Chapter Text
This must have been the hell all the old white men spoke of.
She’d died in her sleep and unknowingly entered her personal realm of damnation. That was the only explanation. The steadily rising numbers of the elevator floors were just a mocking countdown to reach the inner ring.
It actually made a bit of sense. From what she could remember, Dante’s ninth circle had an abundance of burning sand, and with nearly all four walls of the firm made of flashy, gleaming glass – the metaphor fitted a little too easily.
Did that mean hell had skyscrapers?
Feyre shook off the delirious train of thought with a snort and decided she didn’t care. Facing more than a single flight of stairs would probably have tipped her over this morning, so she’d take ominous elevators up to the raging inferno with a pinched smile. Her entire body ached, the stack of files in her hands practically leaden to her screaming bones and a headache was forming behind her eyes.
With limbs ready to crumple to the floor in a miserable heap, she locked her knees and forced herself to stand up straight when the number of her floor flashed on the indicator.
The doors slid open. The bland, fluorescent corridor and almost too upright plant were humming with a still restlessness. She didn’t move.
For a long moment, Feyre contemplated how bad it’d be if they closed once more. If they closed, the elevator descended and took her back to the lobby, where she’d get back on the bus, return to her apartment and more importantly, fall back into bed.
Where she could sleep, for up to four days with an additional day of bedrest just for luck.
She shook her head in a half-baked attempt at clearing the fog of sleep deprivation from her skull before stepping onto the floor. The walk to her shoddy cubicle in the bull pen was torturous and took twice as long as normal, but she made it, sighing heavily when she slumped into her chair and unceremoniously deposited her files to the side.
The earliest of the junior associates at the firm were already milling around the space, filing robotically between glass half walls and room portions, but for the most part the office was blissfully quiet. Feyre allowed herself half a minute of reprieve, head flopping onto her forearms with a thud.
The buzzing of a photocopier and flapping paper faded into the background of her mind, lungs taking over and breathing deeply at the muted peace.
She’d been up late filing motions for one of the senior associates. It wasn't fun, but she was happy to do any sort of grunt work she could get her hands on, if purely for the experience.
Her chipper mood at scoring some practice material had quickly been dampened by the sheer volume of the endless paperwork that came with each motion. Apparently the senior associate hadn’t even found the legal basis for half of them, so Feyre was forced to research the statutes, regulations and case law for each one, before they could even be filed with the court clerks.
She now understood why the guy had looked so happy to hand over the work.
After the first hour and a half sitting bent over the only lit desk in the office, the words had mushed together into chicken sprawl and by the second she had to reread everything three times to verify what she’d taken in was in English.
She’d lost count of the number of times she’d had to ensure a word said ‘actuarial’ not ‘accrual’. She’d stayed late enough in the deserted building that the cleaners had eventually just begun sweeping around and under her heeled feet, mostly without her registering.
So lost in the work, it had taken a burly but gentle security guard asking her to leave so he could lock up, for her to finally pack up and go home. She’d gladly feed those motions to the devil’s flames that would spring out at some point during her programme – ninth circle and all. The worse of it, was that she hadn’t even finished them yet. It had taken her all of last night to finish the first one. She still had two more to go.
A loud thump right next to her head startled Feyre out of her dozing, making her bolt upright in her seat. Whipping her gaze up to identify the source, she found a smirking Lucien Vanserra staring down at her with mirth twinkling in his eyes.
‘Good morning, Mr Vanserra,’ She coughed and forced her voice to resemble something professional as she met his gaze. ‘Can I help you with something?’
At some point, the sun had crept between the neighbouring skyscrapers to flood the space, making a flashing light catch her eye every time one of the glass doors was swung upon.
‘Well, if you weren’t too busy,’ he sent a pointed glance to where she’d been slumped over her keyboard and pressed his hand to the pile of papers he’d made into an alarm clock, ‘I need you to look over these documents for any more supporting evidence we might have missed.’
She began nodding, leaning over towards the pile, before he continued. ‘And before the deposition later, if you could.’
Feyre glanced at the files, reading the name on the cover but not recognising it. Taking half a minute, she mentally reviewed her schedule for the day. Having been lucky to be given the opportunity to shadow a deposition with Lucien and his boss, for some hands-on experience, she was busy early afternoon. Still, there was time to review the documents between her other work if she pushed lunch until after the meeting and worked on the motions between filing the last subpoenas and—
Suddenly remembering the smirking ginger in front of her, she blurted out a reply. ‘Yes, no problem. I’ll get you them as soon as possible.’
