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Gray
Getting Jonah a security badge in the lobby of my office building feels strangely like giving a partner the key to my apartment. As I stand and wait for the officer to finish programming the slip of plastic, I’m hit with a wave of the worst anxiety I’ve felt in months. I have to press my fingers against the edge of the counter to keep myself grounded. Just as I’m wondering how to step outside for air without alerting Jonah, his shoulder brushes my side. He has two full coffee cups balanced carefully in one hand. “Here.”
I take the one that looks most likely to fall, burning my fingertips. “Why are you giving me this?”
“I’m pretty sure the dictionary definesinternasthe person who gets coffee. Even I know that.” He slurps proudly from his own cup before I can point out that the intern doesn’t partake of said coffee.
“You don’t even know how I like my coffee.” I glance across the lobby, trying to figure out where he got it and whether it’s safe to drink.
He pulls a face. “Lots of hazelnut-vanilla creamer seemed like a safe bet.”
It’s not, it’s all wrong, but a gulp of the sweet sludge pulls me back into my body. The security guard hands me the freshly minted pass, and I slide it in between Jonah’s knuckles where he’s holding his cup. He tilts his head to admire it.
“I’ve never had anything like this before.”
“A piece of plastic that opens doors? Have you never stayed in a hotel?”
His dimple makes an appearance. “Don’t make me sound like an idiot.”
When I push the button in the elevator, he examines it curiously. “You’re on the thirteenth floor.”
“Cheap real estate for the non-superstitious.”
“Do your clients mind?”
“Most of them have much bigger problems than a bit of bad luck.”
He sips his coffee, which, based on the color, is ninety percent creamer. “What about you?”
“I don’t believe in bad luck. Do you?”
Glancing down at his stump, he smiles a little. “I haven’t decided. But if it does exist, I’m going to wear it out chasing after me.”
A murmur of voices and stereotypical office sounds drifts in when the elevator door opens, and Jonah straightens up immediately, fingers tightening around his cup. “I thought you worked by yourself.”
“I do, but I share office space with a larger law firm. Please try not to embarrass me.”
As I step past him, he stiffens. “I’m not very good at that,” he says softly, and I remember the look on his face when he stood there covered in dirt and Avery said those words to him. I drag him out of the elevator with a hand on his shoulder and turn him to face me, a mistake I immediately regret—his big, dark eyes, my thumb against his neck. “Look,” I say, letting go of him. “Just do your best. Every lawyer needs to know how to smile and shake hands.”
He nods, a frown line furrowing between his eyebrows as I take his coffee cup away and shoo him ahead of me.
Somewhere between the elevator and the office door, the Jonah I know disappears into something robotic and empty as he accepts the string of overcompensating lawyers power-gripping his hand and clapping his shoulder. Everybody stares rudely at his arm, not even bothering to hide it, until I’m the one who wants to break protocol and ask them what the fuck their problem is while he just smiles at their jokes and calls themsirandma’amwith perfect Midwest manners.
When we escape to the quiet of my office, I hear him blow out a deep breath as he leans against the door. I hand over his coffee cup and he clutches it to his chest like a life preserver, looking apprehensively at my desk and small bookshelf, the smattering of degrees on the wall.
“For today,” I say, circling my desk as he sets his bag down on a chair by the door, “I will have you read through a folder of documentation about my current case, with some of the sensitive details redacted. I’ll get a nondisclosure together for you to sign.”
“Can you just tell me about it?” He fidgets nervously when he feels me staring at him.
“No, Jonah, this isn’t library story time. Believe it or not, I’m quite busy.” This is exactly why I never wanted an intern. Pulling a folder out of my drawer, I remove a few confidential pages and then drop it on the desk in front of him. “Start with that.”
“Yes, sir.” He carries it to the couch on the far wall and sits down gingerly, studying the cover of the folder. Within five minutes, I forget all about him. Between the retreat and the confusion of the last forty-eight hours, I’ve fallen behind on my work. We’re in the critical final phases of the information gathering period; the trial begins in less than two weeks.
By the time I’ve caught up on my emails, made a few calls, and worked out a list of questions to ask my client, it’s already the middle of the day. I turn my chair to find Jonah slid onto the floor between the couch and the coffee table, staring at the papers spread across the glass surface with his fingers laced through his hair. One of his knees bounces eternally, like it’s an engine burning through his energy when he’s forced to stay still.
“Jonah.” I have to say his name three times, practically shout it, before he hears me. When he glances up, he looks guilty.
“Sorry. I’m slow.” Based on the size of the untouched stack at his elbow, he’s not even a quarter of the way through. “It’s interesting, though.”
