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- Zeff

The lights above the mirror illuminated my face. I stared at the refreshed, brightened appearance of my skin. The natural tint of pink across my cheeks and the tip of my nose. A few sprinkled freckles and beauty marks appear darker as my usually warm brown complexion had lightened over the winter. But I noticed the lively, plump look of my skin. I purse my lips and stare at the plainness of my look. I had taken the careful time to handle every strand of my hair with my finger, encouraging the natural definition of the curls with the fruity products moisturizing the strands now. With curiosity, and with Harry's credit card, the makeup department looked fairly interesting. Thick lashes coated in mascara, freshly threaded eyebrows drawn in darker (to my best abilities), and my cheeks glowing with the application of the glistening, burned pink powder.

There's a mess of unpackaged makeup around the marbled counter of his bathroom sink. I remind myself to clean up before he comes back from the firm. Never having really tried out the artistry, I struggled to avoid smudging the jet-black mascara across my eyelids. Rolling up the creamy, brown lipstick, I hear a faint door shut. My head snaps up and I walk to poke my head out of the doorway that leads into his bedroom. I'm greeted by the simultaneous image of Harry pushing his bedroom door open, gazing around the mess of high-end, mundane or hot pink shopping bags leading a trail from the front of his bed to the plush comforter. A grin curves into his lips very faintly, a shake of his head following.

He becomes aware of my presence when I fully expose myself. I stood in a dark, navy blue, mid-thigh dress with a squared collar and long, fitted sleeves. One of the bags contained the heels I was planning to wear for the night, but for now, my feet were bare. I leaned against the doorway, sporting a playful grimace, somewhat apologetic and somewhat teasing. A briefcase in his hand still, his head turned to look at me, he stands straighter and raises his eyebrows at my appearance. The impression it left on him was displayed rather unabashedly in the way his smirk deepens, and his eyes quickly wander my figure.

"So...I guess, I went a little...overboard. Johnson wasn't too happy about it, either," I softly confess to my crimes of indulgence. He shakes his head, a soft laugh passing his lips, teeth on display, and the dimple on his cheek deepening, growing. I watch him approach me, taking a few careful strides around the endless carpet of shopping bags. He sets his briefcase down on the floor, leaning it against the wall beside the doorway before resuming to his dominating height.

My eyes look up and observe his face and the fading amusement on it as he reaches up to move one of my bouncy curls away from my face with his index finger. The gesture is followed by steady examination of my face, "You look pretty," he tenderly whispers.

"Thank you," I whisper back, tipping my head down slightly, averting my eyes away from the intensity of his gaze. His comment was so crucial to my confidence, and that was frightening on its own. It was not just the magnitude of his significance in my life, but more so the mere fact that he was another set of eyes. Of course, eyes that have seen me in a vulnerability nobody else has had the privilege to watch. As a consequence, his words deepened my breaths and saturated my cheeks in a girlish pink hue.

His hand falls and we stand there, both at the doorway, taking careful leaps to converse as the strange quietude of the moment was enjoyable. "I'm glad at least you had a good day," he mutters lowly. The at least meant he didn't.

"Courtesy of the inappropriateness of my boss," I hum softly, sporting a faint, entertained smile.

Harry simply sighs, returning to his neutral expression as he more seriously interjects, "I hope you understand that I did that as...me. Not your boss."

"I know. It's an unpaid internship," I retort with a mischievous smile.

"Cheeky," he points out seriously, narrowing his eyes, entertained by my banter. He shakes his head again, soundlessly, a faint smile appearing on his pink, soft, and distracting lips. He completely leans off the doorway and both of his hands come up to grab my face, palms flat against my heated cheeks.

A cheerful smile now engraved into my face, the appearance of it crinkling my eyes and pinching my cheeks, I giggle and mumble, "Stooop." He squeezes his palms against my cheeks, my lips pouting as a result. The flips of stomach indicate my enchantment with his somewhat rare, private, and adoring gestures. I hoped that he was growing fond of me, and that the gestures and the gifts were his way of displaying that infatuation. I knew I was charmed, far beyond my control now.

He drops his hands from my face, and instead reaches for my hand that was lazily at my side, not the one pressed against the doorway of the bathroom. Taking a few steps back, he urges, "Let me see you."

My eyes widen slightly, and my chest deflates with a quick, sharp exhale as I stammer, "I'm...I'm not ready yet, my shoes —"

He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, lowering his eyebrows as he frowns, clearly not believing my excuses. I sigh, sheepishly smiling at the way he beckons me to turn around for him. Barefoot and not nearly prepared for viewing, I let his hand pull me in the direction he chose, spinning with ease in my place. When I'm facing him again, he raises his chin and squints his eyes, his lips spreading thin as he begins to smirk. "You look amazing," he gently avows, bringing the hand that was holding mine up to his lips. With a shy smile, I playfully scoff at his admiration, and move my hand from his.

"I don't have my shoes on yet," I testify softly, looking at him through my lashes.