Painting on a smile at the end of her delirious rambling she slid the pile towards herself.
Lucien looked as though he’d liked to have teased her more, but mercifully just nodded and added on with no shortage of smugness as he began walking away, ‘There’s a fresh pot of coffee in the break room if you know anyone who’d need it.’
‘Thank you,’ Feyre called out with enthusiasm, ‘I’ll be sure to let everyone know.’
Lucien didn’t reply, instead just waving a hand in acknowledgement, but she could have sworn she’d heard a faint chuckle from the hallway he’d walked down when she nearly fell out of her chair to scramble towards the breakroom.
She had never sprint-walked somewhere so fast in her life.
***
After chugging down not one but two full mugs of coffee, Feyre finally felt the wires in her brain click into place, her thoughts connecting neatly again rather than the mess of jumbled neurons that she’d been running on all morning. She'd crash later but for now she was at full function.
She sighed heavily as warmth seeped into her stomach from the fresh coffee, smiling faintly at the legal pun on the side of the mug. A door clicked shut from behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder to see who had entered.
A tall blonde with glossy hair and wide brown eyes strode into the room, stopping short when her eyes fell on Feyre and the coffee pot still in her hands, seemingly surprised to find the room occupied at the early hour.
Feyre’s gaze flicked from the perfectly manicured nails, red and gleaming, to the golden hair styled in a gentle blowout and the long, fluttering lashes now blinking at her.
She found she felt vaguely intimidated in the presence of such a beautiful woman. Not in a toxic, vindicative way – but more of a general appreciation of such startling beauty. The colour of her own bangs felt dull and mousy where they hung in the corners of her vision.
‘Any left in there?’ The woman’s voice was kind, if vaguely amused.
Feyre startled herself out of her staring,
‘I – any what left in where?’ She cursed herself for her lagging brain, a hint of heat rising to her cheeks at being caught staring.
‘Well, unless senior management have decided we use the cafetieres to hold juice now,’ Feyre’s gaze dropped to the pot in her hands, shit, of course she’d meant that, ‘I was hoping to snag any coffee you had left.’
Feyre’s words failed her again. She’d used it all up, not expecting anyone else to need it. This was the associates breakroom after all.
The woman smiled kindly, walking further into the room, ‘No stress if that was the last of it, I’ll make more.’
She came up next to Feyre, reaching up to the cupboard and pulling out the bag of grains. Feyre was hit with the scent of vanilla and something like jasmine after the movement.
The words rose to her tongue and were out of her mouth before she could even think to put the goddamn brakes on.
‘I like your perfume.’
Maybe two cups of coffee was overkill. Her brain was fried clearly if it thought that was an appropriate thing to say to someone she’d met 0.3 seconds earlier.
The woman looked up from where she had started pouring grains into the machine, smiling softly at the bumbling associate in front of her.
‘Thank you.’ She gestured to the pot still in Feyre’s apparently paralysed hands, ‘May I?’
Feyre passed it over with a smile, trying to bolster her confidence back up. Every interaction meant something in this firm, and she'd heard people making judgements on a lot less than an introduction.
‘What’s your name?’ The blonde asked, somewhat teasingly, resuming her task.
‘Feyre.’ She shook her head to clear her bangs out of her face, ‘Feyre Archeron. I’m a junior associate. I started at the beginning of the week.’
When the woman didn’t response immediately, Feyre busied herself by leaning against the counter and taking a sip of her coffee.
‘Hmm…’ The woman hummed, bending slightly and lowering her head to start flicking buttons on the machine. ‘…pretty.’
‘I'm sorry?’ The coffee machine was modern – sleek, even – but she wasn’t sure she’d use the word pretty.
Kind brown eyes flicked up, ‘Your name – it’s pretty.’
Oh. She wasn’t expecting that. In the days she’d been here she hadn’t received very many kind words. Not from any of the other associates – except for some light-hearted teasing from one in particular - and certainly not from a member of senior staff – if the sleek red designer dress was a valid indication of this woman’s career success.
She’d quickly learnt to expect hostility after being acquainted with mostly just hissing insults and passive aggressive taunts from her viscious colleagues.
Feyre stood up straighter. ‘Thank you.’
The woman didn’t look up again and Feyre tipped back the last dredges of her mug, setting it down on the counter with a soft clink.
