My Boss is a Fae Prince

LILA

You are confident. You are capable. You graduated top of your class at Harwick Law. You belong here.

The affirmations sounded convincing in my bathroom at 6:15 this morning, with my hair still damp and my reflection staring back at me with something that resembled determination. Now, standing at the base of the Clevestone & Reeves building, the words feel thin. Tissue-paper thin.

I press my palm flat against my stomach, smooth the front of my blazer, and walk through the revolving door.

The lobby is exactly what you'd expect from one of the city's oldest and most prestigious law firms. Marble floors the colour of cream with grey veins running through them. Ceilings that climb high enough to make you feel appropriately small. A reception desk that gleams like an altar, staffed by a woman with a sleek dark bun and a smile that manages to be both welcoming and evaluating at exactly the same time.

"Lila Alvarez," I say, approaching her. "I'm a new trainee associate. Starting today."

"Of course." She types something, nods, prints a badge without looking away from her screen. "You'll be on the thirty-first floor. Mr. Prescott is your supervising partner. He's expecting you at nine sharp." She glances at the clock behind me, and her smile tightens. "It's eight fifty-three."

I take the badge, clip it on, and move toward the elevators.

Eight fifty-three. Seven minutes. Fine. I am fine.

The elevator doors open on the thirty-first floor and immediately deposit me into a controlled kind of chaos. Junior associates move with documents tucked under their arms, phones pressed to their ears. A paralegal is almost jogging, her heels a rapid percussion against the hardwood. Somewhere, a printer is vibrating loudly.

I stand just outside the elevator for a moment, taking it in, and that is when I see him.

Ezra.

He is standing near the glass partition of an office, talking to another associate, a tall lady with thick, dark glasses, and laughing at something. He wears a charcoal suit I haven't seen before. It fits him well. He looks good, and the sight of him loosens something in my chest.

“Ezra!” I squeal a bit too excitedly.

I immediately stop myself, remembering the lecture he gave me the other day about professionalism when I told him I had gotten an offer.

He looks up at the sound of my voice and catches my eye a second later.

The smile doesn't disappear, exactly. It just... changes subtly, almost as though he is trying to prevent himself from outrightly frowning. He excuses himself from the other associate and crosses toward me with measured, professional steps.

"Alvarez," he says.

I blink. "Sorry?"

"That's how it'll work here. Last names, or Ms. Alvarez if a partner is present." He stops in front of me, and his voice is quiet, professional. "I know we talked about this, Lila, but I want to make sure we're on the same page now that you're actually here. In the office, we're colleagues. Nothing more."

I stare at him. "I know that, Ezra. I'm not going to call you babe in a client meeting."

"I'm not saying you would. I'm saying the lines need to be clear, and this little display of yours, is unacceptable in the workplace."

I sigh. “I know. I’m sorry, I was just excited to see you. Surely, you can’t be that mad at me for being happy to see my boyfriend, Ezra.”

“It’s Mr. Combe to you, Alvarez,” He all but hisses. “Listen, you won't get any accommodations from me because of our relationship. If anything, I'll hold you to a higher standard, because anything else would look like favouritism and reflect poorly on both of us. You understand that, right?"