My breath was forced steady. Naturally it would have been pushing and pulling my chest in a profound heave, yet I was consumed with the effort to appear stable. My nervousness and the usual serene softness to my voice draw forth the way I seem so out of place among the expensive, dark suits and somber.

The firm was on a the third floor of a creamy cemented, old-classic building very close to the capital of Washington D.C, where Georgetown University is located. I thought the fact that it was so close to campus was super convenient and all the more reason to join the internship.

"Eight fucking hours. I'm done with this pro-bono shit," I hear a male, gruff voice snicker, originating from a figure standing outside of an official's door. As I walk by the short, broad, and elderly man, his focus remains on his phone call, leather briefcase settled on the floor by his foot, thick hand grasping the thin cellular device to his ear.

I let my eyes trail up the cream glazed, tiled floors towards the deep mahogany furniture and glass fixtures. Light poured through every wide, immaculately pristine glass window. It was an expensively decorated firm. No doubt they make enough paper, one might believe they own a printing press for currency.

A cooled eyed, black haired woman sits at a rounded white desk, circling in her rolling desk chair before swiveling around to face my approaching figure. Straightening a thick blend of manila files in her hands, she glances up to make eye contact. Disinterested, and deep-set eyes narrow, her chilled irises trailing me before making eye contact. A wireless headset at her right ear sparks my interest momentarily, probably a fancy Bluetooth. Her thin, glossed lips purse, her hooded eyes glancing quickly at the desktop screen in front of her — fingertips clicking against the separate keyboard.

My lips part in an attempt to speak, inhaling to prepare myself to engage in what should be a brief interaction. "Hi...Where is the internship orientation being held?" I ask gently, leaning only slightly into the white, smooth, glossy surface of the rounded front desk.

Her name tag reads Isabel. Distracted eyes narrow at her glowing screen, pupils reflectively producing the same light from the desktop. "The sign that says 'welcome, interns' in big, bold blue letters behind me...that's where," her monotonous voice replies, her tone dry and unresponsive to the hospitality that initially softened my voice.

"Oh," I blink, moving away from Isabel's desk with pressed lips and flushing cheeks, averting my eyes towards the big sign that clearly denotes the room in use for the chosen interns. I conservatively cross my arms over my chest, distancing myself from Isabel, who is still typing away at her keyboard with little interest as to what I'm doing. Cowering into my baggy, too many sizes up white button up, I walk towards the glass double doors.

Inside is a group of maybe five college students. All dressed in properly fitted suits or skirts, crisp and clean, neat and expensive. Students who have put in a great deal of thought into their attire. Their eyes follow me briefly before I manage to scurry into the seat furthest from the group, their chatting continuing despite my temporary interruption. Though I notice the way a light haired intern snorts at the sight of me and a blonde raises her eyebrows. I'm embarrassed.

My clothes are less than up to par, baggy shirt and a skirt that was past my knees, hiding away my figure in the most unflattering fashion. My frizzy, curly hair was tied up into a messy bun, strands falling in various places. No makeup. And the women around me wore it flawlessly, enhancing their looks with no imperfections. I sigh softly and hope that the day is over quickly, and that I don't have to speak to anyone for more than five minutes so they don't take into account how pitiful I look.

I stare at nothing in particular when the glass doors open, a voice calling, "Hello, interns. My name is George Masik, but you guys, since I'm all about cutting to the chase, can call me by my first name, Georgie, G — whatever. Never call me mister, though. That's...I'm forty seven, but please, don't remind me."

George Masik settles the nerves of everyone in the room, causing a laugh to break out. The man is bronze-skinned, light eyed hospitable-looking light in this somber environment. He takes an emptied seat by the group of interns, establishing a same level eye contact. It seemed to relax everyone. He sat down to most likely avert from a dominant, authoritative demeanor, and place himself at a more appealing, calming level. I noticed the way he folds his hands on his lap, leaning into his chair until his eyes find my observant ones. "You," he points out, and my stomach twists with unwanted attention. "Why are you so far away? C'mon, sit closer so I don't have to yell."

I grab my bag, holding it against my chest and quickly shuffling to sit closer to the group with pathetically stiff movements, besides a blonde with pin straight hair past her shoulders. Slim, serious-looking, and her light brown, rounded eyes glance over to me, a sickly sweet smile sent in my direction. Making my transition as quickly as possible, I look away and swallow down my ridiculous amounts of social anxiety.