Her mind wandered back to the overflowing paperwork on her desk, her anxiety setting an invisible countdown to when it all needed to be done by. She sighed quietly.
‘I should get back to work,’ She muttered, ‘It was nice meeting you-’ trailing off when she realised she didn’t know the woman’s name.
‘Morrigan Lauber – but you can call me Mor.’ She smirked at Feyre again, ‘Morrigan is much too formal.’
Feyre laughed lightly before pushing gently through the door and wandering back to her desk, a smile remaining on her face at the memory of the bizarre interaction.
The morning passed in a blur of papers and highlighting and annotating until her stomach grumbled and she finally glanced at the clock, startling when she realised she’d zoned out for nearly 3 hours.
She also only had twenty minutes before her meeting at noon.
She’d never met Lucien’s boss, she mused, as she started packing everything she needed into her handbag. She swept up the pile of documents into her grip to give back to Lucien before the meeting began, fresh with her annotations in a summary on the front page.
She’d heard of the man - he was widely known for being a force to be reckoned with in the court room, an imposing figure that became an immovable wall when he set his mind to something – but she’d never been personally introduced to him.
She swung her bag over her shoulder, pushing the remaining stray papers into a vaguely neat pile on the corner of her desk and began to make the short walk to the conference room. If she was being honest, she hadn't expected to meet him any time soon. Her raging hard-ass of a supervisor, Devlon, had made it perfectly clear how inconsequential the associates were in the pecking order.
The man had continued his metaphor to the very end of his supposed welcome spiel, reinstating that some of them weren’t even on the metaphorical ladder, they were merely “grain on the floor to be eaten up or trodden on by the bigger birds.”
The grunts. The ugly ducklings. The runts of the litter. The list of the man’s insults went on. In the days that followed she’d done everything in her power to prove that she was not one of these aforementioned grains. But if the associates were so inconsequential, she wondered why she’d been dumped with so much work the past few days, and who would be forced to do it if this particular piece of grain found herself eaten.
She felt a presence approach her side and match her brisk walking pace.
‘You look like someone pissed in your coffee and then forced you drink to it anyway.’
She hadn’t heard that dry voice all morning and was reluctant to say she’d missed Suriel’s snark in those long hours.
‘Good morning to you too, Ri.’ She smiled at the tall, pale associate striding along with her.
Her recently formed friend’s long ebony hair was bone straight down her back and swayed across the blazer of the grey pant suit that clothed her thin figure.
‘Wrong-’ A long, bony finger was held up between them. ‘It is not in fact, a good morning.’
Feyre sent a questioning glance sideways, the purple bags under her friends eyes were even more prominent than usual. Perhaps she’d had a late night too.
‘Flipper.’
For a long moment, the only sound that filled the space was their heeled feet clicking along the carpet.
When Suriel didn’t continue, Feyre decided to prompt her, ‘Flipper?’
‘The dolphin.’ Her friend explained helpfully.
‘I’m aware of him, yes.’
‘Did you know dolphins are voluntary breathers?’
‘Um-‘ Feyre wasn’t even sure what to say.
‘That means they consciously decide to breathe, Feyre.’
‘Thanks hotshot – I think I had that one covered.’
Suriel halted the two of them with a hand on her elbow.
Feyre couldn’t keep the confusion from her face as they paused on the threshold of the mostly empty conference room.
‘I just found out that the dolphin that played Flipper consciously decided to stop breathing.’ Suriel’s eyes were entirely serious, no hint of that usual mischief that glinted in her eye.
‘So he- the dolphin-’ Feyre didn’t really want to finish the sentence, unsure how to deal with her distressed companion.
‘He killed himself Feyre!’ Suriel through her hands up in despair. ‘The dolphin committed suicide!’ Suriel’s outburst had her blinking at the sudden change in volume.
A deep, vaguely amused voice sounded from behind them, ‘I do hope you two aren’t talking of anyone I might know.’
The owner of the voice, a tall, well built blond man passed the two of them with a small smile on his face. Oaky aftershave overpowered Feyre’s senses as he breezed by, making her head spin. She couldn't decide whether she liked it. She watched his large build cross the space, determining he must be Tamlin, Lucien's boss.
‘Oh uh no sir-' Suriel’s spluttering had Feyre biting her lip to keep from laughing as the two of them made their way over to the chairs at the back.