"Where are they? In one of the fifty bags spread about in my room?" He mocks and I scoff again, causing him to respond with a breathless, silent laugh that is displayed as only a smile on his face. His arms reach out to me once again, pulling me by my waist. I sneak my hands onto the collar of his button up, tugging at either side of his neck. A comically uncontrollable smile tugs at my lips, and I stare at him momentarily, admiring him, aware of how I constantly can't help but distractedly gaze in the company of the green in his watchful eyes.

More seriously, then, I boldly ask him, "Why are you being so kind to me?"

He looks at me with absolutely no reaction. It should be reassuring that he didn't even blink at my question, nor seemed visibly concerned as to why I was asking it. Maybe the steadiness and the confidence of his demeanor would relax some, but for me, it did no such thing. He was so collected when I asked him about anything regarding me, as if he had no doubts. He was readily available to respond to my concerns and avow his undeniably assertive claims.

"I thought that was clear," he responds lowly, observing me carefully. I let go of the collar of his button up, hands slipping down past his chest, rustling the soft fabric, and my fingertips gliding past a few buttons until I'm right above the middle region of his torso. "I'm interested in you. I like you, if that's the simplistic version of my confession you were looking for," he candidly uttered. "This, this kindness of mine...it's not something I waste."

Feeling more comfortable with the extension of his declared admiration for me, I press, "What could you possibly find interesting about your twenty-year-old intern with big boobs and an obsessive mother? Who's also one of your current clients?"

He huffs, lowering his eyebrows at me disapprovingly before carefully squeezing my waist as retaliation. "Why are you interrogating me again?"

"There you go again," I whispered. "I'm not interrogating you...I just...I can't accept all these gifts. I'm staying in your home. And...I feel guilty about using your money, honestly, I feel dirty," I ranted.

"Dirty? Well, you're only staying for another few days or so, but I'm not complaining. Like I said, these small little things are simple to me," he objects bluntly. "Athena, I cannot spell it out for you anymore. I don't mind. I like doing these things for you. It's quite nice to see you have a bit of fun."

"But —"

"No buts. I like you, and your big boobs," he mocks, and I immediately scoff in response. Seriously, he promises, "I have no intention of hurting you, blackmailing you, or whatever it is you're worried about. Because I know you have quite strategic concerns here, like any person with intellectual depth would."

I pause, biting the inside of my cheek, my hands fully sliding off of him, reaching up to my own hair as I pull the curls behind my ears. "I don't know what I feel when we're...together," I quavered warily, "You know...you were my first. And firsts cause a lot of emotional...attachments? I don't know — I guess I'm just...unsure of how to approach you, this. There are a lot of moving pieces here."

I'm extremely satisfied with my answer, and he seems to find it impressively substantive as well for someone like me, who would usually struggle to make a coherent statement in front of him nine weeks ago. "You get to decide whatever you want," is all he says. Harry reaches up to rub his thumb across my shin very briefly, a gesture that was comforting. I bite into my lip as he adds, "I'm going to freshen up, then we can head out to this bloody thing."

"Okay," I hum. "I'll clean up this mess. I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "Absolutely not. I'll call for someone."

Walking past me, he completely ignores the surprise and disbelief on my face. As my shock is disregarded, I hear the faucet turn on, the running water faint. I blink a few times, proceeding to scavenge for the heels that mysteriously disappeared in the sea of shopping bags. I sit at the edge of his bed now, tampering with the thin, strappy heels. I wrestle with the endless struggle of fastening the clasp when Harry walks out of the bathroom, phone in his ear, speaking lowly and in his usual monotonous voice. I've noted the tone he uses in his business affairs and around his colleagues. His success did not come with being so cheerful and openly hospitable regardless of his true nature. A nature I have yet to truly know.

"I don't particularly care about Ernest's interests in the case. Don't make it easy, but eventually, give him the chance to stick his nose where it doesn't belong, and he'll make a mistake. I'll leave it to human nature," I hear him dully respond to a voice over the phone. A towel hangs from his free hand, and he tosses it over his shoulder before withdrawing back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. The once coherent clarity of his voice reduced to white noise. I hear the shower began to run, and I sigh, returning to the stubborn clasp of my heels.

A tranquil moment is breached by the sound of my ringtone. I take one glance at the screen and read the caller ID that belongs to my mother. My eyebrows lower, a glower creating eerie shadows over my face as the intensity of my agitation surges upwards. She's called me at least three times a day, every time she leaves a heated voicemail lacking any concern or a remorseful tone, and no sight of an intent to apologize for her actions. I can already hear her refuse to take accountability for her wrongs because she is the parent, but now she must be exceedingly furious considering my father had called her to let her know he was coming down to see me, most likely to unintentionally ruin any plans she has.

I let the call go to voicemail. Instead of waiting for someone to clean up after me, out of respect for Harry's home and his things, I decide to rearrange the mess of shopping bags into a neater grouping, recreating the neatness of the space before. At the same time, I was acquiring practice walking in these heels, so I was not deterred from the slight wobbling of my ankles whenever I stepped too confidently. The wobbling reduced to a steadier stride with time, and as Harry exits the bathroom wrapped up in a towel, I sit at the edge of the king sized bed clearing the voicemails that backed up my inbox from my phone.