George claps his hands together, nodding in content with how everyone is situated. "Okay, so this is how things are going to work. You'll each be assigned a lawyer who feels generous enough to take you under their wing. You'll be their assistant, their go-to, and you better learn quickly. You'll attend their meetings, go to the courthouse with them, attend to their surplus paperwork. The kind of day-to-day operations. Be nice. We asked for volunteers because they're most likely not going to hate you, and that means they're looking forward to your presence. So don't waste anyone's time if you're not looking to learn from this experience." He concludes, gazing around the group of six interns including myself, keeping the eye contact brief and general. "So, why don't we take turns and introduce ourselves?"

Oh no. Nothing beats having to muster the courage to tell them my name without stammering through it. I inhale deeply as the more self-assured types introduce themselves, saying a quick little fact to tag to the introduction as if anyone would remember it. The blonde beside me is named Addison Deans, and she likes cars. Next to her, is a dark-skinned student with a beautifully blue tie. His name is Jonas Avers, and he loves the outdoors and camping. A couple more go until I'm the only one left. It's painfully obvious that I'm yet to go, and I gaze around the room to find everyone's eyes watching me, noting my appearance. I feel my face go hot, and I slouch and hold my bag in my lap a little tighter.

"I-I'm Athena Dulce. I'm also majoring in physics," I manage to say, feeling content.

Until Jonas lets out a soft laugh and questions, "Dulce? As in Spanish for sweet?"

"Cute," someone else says. A light-brown haired intern with electric deep blue eyes. His voice casual, though the smirk on his face is evident.

My eyes averting to my lap, I wonder why they had taken the sudden liking to speaking off of my introduction rather than anyone else's. Am I naturally a beacon of opportunity for mockery? I tell myself to relax, and not take it too seriously. They were most likely just trying to make conversation, and by ignoring them, I had just made it worse. I manage to sit there and not make any more of it, thankfully.

George widens his eyes slightly with a breath blown from his parted lips. Standing to his feet, he announces, "Okay...well, it's nice to meet all of you. So here it goes. I have everything committed to memory, something you should all learn to do. Fast recall is a great skill to obtain — anyway, Jonas, you're with Ms. Diane Blues. She's a fifty year-old mega boss. She always brings us home cooked meals. Awesome woman. You're welcome," he snaps his fingers, pointing to Jonas. "She's in office B3, that's the second floor on this firm. Go, go!"

Jonas grins and grabs his laptop bag, scurrying out of the room past the glass double doors. He's rushing down the hall towards the elevator when he soon becomes unimportant. "Addison, you're with Mr. James Yung. He is sharp, quick, and loves to teach, so have fun with him. His sense of humor is all law puns, so even if you don't get it, laugh. If you do, it'll be terrible, but still...laugh."

George gets to everyone, even including the intern he has for himself, the one that had smirked at me. I prepare myself to hear that I'm with a rude, cold asshole who loves to make people suffer for fun. Apprehensive, I stare up at George as he sends me a warm grin. "And Miss Athena Sweet, you are with Mr. Harry Styles. He's a genuine soul. A little bad with the jokes, though, but force yourself to laugh. It'll come naturally the more you try to convince yourself he's funny. A bit of a workaholic, so expect a lot of work. He's in office C6, third floor! Get going, Miss Sweet!"

Standing to my feet, I ignore all the emotions and thoughts coursing through my body, tempting me to hurl the contents from my stomach. Biting my bottom lip, I leave the conference room and search for some clarity before I approach the situation. Walking gingerly towards the elevator, knuckles flushed white from the grip on my bag, I can't suppress the small curve in my lips. The sudden luck and yet misfortune of my circumstances, the sweetness of being in his presence and the bitterness of having to conceal my pleasure with it. I let out a breath, pressing the button for up. Waiting for the elevator, I feel my chest rising and falling a little steeper than I'd like, the nerves bubbling inside, curling in my stomach and accumulating in my clammy hands.

What I'm wearing is immensely embarrassing and now I'm worried about what he'll think, of this disgusting outfit that makes me feel and look like a bloated box. Cringing to myself, I curse my tendency to allow my mother to influence my appearance, having lived with her opinions and instance all my life. I didn't have any money to buy anything else, either. I suppose this was all I had, and it was going to have to do. Fiddling with one of the buttons on the shirt, the elevator chimes and I walk in, pushing in the button for floor level C. When its steel, glossy doors shut, I let out a breathless laugh, grinning to myself and shaking my head. My giddiness was a little naive, I had to know that. Nothing was going to happen, but now I get to stare and fantasize some more, and hopefully not become a distracted nuisance for him.