They’d both been invited to this meeting after they’d impressed Lucien on a case earlier in the week, but Feyre suspected he was mostly just pleasantly surprised by the verbal sparring they’d given him when he tried teasing them about the mess they’d made in the library.
He seemed to like people with a bit of bite to them, and had said as much in his statement that ‘Thank god you two aren’t just brain dead robots like the rest of those associates.’
The man himself strolled into the meeting moments later, presumedly following his supervisor from their offices and gave the two his signature smirk as he noticed their flushed faces. Suriel, god help her, stuck out her tongue at him, which had him barking out a surprised laugh as he walked on, taking the files Feyre held out for him with a nod.
This interaction unfortunately drew the attention of the large man now sitting at the end of the conference table on the opposite side of the room, his gaze shifting from Suriel’s suspiciously blank face to Lucien’s sheepish grimace, before finally settling on Feyre.
She couldn’t tell if he knew she was barely holding in her laugh, but when his eyes moved on after a just-longer -than-short moment, she let out a silent breath, easing into her seat and pulling out her notebook.
Two men in bland looking suits walked through the entrance moments later, Lucien and his boss both rising in their seats to greet them, shaking hands and nodding as they muttered some inaudible small talk.
She felt Suriel shift closer to her, whispering under her breath to speak to Feyre, ‘Do you think they all do the grip test when they shake hands?’
‘What?’ Feyre mumbled, trying to focus on the quiet discussion.
‘Twenty bucks says Lucien’s the best at it.’
‘What are you talking about?' She watched Tamlin's broad frame fold into the desk seat with a quiet kind of wonder. He was just so big.
‘Come on, the grip test.’ Suriel’s huge black eyes met hers with incredulity. Feyre just stared back, her confusion no doubt smeared across her features.
‘You know – the thing where they each squeeze the others hand as hard as they can and see if they can get a reaction out of the other one?’ Suriel’s voice had taken on a hint of a little 12-year-old boy’s voice, even adding a little lisp, and Feyre couldn’t help but huff at out a small laugh.
‘I do hope you don’t mind, Mr Lavinski-’ a deep voice loudly filled the room, ‘-if two of our new associates sit in on this meeting?’ Tamlin spoke in a low, calm voice but there was a hint of an edge to it as he met their gazes. ‘It’s a great opportunity for them to learn vital skills for practicing law.’
He hadn’t appreciated the muttering then. Feyre gave a sheepish smile, hoping he’d translate the apology in her eyes. He held her gaze, and for a split second Feyre swore something flashed across his face - something she couldn't name.
Mr Lavinski muttered something along the lines of ‘no problem’ before the four men broke into discussion, all of which being recorded on a small camera set up in front of the older gentlemen.
Tamlin did most of the questioning, Lucien occasionally chipping in with smaller follow up questions of his own.
Neither she nor Suriel interrupted again, dutifully making notes in their notebooks, however there was a moment where she found herself wondering why Tamlin didn’t pursue a specific answer from the deponent. Something she knew would be vital to the case, based on her previous reading.
She decided that since it would be such an on-the-nose mistake for such a senior member of staff, she concluded that they were likely deliberately choosing this questioning style for strategic reasons. Tamlin was a big deal in the company and knew what he was doing, as an inexperienced associate she wouldn’t question his judgement. Not until she was certain.
‘-m sorry I don’t seem to have that specific document in this file, give me one moment-‘ Lucien’s voice was just shy of rushed as Tamlin’s eyes bored into his second, the ginger flipping through a file like the paper was on fire.
Feyre zoned back in. What was he looking for?
‘I just need the number for your client’s company’s budget in the last sector, Mr Vanserra- surely that can’t be too difficult.‘ The wiry lawyer sitting next to the deponent smirked at Lucien’s flustered expression, intertwining his fingers and resting his forearms on the glass table as he plastered on a patronising smile.
Lucien didn’t respond, still flicking through the file.
‘Lucien?’ Tamlin’s voice was a low warning.
‘I had it- I don’t know-‘
And then it clicked.
The stray papers on Feyre’s desk.
The budget report.
It was on top of that pile.
Shit.
She whipped her head up, drawing Lucien’s attention at the movement, his gaze boring into her as he too put the pieces together.
The other lawyer had begun muttering some vaguely smug comments about disorganised senior associates, and she realised the upper hand they’d finally gained in the deposition was on the fast track to being lost if they couldn’t pull it together.
Suriel’s elbow nudged her, her eyes wide as she whispered at Feyre, ‘What’s going on?’