"I said I'd call someone," he reminded me as he walked over to his dresser. I tried my hardest not to stare at his toned, muscled torso and strong, broad shoulders, skin scarcely covered in droplets that glistened in the light at certain angles. I bite the inside of my cheek and shrug in response.

"It's unnecessary," I admit.

For the next several minutes Harry silently prepares himself for the event. He did not seem too eager to attend, and he made that clear. There was no confusion there, he was pretty transparent about his attitude towards the event. I lay back onto his bed and take a deep breath, my mind settling on the idea of 'networking' with the people at this event, who are surely people alike to Harry and share a similar or interrelated line of work. Was I prepared to become an amateur socialite the entirety of the night, only to feel as uninterested or maybe more as I do just thinking about it?

I'm careful to slip my hand beneath my head, moving the curls to lie above me. I'm staring aimlessly at the ceiling until a figure that radiates such an alluring scent approaches me, and I'm pleasantly surprised to find him over me. One knee digs into the mattress, and one hand presses against the sheets to provide leverage. I fight a grin as his face comes over mine, my hands touching across his surprisingly soft skin. Raising an eyebrow, I breathe, "You shaved?"

"Yes. Not a fan?" He sends me a cheeky grin back, his slightly damp hair falling over his forehead.

"No, no, I am," I giggled softly, examining his face. He was so handsome, but now with the missing shadow of his facial hair, he looked younger, the boyish handsomeness prominent unlike any other time I've seen it peaking through before. His pale eyes wander my face, expecting a response. "You just look so young."

Harry releases a breath, unimpressed by my observation. "You look young," he objects, and I shut my eyes as a reflex when he leans very close, his lips coming into contact with my right temple. "We have to go," he grunts as he's getting off the bed. I follow, sitting up and sighing to myself, watching him observingly for a moment. As I'm standing to my feet, steady enough not to humiliate myself in front of him, Harry turns around, adjusting the dark navy blazer around his neck. He rolls his shoulders slightly, looking at me as he suggests, "Johnson is outside. I recommend we don't walk in together."

I don't say anything in response, seeing the logic of the suggestion. We head out and as we are Harry is calling Axel over, a call of his name a simple order to lead the way. I walk down the hallway, towards the elevator, with Harry beside me. He quickly types a message on his phone with one hand, the other adjusting the black tie he seemingly forced himself to wear tonight. I turn my head briefly to glance at him, curiously. We haven't even left his penthouse and already I sensed a different energy in him. This was going to be an interesting night. I noted that Axel now trailed behind us, his quiet presence all the more menacing.

We arrive at the downtown hotel where the event was being held in one the ball rooms. In an effort to remain neutral, and not bring attention to ourselves, Harry and I arrive together to the hotel but he takes a quick detour, gazing at me knowingly before he disappears into a grand archway that leads to the incredibly luxurious hotel bar, Axel following behind him. I spot George in the lobby where I now stood alone. He's directing tonight's guests to the designated location, but I already knew what floor and ballroom it was being held in as Harry's notified me just as he exited the car. I grip a black clutch in my hands, sighing anxiously to myself. The spacious lobby consisted of reflective, polished floors that were sensitive to every step I took in my heels. A high ceiling supported a large, golden, and crystal chandelier. A few guests of the hotel also sat around the lobby, trailed into the bar, or were speaking to a front desk clerk.

Aimlessly rearranging the curls around my face, I blow air past my lips and remind myself to relax. I was arriving alone to an event that would be no less than social torture for me. I was not interested in networking, and lately, I've questioned whether I liked the idea of practicing law, seeing all the sinister energy that the profession involved. As Harry said, I was free to decide what I truly wanted to do. But as of right now, I had not a single clue.

George spots me and happily greets me, his usual cheerful attitude registered as a relief rather than a nuisance this time around. I suppose having the familiarity of his presence in this situation was more comforting in a sea of unknown faces. He directs me to the ballroom floor, and I thank him briefly, eager to find another familiar face upstairs. I knew Addison and Jonas were going to be attending, which were the only two interns that I held a conversation with longer than thirty, insignificant seconds.

The ballroom was grand as the lobby. Although there was a side of it all encased in glass, a view of the city submerged into darkness and twinkling lights, a balcony leading out to a direct view of it in the night air. I was not impressed with the extravagance at the dark formal attire that was flooding the beautiful, modernized ballroom. My chest tightens and my face grows hot. I'm suddenly aware of the many people around me, all of them either chatting with another person or in groups, waiters walking past them, serving drinks or light foods. I wasn't sure of how I wanted to proceed. Everyone seemed like the blended in, and I stuck out like a sore thumb. The gazes I received also concerned me, as I was hyper aware of them.

"Athena, hey."

A familiar voice calls for my attention. I turned around to follow the origin of the voice, and I come to find Addison dressed in a blazer and a matching skirt, her straight blonde hair pinned up neatly. She appeared flawless and her movements were confident, her strides towards me quick. As she finally approaches me, she places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it as she cheerfully greets me. "I've been looking for you," she says eagerly.

