Get his hands on the other third of Reynolds, Cline, and Lacey

Greg stood by the polished side table, the Noninos lunch bag still crinkling faintly under his nervous grip. Charlotte leaned against her desk, her red dress catching the late afternoon light, her blonde waves framing a smile that was equal parts warmth and intensity. The remote in his pocket felt like a live wire, its power thrumming with possibility. Her transformed personality—sharp, caring, and unmistakably drawn to him—filled the room with an electric charge. Yet, beneath his racing pulse, a flicker of his original purpose surfaced: he was here to learn, to gain experience as a business major, not just to wield this strange device. Clearing his throat, he met her gaze, determined to steer the conversation toward something practical.

“Charlotte,” he began, his voice steadier now, “I’m really grateful for this opportunity. I’m a business major, and I want to make the most of this internship. Any advice on how I can stand out here? Maybe learn something about the firm’s operations?”

Her eyes softened, a glint of admiration flickering as she straightened, her posture shifting from predatory to professional, though the warmth in her gaze never wavered. “You’re eager, Greg. I like that.” She crossed her arms, not in dismissal but in thought, her mind clearly racing with the sharp intelligence he’d dialed up. “This firm thrives on precision and trust. As a business major, you’ll want to focus on the details—numbers don’t lie, but they can slip through the cracks if you’re not vigilant. Start with the bookkeeping tasks; they’re tedious, but they’ll teach you how money moves through a firm like ours. Ask questions, but make sure they’re smart ones. Show you’re thinking ahead.”

She paused, stepping closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “And don’t be afraid to speak up if you see something off. Reynolds, Cline, and Lacey isn’t just about law—it’s about strategy, reading people, knowing when to push and when to hold back. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Use it.” Her fingers brushed his sleeve, a fleeting touch that sent a spark through him, her romantic inclination simmering beneath her words.

Greg nodded, scribbling mental notes, her advice grounding him in the reality of his role. “That’s really helpful. I’ll make sure to stay on top of the details. Can you tell me about the other partners? Ms. Cline and Ms. Lacey?”

Charlotte’s smile tightened briefly, a shadow of her old sternness flickering before her enhanced openness smoothed it away. “Margaret Cline and Evelyn Lacey. They’re… formidable. Margaret’s a numbers genius, but she’s got a temper and doesn’t suffer fools. Evelyn’s the strategist, always three steps ahead, but she can be colder than a winter storm. They’re both brilliant, but they’ll have their doubts about you, just like I did at first.” Her voice softened, her hand resting on his arm now, steady and warm. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll make sure they see what I see in you.”

She turned, gliding to her desk with a sway that drew his eyes despite himself, and pressed the intercom. “Sarah, get Margaret and Evelyn in here. Tell them it’s about the new intern.” Her tone was brisk but carried a protective edge, as if she were already shielding him from their scrutiny.

Greg’s stomach twisted. He’d heard Charlotte’s initial iciness, felt its sting, and if Cline and Lacey were anything like her old self, he’d be walking into a frostbitten gauntlet. His hand slipped into his pocket, fingers brushing the remote’s smooth surface. The note’s words—pleasure and malice—flashed in his mind, but so did the thrill of control. If they were as dismissive as Charlotte had been, he could change that. He could make them see him differently.

Minutes later, the door swung open, and Sarah, the secretary, ushered in two women. Margaret Cline strode in first, her short-cropped gray hair and tailored black blazer radiating authority. Her sharp blue eyes raked over Greg, her lips pursing in a way that echoed Charlotte’s earlier disdain. Evelyn Lacey followed, her sleek auburn hair pulled into a tight chignon, her navy suit crisp and unyielding. Her gaze was colder, analytical, slicing through him like a scalpel assessing a specimen.

“Charlotte, what’s this about?” Margaret’s voice was clipped, her arms crossed as she glanced at Greg. “The intern, I presume?”

Evelyn’s eyebrow arched, her voice smooth but laced with frost. “The university couldn’t find a woman, I see. This is who we’re stuck with?”

Greg’s jaw tightened, the familiar sting of dismissal sparking a reckless urge. Charlotte opened her mouth, likely to defend him, but he didn’t wait. His hand was already on the remote, thumb hovering over the ‘Freeze’ button. With a quick glance to ensure Charlotte wouldn’t notice, he aimed at Margaret and Evelyn and pressed down. A soft buzz hummed, and a pale light streaked out, enveloping them both. They froze mid-step, Margaret’s scowl locked in place, Evelyn’s hand paused as it reached for a chair. The room fell silent, save for Charlotte’s soft hum as she turned back, oblivious to the scene.

Greg’s heart raced, the remote’s power a live current in his veins. He could reshape them, just as he had Charlotte, and turn their icy skepticism into something else entirely. But as he studied their frozen forms, a question lingered: how far would he take this?