‘That file – I left it on my desk-‘ Feyre began rummaging through her bag as if she’d magically find it in there.
‘The budget report?’
‘Yes-’
God, she was so fired.
‘Why did you do that-?’
‘It wasn’t intentional!’ She quietly hissed at her friend, ‘I glazed over a page of numbers and thought it was the statistics report for the memos I’ve been working on-‘ shit shit shit.
‘Miss Archeron?’ Tamlin’s deep voice cut through her panicking like a sledgehammer.
‘Yes, sir?’ She winced at her voice for stuttering slightly.
‘Is there something you’d like to contribute to this meeting?’ The dangerous edge to his voice was back, if it ever left. ‘Besides your incessant muttering?’
Ouch. She couldn’t help but bristle at the tone.
She met the man’s hard gaze, trying to ignore the flush of heat that spread through her at the reprimand. His eyes were hard with warning, and she finally understood why he’d earned such a foreboding reputation in the courtroom.
The coward in her wanted to lower her gaze and apologise for her fuck-up but instead she racked her brain, locking her spine and holding his stare.
'$170,000.’ She replied.
Tamlin didn’t react to her statement, just continued staring. Lucien wasn’t even looking up, finding something incredibly interesting in the paper in front of him.
Suriel glanced warily between the two of them.
‘I’m sorry?’ Tamlin finally answered.
‘The budget for Industech last sector – it was $170,000 across expenses.’ She was certain – she’d read that document not even half an hour before the deposition.
Tamlin held her stare for a long moment, perhaps trying to read from her face whether she was full of shit. She wasn’t, but she could understand why he might think she was. She kept her expression open and genuine. Apparently, he saw something trustworthy in her features and finally nodded. ‘Well, there you are Mr Marlow.'
Feyre could have sworn Lucien’s shoulders finally dropped from where they’d tensed up and Suriel sighed next to her.
But she couldn’t bring herself to relax alongside them, still riled up from that patronizing tone Tamlin had installed in his disapproval.
The rest of the meeting passed somewhat smoothly, Feyre sitting quietly and listening to the final wrappings up as the setting sun began filling the space. The winter months meant the evenings were a lot darker in the late afternoon, and for a moment she allowed herself to stare at the burnt orange light on a neighbouring sky scraper.
She’d always liked nighttime. From high up, the city lights twinkled like a reflection of the stars in the sky. As though you were surrounded on all sides by a galaxy – it was beautiful. She’d already been up to the roof of the building to check out the view and had fallen in love.
She was startled out of her daydream by Suriel rising from her chair next to her, the others scraping on the floor from across the room and pleasantries being exchanged at the main table.
She moved on muscle memory to file out of the room, drained from the combination of her late night and the anxiety-inducing embarrassment of that meeting. She was ready to slump to her desk and pour over the final scraps of her work before finally going to bed.
Muttering a quiet goodbye to Suriel’s farewell, she had just started plodding along to her desk when her name was called behind her.
She turned, half expecting Lucien to be storming at her in anger for her mistake, but she was surprised to see Tamlin approaching her with a small frown marring his face.
‘Miss Archeron,’ he began when he’d stopped in front of her, ‘I’d like to apologise for my tone in there,’ she could smell his aftershave again, something woody and earthy in it, ‘you can understand that I was somewhat…’ he searched for the word, ‘-unbalanced by the sudden disruption, but it is no excuse for my behaviour.’
Well, that was unexpected but not unwelcome.
‘Thank you, I appreciate the apology.’ She gave him a smile, ‘Even if the reprimand was probably deserved.’ She’d fucked up, there was no getting around that, but it was decent of him to apologise.
Tamlin huffed out a laugh, ‘As an associate who’s been here less than a week, you’re entitled to making some mistakes. Lord knows I’ve suffered from bigger ones than yours.’
‘Bigger than mine?’ She wasn’t sure why she was digging her own grave, but perhaps she wanted to see how deep the apology went, how genuine he was.
‘Yes, Feyre-’ He seemed to be testing out her name on his tongue, ‘-much worse than yours.’ He flashed a charming smile, ‘I should thank you actually.’
‘Oh?’ Feyre tilted her head.
‘For making an absolute ass of Lucien-‘ a grin spread across his features ‘- he was in need of some humbling.’