I force a smile at her, orienting my body to her. "Hey. I just got here. I was actually looking for you."

"Ah, I see. Where's your man?" She teases.

The amusement she expected from me was lacking, and I was not going to pretend I found her teasing entertaining or acceptable. I was to no longer talk about my involvement with Harry, and I certainly didn't want her to bring it up in this environment. She sees my stern facial expression and sighs to herself, muttering, "Relax."

"It's just not appropriate to bring up here," I explain candidly.

She makes a face, but doesn't press me further. Her response was indifference, and I saw it. Maybe I was being a bit too paranoid, maybe. But in this case it was just the right amount of paranoid. She herself warned me that the people around us are all ears even when they appear to be distracted. I had to mind my business tonight and become the white noise everyone heard but didn't care to acknowledge. Addison was probably plotting to do otherwise, though I was going to try to remain in the background of her antics.

"Where's Mr. Yung and the other lawyers?" I inquired curiously, both of us turning to face our respective direct line of sight ahead of us. Her standoffish demeanor was now persistent, and she pauses to answer me as she gazes around the room.

"Mr. Yung notified me that he had a meeting with Harry at the bar. It's about their high profile case, I bet," she alleged confidently, clicking her tongue and sending a wide, sweet smile towards someone she recognized, her red-manicured hand raising to wave at the person. I continue to observe the people around me.

"That case. What do you know about it, anyway?" I wondered, turning my head to watch the side profile of her facial structure. I knew she somehow got more information from Mr. Yung than Harry was willing to share with me, or Addison at least insinuates that she knows a little more than she's letting on. I haven't wanted to fully entertain it until now, growing curious as to why that case was visibly, and notably, taking up more of Harry's time.

"I don't know much, like I said before," she insisted. "But, I do know a little bit that I overhead," she chided braggingly. She was too eager to know about this case, and it was spreading like a contagious disease, like it was airborne. I was the next host it would come for. "Mr. Yung trusts a man named Ernest a lot...but it looks like Harry doesn't. The team of lawyers is...struggling quite a bit, I bet."

That was true. When I overheard Harry, he seemed to really dislike the man named Ernest, and was waiting not too keen about allowing the man to participate in whatever manner within the case. Harry wanted me more involved than that man, it seems. I heard Harry talking about Ernest. I can attest that he does disagree with Mr. Yung, but I wasn't as willing to share what I know with Addison. Naturally, I was unsure of whether I should say anything.

Instead, I reckoned, "If that's true...then is it possible that man is here tonight?" I knew the answer to this question. Mr. Young had stopped by Harry's office at the firm earlier today to warn an unimpressed Harry about it. He did not appreciate that reminder.

"Yeah, definitely. I heard Mr. Yung talking about it, and while it may seem Ernest is just a name to us right now, we'll know who he is once they get here," she contended. "Their tension should be visible from a mile away. Whatever they're dealing with, it's definitely involving the federal government. That's why you haven't seen any news report, whatsoever. Usually, White House correspondents are quick, but they have no clue about this case for sure. I wonder what it is."

"You seem really interested in this case," I commented, looking from her to the moving, restless image of everyone around us.

"I'm curious to know what it is. Me and Jonas have a bet on who can get the most information about it tonight. Also, the most offers. Are you in?"

She turns to look at me, a look of utter mischief plastered on her face, an eager smile curving her pink, glossed lips and intent beaming in her widening eyes. Unabashedly, I bluntly point out, "You and Jonas are a bit obsessed with competing against people."

"We're ambitious," she corrected.

"Right," I whisper. "Anyways, you guys can have fun with that. Let me know what you find out," I quipped casually, pretending to not be intrigued by the benefits of their competition. Addison purses her lips, beaming at me knowingly, and then walking away. I frown in her direction momentarily, knowing that I chose right not to insert myself into her games. I wouldn't be too successful, and I was better off watching from the sidelines. Maybe I was being too encouraging of others trying to gain information about Harry's high profile case. I had to separate myself from Addison's actions, and only listen and observe the information presented to me. I couldn't involve myself in anyone's affairs here, it was in my best interest, I suppose.

I roam the ballroom, uninterested in speaking to anyone. I see Addison around a few times, and I also spot Jonas in a khaki suit, freshly shaved and cut. He was sporting a charismatic charm with every word he spoke to a group of older men, obviously enchanted by Jonas's ease. Addison was doing just as well, and I knew I would become entangled in whatever debate they would have next week about who was better. My lack of participation was not only because of my lack of social savviness, but because of my raw disinterest in the activity. It was entertaining to watch, however.

My hands reach for a small fruit cup that was served on a table for guests. A voice matches a a tall figure that stood next to me and I suddenly hear, "You look bored out of your mind."

I turn quickly in the direction of the voice. The mysterious figure has a head full of jet black hair, buzzed neatly and facial hair that was just as cleanly shaved. His eyes were a rare grey, and his skin was a darker olive. I didn't know how to respond for a couple of seconds, frozen and for a moment not believing he was talking to me. He seemed to be on the younger side, possibly in his early thirties. Hesitatingly, I gently reply, "I don't find these things fun."