Focus, I beat myself up for indulging in this fortune. Floor level C had all the larger offices, and no Isabel-like woman at the center. I walk towards the office denoted as C6, furthest down the hall. My lips press together momentarily, trying my hardest to control myself and my reactions, reciting to myself a proper greeting. Which hand I'd use to shake his hand, what I'd say if he asked how I was doing. All in my head, the couple of seconds it took to arrive at his door, my knuckles knocking onto the deep wooden door.

A muffled tone calling me to come in is audible through the walls, his familiar voice drained out by the matter between us. Again, I inhale as much air as possible, but it feels that even if my lungs were filled to the brink, I never have enough. I shake my head and remind myself to get composed, and act like I have some sense.

I open the door, revealing him seated behind his desk, coffee in his ringed hand surrounded by a fortress of bookshelves and framed certificates. Fogged green eyes stationed on his black leather itinerary. Brown hair brushed back away from his face, though a late night set in his shadowed, unshaven jaw. I stand at his doorway, unsure of whether to walk in, staring at the man like a deer caught in headlights. He sports a light blue button up, and when he stands to his feet, I catch a glimpse of his black dress pants — when he walks around his desk, his pointed black shoes. Harry sets his coffee down at his desk, waving a hand and deeply muttering, "Don't just stand there, love. Come in. I don't bite."

My chest falters a bit and I swallow dryly, shutting the door softly turned around fully, before returning my previous stature to face him. "Hello, Mr—" I meekly attempted, startled when he interrupts me.

"Harry," he grins kindly, reaching out his hand for me to take. I do so without hesitation, thanking myself for wiping my clammy hands against my ugly skirt before taking it. Though it didn't stop my hand from going chilled. Harry's eyebrows furrow as he feels my hand, gently questioning, "Are you cold? I can turn up the heat in here."

I shake my head, removing my hand from his — one that is warm and slightly rough in texture, big when it clasped around the entirety of my own and then some. "N-no," I stammer. "I'm just..."

"Nervous?" Harry finishes for me, that handsome, rugged smile on his face as he attempts to remain kind and gentle with me, as if he knows I'd burst into pieces any second. It was reassuring but he was oblivious to how counterproductive it was; he was only making my fantasies a little easier to have. If he were cold and calculated and mean...that would maybe end my daydreams.

I nod. "Yeah..." I whisper, gazing at him only to find his eyes attentively on my face. The look of him acknowledging me and seeing me causes discomfort, nervousness. I'm uncertain of whether he notices how quickly I interrupt our eye contact.

He simply nods and crosses his arms over his chest, stating. "Okay, well...Have you met the other interns?" Turning, he walks towards his desk and pulls a chair across from him.

"Oh, yeah...They're great," I force out, my hurt feelings returning.

"You're lying," he laughs, dimpled grin across his pink lips and showcasing his teeth. When he points out my fib, I blush and shrug my shoulders, right as he points his finger to the chair he pulled out for me beside the edge of his desk, adding, "You can sit with me here. I'll see about finding you your own place to work at. For now, is this okay?" I nod silently, uncertainly walking towards the chair, taking my seat there and placing my bag by my feet while he takes his own seat. He leans back, elbow rested on the wooden surface, his fingers reaching up to pinch his kissable bottom lip. My eyes wander his shirt, the buttons until its tucked into the belt and pants at his waist. Keeping my eyes nowhere near anywhere inappropriate, cheeks tinted pink, I gaze back up at him, hoping he'd returned to look at his paperwork. But as the pad of his thumb softly brushes his lip, his pale green eyes searched my distracted face in silence. I'm feeling tense and so I sit up straight and fiddled with the long, loose sleeves of my button up shirt at my wrist.

"Why don't you like the other interns?" He inquires suddenly, pink mouth curved slightly, his hand attempting to conceal the amusement, but at the same time not afraid to show me he finds it humorous. "You've only just met them."

"I don't — I didn't say I didn't like them. They're just...not the kind of people I'd be around," I murmur, surprisingly holding eye contact with him for more than a couple of seconds.

Harry's nostrils flare slightly, mouth still evidently curved into a smirk as he lowly teases, "Who do you talk to?"

