He would, but they are out of time for the moment

Charlotte, Margaret, and Evelyn lingered close, their breaths still heavy, the air thick with the mingled scents of jasmine, leather, and rose. Greg’s heart pounded, their kisses—each distinct, each electrifying—still burning on his lips. Charlotte’s fingers grazed his jaw, her green eyes sparkling with a playful warmth as she stepped back, smoothing her black dress. Margaret adjusted her burgundy jacket, her sly smile softening as she tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. Evelyn’s dark curls swayed as she straightened her blazer, her intense gaze lingering on Greg with a promise of more to come.

Charlotte sighed, her voice returning to a professional cadence, though laced with regret. “As much as I’d love to keep this going, Greg, we’ve got a firm to run.” She gestured to the others, her smile apologetic. “Cases don’t win themselves.”

Margaret nodded, her whiskey-warm tone carrying a hint of ****. “Duty calls. But don’t think we’re done with you.” Her wink was quick, teasing, as she headed for the door.

Evelyn’s lips curved, her voice a low purr. “We’ll pick this up later, Greg. Count on it.” She brushed past him, her fingers trailing across his arm, leaving a spark in their wake.

Charlotte unlocked the door, her attitude shifting to the sharp, focused leader of Reynolds, Cline, and Lacey. “Greg, you’ll start with Noelle Lloyd, one of our best associates. She’s brilliant, unbiased, but… stern. Don’t expect her to coddle you. Her office is down the hall, third door on the right. Go introduce yourself and learn the ropes.”

Greg nodded, still catching his breath, the remote a heavy weight in his pocket. “Got it, Charlotte. Thanks.”

She flashed a warm smile, her earlier affection flickering through. “You’ll do fine. Just keep your head down and impress her. She’s tough, but fair.”

Greg grabbed the Noninos lunch bag, now a forgotten prop, and headed down the hall. The firm’s polished corridors buzzed with quiet efficiency, phones ringing faintly behind closed doors. He reached Noelle Lloyd’s office, the nameplate gleaming under fluorescent lights. He knocked, and a sharp voice snapped, “Come in!”

Inside, Noelle sat behind a cluttered desk, her silver hair pulled into a tight bun, her sharp grey eyes glaring over wire-rimmed glasses. She was in her late seventies, her face lined but commanding, dressed in a crisp charcoal suit that spoke of decades of authority.

Papers and legal binders spilled across her desk, and her posture—rigid, tense—radiated irritation. She barely glanced up as Greg entered, her pen scratching furiously at a document.

“You’re the intern,” she said, her tone flat, dripping with disdain. “The university’s latest gift, I presume. Sit.” She pointed to a chair stacked with files. “Move those and don’t make a mess.”

Greg carefully shifted the files, setting the lunch bag aside, and sat, feeling the weight of her foul mood. “I’m Greg, Ms. Lloyd. I’m here to learn and—”

“Spare me the speech,” she cut him off, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t have time to babysit. You’re here because Charlotte insists, so let’s make this quick.” She shoved a towering stack of documents toward him. “Review these contracts. Highlight anything that looks off—clauses, ambiguities, anything that smells like trouble. I have real work to do.”

Greg swallowed, nodding as he pulled the stack closer. Noelle turned to her computer, her fingers flying over the keyboard, muttering about deadlines and “inconvenient interns.” He opened the first contract, a dense lease agreement, and began reading, his business-major instincts kicking in.

The legal jargon was thick, but he focused, marking vague terms and inconsistent clauses with a yellow highlighter. He jotted questions in a notebook: Why is the termination clause missing a notice period? Is the liability cap standard for this client? Why no mention of dispute resolution?

The room was silent save for Noelle’s typing and the occasional rustle of paper. Greg’s eyes flicked to her occasionally, noting the way she grimaced, shifting uncomfortably in her chair, her hand briefly pressing against her lower back. Her sternness was palpable, but so was her discomfort, a detail that tugged at his conscience.

After an hour, Noelle leaned back, rubbing her temples. “Enough,” she said, her voice sharp but weary. “What’ve you got?”

Greg slid his notebook toward her, the highlighted contracts neatly stacked. “I flagged a few things. The lease agreement on top has no notice period for termination—seems risky. The liability cap in the second contract feels low for the client’s size. And the third doesn’t mention dispute resolution, which could be a problem if things go south. Am I on the right track?”

Noelle’s grey eyes scanned his notes, her expression unreadable. She flipped through the contracts, her lips pursing. “Not bad,” she said finally, her tone grudging but softer. “You’ve got a good eye, Greg. The termination clause is a red flag; most beginners miss that. But you’re falling for traps newbies always do.”

She tapped the second contract. “The liability cap’s low because this client’s notorious for underreporting assets—standard tactic. You should’ve caught the footnote referencing their financials. And dispute resolution’s implied in the governing law clause, but it’s buried. Always check the fine print.”

Greg nodded, scribbling notes, her feedback sharp but genuinely helpful. “Thanks, Ms. Lloyd. That makes sense. I’ll dig deeper next time.”

She leaned back, a faint smile breaking her stern facade. “You’re not hopeless, I’ll give you that. Keep asking questions like those, and you might actually learn something.” Her tone warmed slightly, and Greg felt a flicker of respect for her, her expertise shining through despite her gruff exterior.

Noelle shifted again, wincing as she pressed a hand to her back. “Damn chair,” she muttered. “Sitting too long kills my spine. Been like this for years.”

Greg’s hand twitched toward his pocket, the remote’s smooth surface tempting him. He could fix her back pain, dial up her health, make her feel younger, stronger. But the Chaos Wizard’s note flashed in his mind: use it for your dark desires… pleasure and malice… I will be watching. A chill ran through him. Helping her outright would defy the wizard’s rules, but maybe he could weave in pleasure, something to satisfy the note’s twisted demand.

His fingers hesitated, the remote’s weight a silent challenge. He could adjust Noelle’s health, ease her pain, but add a spark of vitality, maybe a playful edge to her stern bearing, something that leaned into pleasure without malice. Or would that still be too 'good' for the wizard’s liking? His pulse quickened, torn between compassion and the note’s dark pull, as Noelle’s sharp eyes flicked toward him, waiting for his next move.