The man offers a one-sided grin and an approving nod. "You're not the only one."

"That's good," I sorely smile, pleading to the universe that this conversation ends quickly. My fingers tap against the glass fruit cup, purposely avoiding making eye contact with the man again. However, he continues to stand there, unfazed by my disinterested, avoidant body language. There was something about his presence that made me more uncomfortable, his curious gaze causing me to visibly tense up. I look at his face again, hoping the eye contact would force him to say something to my dry response.

His mouth parts, and he pauses for a moment. The same one-sided grin almost takes over before he effortlessly surmises, "You're an intern. I can see it in your face."

I would've liked to know what made me look like an intern, and how he came to that conclusion so quickly. Pressured to respond, I softly laugh and jested, "What gave it away?"

"For starters, you're young. Early twenties, I'd say? And you're clearly avoiding people. Shy perhaps? What law firm are you with?" He's restless when he questions me, and I felt almost interrogated by the eagerness of his mannerism.

I hum quietly with uncertainty. "I'm —"

"Ernest."

I didn't have to look to see who it was. My skin rose with goosebumps, the surprise obvious in my widened eyes. Quickly, I recompose myself, petrified of being noticeably affected by Harry's abrupt presence. Jaw tight and his eyes locked onto the man whose name is Ernest, coincidentally, Harry extends his arm to respond to Ernest's greeting gesture. The two men gaze at each other sternly, not a single word exchanged between them until Ernest murmurs, "Styles."

Keen on escaping the evident tension between them, I turn away slightly, only to hear Ernest immediately turned his attention to me once again. "I was just talking to your intern," he claims gracefully. My eyes watching him steadily, still like a statue. His grey eyes locked onto mine momentarily. He already knew that information about me without having me provide the information. Warily, I force a smile and watch one side of Harry's humorless expression.

"Really?" Harry hums very quietly, his chin raised slightly as his eyes wander the ballroom. Ernest's entertained grows less humorous and more ominous. I stand there awkwardly, inhaling deeply and struggling to maintain a steady expression.

"Yes. I can see why she's your intern," he almost taunted, his eyes moving back and forth between both Harry and I. My eyebrow raises, my heart in my throat as I find his words extremely offensive and dangerously suggestive. I didn't know what he was insinuating, but the heat on my cheeks was not from any form of flattery, but many of which belonged to anger. Again, he adds slowly, "She's very sharp."

I was confused as to whether he was being genuine, but I truly doubted it. Lowered eyebrows, and my warm eyes narrowing, I inhale slowly in an attempt to relax. I only exchanged a few words with him, and there was very little room for him to make conclusions about me. The fact that he knew who I was raised some red flags, alarming me. I could see why Harry wasn't fond of this man.

Speaking of Harry, he does not like what Ernest says at all. At all. In an attempt to not cause a scene, Harry only stares at Ernest. I have never seen such a dark expression on his face, even as he's angrily giving orders to his subordinates. His head tilts down a bit, the light casting shadows across his face. He jaw tightens, and his nostrils flare very slightly. The evidence of his anger was obvious, but he was not going to give Ernest any more of a reaction, in case that was what Ernest was trying to get. Instead, Harry crosses his arms over his chest and glides his tongue over his front teeth. Nodding his head, he huffs gently. "She is, yes," he jeers. This was not an agreeable response, it was a warning not to test the waters further.

I'm debating on whether I should walk away when Ernest urges, "Don't be so severe, Mr. Styles."

Harry doesn't miss a beat, readily quipping, "You must have other things to attend to."

Ernest pauses and raises an eyebrow. "Of course. Excuse me, Miss Athena," he bows his head, his eyes never leaving mine. I stare, terrified, but forcing myself to suppress my reaction. He knew my name, and I most definitely did not share it with him. The entirety of our interaction was not accidental, and he knew exactly who I was. He wanted me to know that. When he finally walks away, I let out a large breath and blink rapidly a few times in distress, hearing Harry heavily sigh and turn to me.

He looks down at me, his face relaxing only a little bit. His eyes avert elsewhere behind me before he gazes down at me again. I protectively cross my arms over my chest, mirroring his stance. I was not prepared to engage with anyone, much less have an interaction like this one. Finally, Harry mutters, "You should've walked away, Athena."

Still slightly frightened by the interaction, I begin to frown at him. "I didn't know who he was," I protested. "He clearly knew who I was, though. I didn't tell him my name nor that I'm with your firm."

"Yet, he knows," Harry murmurs to himself, shaking his head.

"Is that a bad thing? That he knows who I am?" I question with evident suspicion. The silverware that was included with the small, glass cup of fruit was now in my hand, averting my eyes to it for a second before looking up at him again, an eyebrow raised. My clutch was pressed against my side as I held it there with my arm.

Harry's face grows agitated as he candidly says, "Not exactly. I just find it rather interesting that he'd talk to my intern for no reason. I reckon you don't know much about this case, which is what this was about."