She let out a surprised laugh, not expecting the man to be the one to crack jokes. It also seemed she’d misinterpreted the relationship between the pair at first glance - she’d thought there was a decent amount of fear in Lucien’s eyes during his flustered searching but perhaps she’d imagined it.
They must be somewhat friendly if Tamlin felt comfortable teasing the ginger behind his back.
She focused on the tall man in front of her, ‘Well, I’m always happy to help.’ She returned his grin, ‘let me know if you’ll be needing my services again.’
Another laugh from Tamlin, still baffling to her.
‘I’ll be sure to let you know.’ His smile quietened and they both seemed to sober. ‘I’m sure you’re very busy, I’ll let you get back to your work. Good work today.’ He placed a genial hand on her bicep to deliver the last line of praise.
Feyre smiled again, thanking him before turning on her heel and making her way back to her desk.
What an odd interaction.
She wasn’t sure what to make of Tamlin. His behaviour in the meeting certainly rang true with the stories of the associate rumour mill but he’d seemed genuinely apologetic in their conversation afterwards so perhaps that was just a mask.
Some sort of persona he took on to win cases?
She flopped into her chair with a huff, pushing the enigmatic man out of her mind to be dealt with at a later date.
She dragged the rest of the motions in front her, sighing one more before diving in to resume her task.
***
‘I’m sure I don’t need to explain how much of a fuck up that was.’ Lucien drawled from above her, startling her out of her deep focus on the motions.
She glanced up sheepishly to find him staring down at her like he had that morning, however now with his arms crossed and a significantly grouchier facial expression.
‘I know- and I can’t even begin to explain how profusely sorry I am for it,’ Feyre began, ‘I got my workloads mixed up and left the file-‘
A hand was held up between them, halting her rambling, ‘I don’t want excuses.’
Lucien’s voice was firm, but not as harsh as his boss’ had been in the meeting. Feyre held her tongue either way.
‘I want you to promise me it won’t happen again.’
As she started speaking, she knew her hands were flailing in front of her, but couldn't stop them. ‘I can assure you I’ve learnt my lesson, I won’t embarrass you again-'
‘You think I care about that?’ Lucien’s harsh laugh had her jolting back in surprise.
He braced his hands on the top of her cubicle, leaning closer.
‘I’m not angry because you made me look a fool - despite you doing a stellar job of that by the way – I’m furious because you show real potential here. In three days you’ve learnt more than most associates do in a fortnight. I know you've been staying late, too. I'm talking about the kind of real initiative and a creativity that I haven’t seen in a long while. And to throw it away on a mistake as small as-‘ Lucien himself was gesturing animatedly now.
‘Throw it- what do you mean throw it away, it was one mistake-’ Feyre cut in, bristling at the threat in his words.
He wouldn’t fire her.
Would he?
‘-And it takes less than that for your to be chucked out on your ass!’ Lucien’s outburst had some of the other associates looking up from their desks.
Feyre glanced at them warily before turning her attention back to the ginger, ‘All it takes-’ He held up a pale finger in front of him, ‘-is one mistake to fuck up a large case with a bigshot client and your career is over. You’re done.’
He took a forced breath.
Feyre knew there must have been something else brimming under this reaction, it was too extreme, too disproportional to the incident.
‘Maybe not this time since it wasn’t overly disastrous, but next time-’ Lucien’s eyes were somewhat glazed over.
‘I already told you there wouldn’t be a next time-’ She knew she was being stupid for mouthing off but she’d had enough of overbearing, haughty men today.
‘Don’t interrupt me.’ Lucien’s voice was dangerous now, the glint of light in his eye had winked out entirely, and she was left to deal with the ruthless second in command.
Feyre kept her mouth shut, but she couldn’t stop that steel fire in her heart from burning strong. She allowed herself to somewhat glare up at him through her brow.
‘The last associate working under Tamlin’s mentorship was a lot like you – smart, capable, determined. But-’ Feyre could have sworn some icy rage filled Lucien’s eyes, ‘she was kicked to the curb for providing Tamlin with incorrect information in the middle of a court hearing.’
Lucien loosed out a breath, seeming to be lost in the memory.
‘He ridiculed her, not in the courtroom because that would impact his own reputation, but afterwards – back at the firm. He chewed her out in front of the entire staff – lashing out and embarrassing her just as he claimed she’d done to him in that hearing.’
Lucien’s knuckles were white where his hands were clenched into fists, bracing his weight as he hung his head between his shoulders.
