice came out a little thinner than he intended.
“Good. You’ll be handling initial research, preliminary drafts, deposition summaries, and partner prep. If he gives you deadlines, you meet them. If he gives you instructions, you follow them exactly. No creative interpretations.”
Samuel nodded. “Understood.”
Lauren leaned back slightly in her chair, studying him, not unkindly, but with the measured calm of someone who’d on-boarded hundreds of nervous associates before him.
“You’ll hear things about him,” she said. “Most of them are true. He’s demanding. He’s blunt. He doesn’t waste time on pleasantries.” A brief, deliberate pause. “But he’s fair. If your work is good, he’ll see it. If it isn’t… he’ll see that too, and you’ll know it.”
Samuel tried to steady his breathing, to keep it silent and even. “When will I meet him?”
Lauren checked the time in the corner of her monitor. “Your introductory check-in is scheduled for…” she squinted briefly, “fifteen minutes from now.”
His stomach dropped. “Fifteen?”
“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.