True, I didn't know much, but I wasn't going to admit that Addison and Jonas probably know more than they should. I didn't know yet if that leak of information would endanger the case for Harry's side, but it seemed like it had the potential to. Keeping my thoughts to myself, I whisper, "So, assuming he thinks I know something...then maybe that's why he would come to me. See if he could get information out of me?"

"Hm, yeah," he hums suspiciously, turning around to face the rest of the ballroom. Eyes trained on nothing in particular, he whispers, "Although...he knows I wouldn't share a case like this with anyone, even you. He wanted to see if I took the chance, though."

"He wasn't going to get anything from me, either way," I object, looking at the side of his face.

"It doesn't matter," he dismisses coolly. "I think it was a threat."

"How?"

He doesn't respond to me. Instead, a man approaches him and offers his hand, the men getting into a conversation immediately. Harry turns briefly to look at me, sending me a stern look before the two walk away, heading in the opposite direction with a quiet, low conversation that fades out the further they walk away. Frowning, I grip the fruit cup tighter, growing uncomfortable in this environment. If I find Addison and Jonas, maybe I could engage with them and avoid having to be approached like this again. I grew anxious knowing that people knew I was Harry's intern, and the details of this case were so sought after, that they would go as far as to approach me for information. Who else knew about this high profile case? And just how serious was it? I thought the security Harry and Mr. Yung were hiring was over the top, but I might have underestimated the extremeness of such a measure.

I walk towards the corridor, making a beeline for the ladies' bathroom. My walk was brisk, but I tried to keep my nervousness under control. At some point I had to get over this social anxiety, and be reassured by my own sense of self. But right now, I had very little of that, and until I could gather more, I had to figure out how to sit out from all the intense, competitive, cut-throat attitudes these people had. I could certainly say that assuming such a role was not for me, and I couldn't even pretend.

Pushing past the wooden door that led to the ladies' bathroom, I hurriedly make my way towards a stall and shut the door behind me. I stand in it, taking in a deep, needed breath. My hands reach up to push my hair back from my face, shutting my eyes and focusing on evening my breath. I'm startled immediately by a knock, and my eyes follow the feet standing before the stall. Pair of familiar, glassy heels.

"Athena, it's Addison," she announces gently. "Are you okay?"

Sighing, I breathe, "Yeah..." I undo the lock of the stall and slowly push the metal door open. Addison takes a few steps back, her brown eyes examining my face perceptively. I send her a wide-eyed look, and she stares with uncertainty.

"What happened?" Addison questions as I walk past her towards the sink. I glimpse at myself in the mirror, placing my hand over the marbled sink counter of the public bathroom. I turn to Addison who now stands before me, leaning her hip into the counter, setting her golden bag over it.

I shake my head. "Nothing. I just needed some space. I'm not very...good at this. At talking to people."

Addison raises an eyebrow. "I saw you talking to Cristian Ernest," she points out accusingly. "Who I just found out is the enemy of all enemies for Mr. Yung and Harry, mostly for Harry. Then he came to your rescue the second he spotted Ernest talking to you."

"He didn't —"

"He did. He was watching Ernest walk to you the whole time, and he was furious. He had his eyes on you like a hawk. Harry was making sure Ernest didn't talk to you. So...why's that, really?" Addison implores, squinting her eyes at me. I didn't think she was insisting that I reply to her with the factual answer, but she knew I had an idea.

Frowning, I murmur, "I don't know..."

"Athena," she grumbles agitatingly. "You know. Okay, I don't think either of us are stupid here. Ernest wasn't talking to you because he thinks Harry shares the case with his intern. Because clearly, he wouldn't if he's smart. We know he is, so that leaves one option."

"And that is?" I press. "I have no connection to the case, and Harry reveals nothing to me. There's no other possible option other than he was looking to aggravate Harry."

"I wouldn't be so quick to conclude that. You may have no connection to the case, but it's possible Ernest knows what Harry gets up to with his intern," she bluntly contended, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's possible Ernest just wanted to find one of Harry's weak spots."

I nervously bite against my bottom lip for a second, feeling my breath deepen, protesting, "I said nothing. Did nothing."

"You probably didn't have to. He already knew," she shrugs. "Word of advice: the people here are...very interested in weakness. They teach us the jurisprudential view of the law, but there are other ways to win the case." I don't say anything, looking down at my feet instead. Addison clicks her tongue, and apologetically adds, "You're either cut out for this or you're not."

"I'm clearly not, is what you're saying," I accuse assuredly, my frown narrowing my eyes and lowering my brow.

"I don't mean to offend you. I'm just saying the truth. But if you can't talk to people, if you can't get over this anxiety...then how do you expect —"

"I don't," I interrupt earnestly. "I don't expect anything."

"Athena —"

Before she could continue, I've grabbed my clutch, turned around, and headed for the exit, leaving her cut off. I had a feeling Addison was just calling it as she sees, but I was not to torment myself any further. Avoiding the ballroom, I walk right past it and make my way towards the elevator. The ride down several floors was lonely, and I was glad it was. I didn't have the energy to pretend like I cared for anything that would even remotely come up in a conversation. There was nothing of interest to me anymore, at least not here. I was good at a lot of things, but I didn't have the range in the social world.