‘He claimed she deserved it-’ a bitter laugh, ‘ he said, and I quote, ‘she could take her apparent illiteracy across the street and let the airheads at the job centre find her a new place of work.’
Feyre stared, horrified by the story, unable to connect such harsh words to the apologetic man she’d spoken to earlier. Lucien sighed, seeming to wrench himself back to the present.
‘There’s no tolerance for flippancy here. You mess up, you’re out, simple as that. It’s not my rules, its just the way it’s always been.’
Feyre’s veins flooded cold, as if her body had finally moved past the absurdity of the story and registered the real threat to Lucien’s warnings. When she finally spoke it was quiet and subdued.
‘How are we ever going to learn anything if we’re forbidden from failing?’
Lucien studied her for a moment. ‘You’re allowed to fail. They just won't allow you to gamble with the firm’s reputation. This entire practice is built on trust – trust between each other, trust with our clients and most importantly trust with yourself and your own capability.’
Lucien met her eye and continued significantly more gently, ‘I’m saying don’t cut off your legs before you’ve started the race, Feyre. You're a front runner if I've ever seen one.’
She didn’t respond, her anxiety a cold plunge in her stomach that she couldn’t shake, even with his reassurance. She distracted herself by studying the pained glint in his eyes, the still white knuckles resting on her desk, shoulders that were drawn and tense.
‘This girl – you cared about her, didn’t you?’ Feyre’s voice was tentative, but she was certain she was right.
He didn’t respond immediately, and she started worrying she’d dug too deep, that her question was too personal and invasive for a work relationship. She cursed herself mentally, translating his silence to mean he was uncomfortable.
But he did reply. Even if his voice, like hers, was much quieter now.
‘Her name was Jesminda. I-‘ A shuddering breath, ‘I really liked her. She was my first friend here and those bastards ridiculed her. They shredded her pride to pieces, and I just stood there. Like a helpless fool, while the vultures tore into her. I think- I think that was the moment I lost her. When I did absolutely nothing to help her.’
Feyre’s own heart twinged at the pain lancing Lucien’s words and now contorting his face. She prayed to any God listening that the ginger wouldn’t lash out at her when she slowly lifted her hand to rest it atop his.
A silent comfort since words were well and truly lost to her. All she could bring herself to breathe out was a quiet, ‘I’m sorry, Lucien.’
He gave her a clipped smile. Straightening up and pulling his hand back, she watched with an aching heart as he slid that cocky, sarcastic mask back over his face and winked at her. He leaned in conspiringly, lowering his voice, ‘I’m sure I don’t need to tell you all of that was strictly confidential.’
She stared at him for a moment, reading the emotions brimming so close to the surface of that mask and decided to give him an out. She returned his smirk, ‘Let me guess, you’ll have to kill me.’
‘Don’t give me any ideas.’ The mischief was back in his eyes at least.
She huffed out a laugh and waved him goodbye when he sauntered off to wherever his office was across the floor. Unfortunately her anxiety didn't leave with him, the story had stuck itself firmly in her mind.
She spent the rest of the late afternoon reading through files with her heart pounding in her chest and pulse beating in her ears.
Every few minutes she found herself short of breath from where she'd unconsciously been holding it or breathing stuttered, shallow inhales. A headache was forming from the lack of consistent oxygen and her stomach grumbled angrily at her, so she decided to cut her losses.
She could finish the bloody motions tomorrow.
But even as she began packing up her things, she couldn't stop her mind from returning to Lucien's story about Jesminda. That was nearly her today. If she got kicked from this programme she didn't know what she'd do. She was barely scraping enough for her apartment bills let alone the bi-monthly payments for her father's medical care.
She couldn't ask her sisters for help. Not Elain - her sister had worked too hard for her florist apprenticeship and if Feyre told her how serious their father's condition was, Elain wouldn't hesitate to drop all of it and fly back home to care for him.
No, Feyre wouldn't ask her to do that. Elain deserved a real shot at thriving doing something she loved. Nesta wasn't even an option.
So with the lingering thoughts of future bills stacking by her front door, she forced herself to inhale and exhale a few deep breaths.
Inhale.
She let the sounds of the office fade away, the desk chair underneath her becoming jelly.
Exhale.
Inhale.
It would be fine, she'd figure it out.
Exhale.
She always figured it out.
Distantly, through her breathing exercises, she found her mind snagged on her conversation with Suriel earlier in the day. Conscious breathing.
She smiled.
Perhaps she was a dolphin in a past life.