"Well, I'm talking to you," I bite back, heart in my throat as my widened eyes avert to the polished floors.

"Right," he whispers, his voice low, the smooth baritone of it melting me, churning in my stomach. The kind of things he'd say to me in that tone...I cave into my fantasies for just a moment, wondering how it'd sound if he were out of breath, panting over me. How it'd sound desperately cursing and calling me love as he urges me to cum. "Athena?"

I snap my head up again, humming, "Mhm?"

"I asked you a question," he points out, smile faded and his eyes now wandering my face for some clue as to where I'd disappeared to inside my head. Thankfully, he doesn't read minds. If he did, that would be incredibly embarrassing.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I just can't have you blanking like that when I need you, love, a'right?"

Oh my God, I think to myself. My underwear is damp and clearly because of my over active imagination. Somehow, I manage to nod at him and repent myself of all the naughty, dirty things I'm thinking about. "Yes, I'm so sorry. I-I..."

"It's okay," he reassures firmly, repeating himself. He drops his hand from his mouth and taps his desk, moving his desk chair to tuck his legs into the desk. I sit at an almost diagonal direction from him, leaning over the corner of his desk. My view of him is solid, and it makes it harder for me to focus. "So first things first, how do you take notes?"

Slowly, I reach down into my bag and pull out a new notebook with no lined paper, just blank paper. My favorite gel black pen and a stack of sticky notes, and colorful pens. Harry watches me take out the materials. "Red for a problem. Green for solutions to that problem. Blue for possible support," I quietly say, putting down the pens on his desk as I explain their use. "And the sticky notes are for side notes. And to keep my place for a piece of information that I can use."

Harry lets out a soft chuckle, and I look up waiting to be ridiculed, but he stares at me so fondly, eyes squinting a bit in amusement. "I like it," he states, clearing his throat. I sigh and nod my head again, relaxing. He pushes his legs out from behind the desk again, turning his body to reach back towards the bookshelves. My eyes watch his broad, lean body move, big hand grasping a thick book effortlessly. He places it in front of me once turned back. "This is what I used when I was a student. I go by it still," he looks at my face as I observe the books wear and tear. "You'll live and breathe this book while you're here with me. If you ever need help studying or for any kind of assignment, this book will do. Otherwise, you can just ask me. I like to work fast, but hard. If I miss something, you'd be my fact checker in that instance. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," I respond out of habit.

"Harry," he corrects again.

"Sorry, it's a habit. You just sounded very authoritative..."

He clasps his hands together, laughing softly at my startled facial expression. "I can be," he quietly mutters, my face flushing as I avert my eyes to the wall of books. My eyes gradually falling back to his. If I hadn't known any better, I'd think his eyes were searching my face, lingering on my lips and glancing down my neck just at the collar of this agitating shirt.

"Um...so-so, how do lunch breaks go?" I whisper, not knowing how to react.

Again, he smiles at my mannerism. "Well, at noon, it's all your time for an hour or so. Sometimes we'll be away at a meeting, and so we'll lunch once we've finished. Sound okay?"

"Yes, of course."

"How's your mum doing? I've got a meeting with her later this week. You'll see her then."

Dreadfully, I acknowledged the fact and opted for a simple, artificial smile. "Oh, well, that's...exciting."

"You're lying again," he observes lowly, pale eyes searching my face again. "Were you forced to do this? Your mum pressure you into it?"

My eyes widen slightly, finding myself muttering, "N-no..."

"You're a terrible liar, love. Listen, this is an opportunity that could have been given to someone who truly wants to be here. If you don't, say the word. I'm no idiot, I know when a kid is being forced to do something."

My face hardens, unable to control the rise of my unknown temper when I snap, "I decided this myself. My mother doesn't force me to do anything. I decide what kind of opportunities and chances I want to take. Based off of my observations." My voice steady, heart in my throat and cheeks bright red, infuriated by his choice of words.

He doesn't react, only stares. The kind attitude had slipped from him, for just a second, and I knew that he'd done it to get some kind of reaction out of me. Testing me. I understood it, and I somehow knew he knew exactly that. With a stolid face, jaw tightened, lips closed, he grabs a pile of files and slams them right in front of me, startling me a bit. "Okay, then," he murmurs, gazing at me with narrowing, beautiful eyes. "Shall we?"

note | yaaaa. I've been busy but this story is going to be just 15 parts, so it'll move pretty quickly after this.