I'm walking past the elevator doors just as they open, finding the lobby practically empty. I pull out my phone and check the time. 8:55pm. Maybe I could wait in the lobby, I thought to myself. I could wait in the lobby and check in on my father who is to fly down to D.C in another two days. On my way to the seating area, having made up my mind, I come to a very abrupt stop. The figure that stopped the continuation of my strides was one that belonged to a large body. I look up and swallow, recognizing Axel.

He was not fond of seeing me, he never was at any moment. His bored expression observed mine, the dullness of his demeanor not overshadowing the clear dominance and authority. Flatly, he states, "Harry instructed me to keep an eye on you. He said you'd run away to the lobby."

Huffing immediately, I retort exhaustively, "Unbelievable."

"Respectfully, Miss, he apologizes and hopes that you'd consider the fact that he informed you I'd be watching you," Axel recalls almost like a taped record of Harry's instructions. "He also wanted you to know that he will be down soon."

Pursing my lips, I glower at Axel before proceeding to walk around him. He seems unfazed by my movements and allows me to sit by the sitting lounge. I sit at a soft, white love seat with a golden medieval outline. I rest into the armrest of the loveseat and use a single hand to scroll my phone. In my recent calls is another two calls from my mother. I don't intend on calling her back, instead groaning beneath my breath and deleting the call log. I wasn't ready to talk to her.

Axel stands nearby, his eyes observing the lobby, occasionally looking towards me in surveillance. His hands clasp in front of him, and he remains entirely silent. I cross my legs and leaned into the back of the loveseat, setting my phone and my clutch beside me. From my distance, I hear the elevator doors ring a faint ding! and I glance over at the exiting figures. The two are Mr. Yung and Andres Ernest, whose face will not be easy to forget. I frown instantly, watching them very carefully. I wasn't the only one; several feet from me, Axel had already seen them, too.

Mr. Yung and Ernest are in a very hushed conversation, both of them leaned in, and in the most obviously secretive fashion, they carry on the discussion. I observingly note their body language. Mr. Yung was not resentful the way Harry was, and in fact, his body language suggests he was not afraid nor felt threatened by Ernest in any manner. It was strange to see, as Harry was partners with Mr. Yung, and if they were split over Ernest, this was a problem.

I felt my heart sink into my chest the second Mr. Yung is escorted to the exit of the hotel, leaving with a team of his security in front and behind him. Because in that same second, Ernest was staring at me as my eyes trailed from Mr. Yung back to him. His grey, cool eyes locked with mine, and at our distance, I could see the smile curving into his dark red lips. My worrisome face stared back at him.

I'm in utter disbelief for his confidence, and self-assuredness. He was not afraid of Axel, who promptly stands straight and takes a few strides towards me the moment Ernest made it clear he was walking towards me, approaching too quickly for Axel's liking. Ernest knew of his presence, and waved at him while proceeding to take a seat on the sofa diagonal from where I sat. I swallow harshly and watch as he leans back, and Axel now only a couple of feet away from Ernest. He was hesitant as I shook my head at him, insisting him not to come closer. His orders might've been completely different.

"Athena," he very comfortably calls, getting my attention. I gaze at him warily, wondering what he wanted with me. He was obviously comfortable enough to call me by my first name, knowing that at no point had I shared that information with him. Every time he used it, it was weaponized. Ernest made a chill go up my spine. "I'll keep this very brief. I'm sure that guard a few seconds away is ordered to shoot me if I was another foot closer."

My eyes blink a few times, trying to reduce the dryness in them. I don't say a single word, thinking hard and long about what exactly I could confirm for him with just my silence. Ernest was sneaky, and he was confident that I had no way of seeing the words he's already planned sentences away. I had to be careful of what I said. I don't have a single clue about what his motives were, and what exactly he was looking for.

Sitting knees apart, leaning over, his elbows digging into his thighs, and his hands clasped, Ernest purses his lips and revealed, "I'm the third party of his high profile case Styles and Yung are working. I'm interested in it purely because my employer will benefit from seeing this case succeed."

I keep my stare steady, though I'm slowly cracking inside with curiosity and anxiety. "Why are you telling me this?" I murmured quietly.

"Because...this is a very large case, with many moving pieces. And with a case like this one, liabilities are very serious ," he explains rather condescendingly. "My employer wishes for me to investigate if any are currently weakening the case."

Searching his face, I'm growing uncomfortable, but angry at once. "I don't know how any of this pertains to me" I whisper.

Ernest huffs out a short laugh, looking down at his lap and the clasped hands there before gazing up at me again, grey eyes like silver daggers. "Well...are you one?"

"A what..."

"A liability."

When I say nothing, Ernest continues, staring at me with a somber look in his eye that had me holding my breath. "Look, Styles doesn't particularly like me. Mr. Yung, however, he finds my employer rightfully concerned, and is good friends with him. And let's not be negligent here — maybe you hear things, maybe you've spent a little too much time in his office. But, I know Styles does not share information with you like the ethical, professional man he is. I just wanted to be assured that he's keeping his word, and that if you happened to hear a little thing or two, you'd be smart enough to ignore it...and go back to your petty cases."

I'm holding my breath and almost forget to exhale what was left inside my lungs. Ernest watches me carefully, not failing to catch every detail of my expression that could potentially give away something. My stomach turns in the worst way, and I'm unsure of how to respond to his openly abrasive elaboration. He was not just not wondering, he was warning me.

Mouth dry, I softly explained, "I'm not involved in any of his affairs regarding this case. I know nothing about it. I'm just interning at the firm, Mr. Ernest." I was so beyond the anxiety, and all I felt was clear headed adrenaline now.

He snickered faintly. "Alright, good. You are a stunning young woman, no doubt you've weakened Styles a little bit. But I need him at one hundred percent, and he's not. I mean, he's gone out of his way to hire his own security team, refusing the one I had offered for both him and Yung. He's...not a very trusting man, but he surely trusts you to be around quite a bit. And let's not be kids here, I know Styles has been laying you for weeks now. He went as far as using more than half of his security on you for the night, rather than himself." He ranted seethingly, openly cruel now with his attitude.

I'm feeling my face go hot with disgust and anger, feeling myself swallow down the growing painful lump in my throat. Ernest then disgustingly snaps, "I do hope you're just the sexy little intern he finds relief with on his bad days."

"I think you should go," is all I say, loud enough for Axel to hear. The large man takes the last couple of steps, right behind Ernest's seated body and the sofa. My narrowing eyes follow as Ernest silently stands, glaring down at me.

I could hear my pulse in my ears when I hear him finally say, "Think about sticking to physics. I know several corporations looking for college kids like you in a variety of fields involving science. All you have to do is give me a call, and I'll get you the best internship in D.C." He hands me a white card, and Axel walks around the sofa to stop the offer.

But I take the card from Ernest, steadily replying, "I actually like working on petty cases."

"Shame. You could be doing much more. Aerospace engineering, patent agent, ballistics specialist for the DOJ...Name it, I can get you a mentorship. Maybe you'll start doing something you actually like," he chides, alluding to when I admitted I didn't like events like these. He walks away and I hold his card tightly in my palm.

When Axel moves away from me and goes to see Ernest walk out of the lobby, I'm faced with Harry's figure standing several feet away, having just exited the elevator. His eyes were focused trained on me, and even as Axel approaches him to report whatever he felt necessary, he would not look away. I knew in that instance that I was weak for Harry. That I had feelings for him that were not proactive, and were in a bigger sense, damaging to me. Because even having just been threatened in the most blatantly abrasive manner, I didn't want to stop seeing him. As he looked at me, his eyebrows lowering and his pale eyes steadily examining me, I remembered the conversation we had before the event.

Even threatened, I contemplated the possibility of seeing him still, of sneaking around just to get wrapped up in his sheets. I was going to crave him more and more if we were to cut ties now, and so there was one thing I was sure of for certain. I wanted Harry. And I knew that would be a mistake, but I didn't care. As he walks over to me, I see him adjust his tie. He sits where Ernest previously did, and I simply take the card into my hands, bending it at the middle until it begins to rip.

Slowly, it rips in half in my hands. Harry watches me do so. With Axel standing far from us now, interacting with someone I assumed was also security, I'm brave enough to tenderly say, "You asked more than half of your security team to watch me tonight. Are you worried about me or do you not trust me to fend for myself?"

"Both," he admits lowly.

"I don't want to be in this position," I murmur, watching him with big eyes. "I'm quitting as your intern."

"What?" He raises an eyebrow, looking at me in surprise.

Shrugging my shoulders, I firmly avow, "I'm doing what I want for me. The tensions are high here, and I wish I cared enough about this position, but I don't really...like doing it. You know what the only thing I liked was?"

"Hm," he huffs knowingly, squinting his eyes at me. "I have an idea of what that might've been. What did Ernest say to you, Athena, that is making you do this suddenly?" He wasted no time.

"Nothing," I attest. "I want to exert energy into the things I enjoy. I can still be your little secret."

"My little secret," he huffs. "I'm still your mother's attorney, so you have no other choice."

I shrug. "I'll be just yours," I whisper admiringly, my lips curving up into a slight grin as his expression fades into a neutral one. Mr. Ernest wouldn't have to worry about me knowing too much, I would disappear for him. And I will find what I like, all the while rolled up in the sheets with Harry. I was petrified out of my mind, but I was filled with an adrenaline that begged to do what I've come to enjoy the most so far.

He pauses. "This conversation isn't over." I shrugged again, not objecting. Then he simply mutters, "Let's get a room for the night, yeah?"

I stand to my feet, eagerly. Biting my lip to suppress the urge to smirk, I raise my eyebrows at him in agreeance and offer him my hand to take. He grips it carefully as he stands, his height dominating over mine. He leans to the side to grab my phone and my clutch for me. With my cheeks flushing in anticipation for the night, he leads us to the front desk. 

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thanks for reading! 

- Zeff