2. STERLING AND PIERCE

Noel stood outside the gleaming glass doors of Sterling & Pierce Legal and told himself the same thing for the tenth time that morning.

This is normal. Just another intern. Walk in, do the work and go home. No one’s going to treat you like the boss’s kid because Gabriel isn’t going to let them. And even if he tried, you won’t accept it, you’re not a kid.

The other voice in his head, the one that had been louder since yesterday’s finger brush, laughed once in his head, low and mean.

Sure. Keep telling yourself that while your stomach does backflips at the thought of seeing him again.

He pushed the door open before the argument could get louder.

The lobby smelled like expensive coffee and new carpet. Everywhere was sleek and polished.  Everything the Sterling family name was supposed to be. But the second the receptionist looked up and smiled a little too brightly, Noel felt… weird.

“Evander Laurent?” she said, already standing. “Mr. Sterling’s new intern, right? He said you’d be coming in this morning. Let me just—”

“I can find my way,” Noel cut in, sharper than he meant to. Why the fuck was she smiling like that?. “Just point me to the intern bullpen or whatever you call it.”

Her smile didn’t falter, but something knowing flickered in her eyes. “Of course. Down the hall to the left. And if you need anything, just ask. We all take care of our own here.”

Our own.? Noel’s jaw tightened as he walked away.

He heard the whispers before he even reached the open workspace area.

“…that’s him? The one Mr. Sterling personally requested?”

“God, he’s young. And those tattoos—did you see under the cuff?”

Noel kept walking like he hadn’t heard a word. His ears burned anyway. Apparently, he’d become the day's gossip on his first day.

The bullpen was exactly what he expected, rows of desks, half a dozen other interns already hunched over laptops, the low hum of keyboards and phone calls. Someone glanced up, did a double take, then whispered to the person next to them.

Noel dropped his bag at the empty desk with his name on it—N. Laurent printed neatly on a temporary placard—and sat down hard.

See? Normal. They gave you a desk like everyone else. All normal.

He opened his laptop and almost immediately, and email entered.

From: Gabriel A. Sterling  

Subject: First Assignment – Due EOD

Laurent,

Welcome to Sterling & Pierce. Your login credentials are attached. First task: pull the precedent research on Harrison v. Kline (attached file). I need a clean two-page memo summarizing the key holdings and how they apply to the motion we’re filing Friday. If you have questions, ask Marcus at the desk across from you. He’s been here six months.

Do not ask anyone to “make it easier” for you.

—G

Noel stared at the email for a whole minute, trying and failing to place this feeling that just came over him. The email was too… professional. It grated on Noel’s skin and made him want to murder himself. It sounded so wrong. 

No “Angel.” No “how’s your dad?” No smiley face or inside joke. Just Laurent and work.

Noel felt something in his chest twist. He hated being called Angel and yet, deep down he knew that the reason this mail felt so weird was because Gabriel hadn’t used the nickname.

That’s good, he told the voice in his head. This is what you wanted.

The voice didn’t answer. It was too busy noticing how Gabriel’s name looked in bold at the bottom of the email.

By mid-morning the pattern was becoming impossible to ignore.

Every time Gabriel walked through the bullpen, conversations paused. Not out of fear though, out of respect. Partners nodded at him like equals. Clients who happened to be in the office greeted him by first name, sometimes with a hand on his shoulder and a quiet “Thank you for taking this one personally, Gabriel.”

Interns—who had been here longer than Noel—straightened up when he passed. One of them, a girl with perfect posture and a designer blouse, actually blushed when Gabriel paused at her desk.

“Solid work on the deposition summary, Priya. Send me the revised version when you’re done and I’ll sign off.”

Priya glowed like he’d handed her a Nobel Prize.

Noel rolled his eyes. A crush on the hot boss. Classic.

He kept his eyes on his screen and told himself it was irritating because it was unprofessional. Not because every soft word Gabriel gave someone else felt like it should have been his. And that didn’t even make sense in any way.

By lunch the whispers had evolved into full-blown reverence.

“He argued and won three cases last month while the other partners were on vacation.”

“I heard he turned down a partnership at his family’s firm to build this place from nothing.”

“God, the way he looks in court when he’s cross-examining—have you seen the videos on the firm’s YouTube? I watch them on repeat.”

Noel stabbed at his desk and muttered under his breath, “Get a fucking grip, people.”

Marcus—the six-month intern—glanced over. “You good?”

“Fine.”

Marcus grinned. “First day jitters. Don’t worry. Mr. Sterling’s intense but he’s fair. He doesn’t play favorites. You’ll see.”

He doesn’t play favorites. “Gee, I didn’t notice.” Noel muttered under his breath.

Because Gabriel was playing fair. Brutally fair. And it shouldn’t have been irritating but it was.

Every time Noel finished a section of the memo and emailed it over for feedback, Gabriel replied within minutes with precise, impersonal notes.

Strong analysis on the second holding. Tighten the language on the third paragraph—too many qualifiers.

This citation is outdated. Use the 2024 amendment.

No praise. No “good job, kid.” Noel’s brain hurt from how much he was thinking about it.

The more Noel watched, the harder it became to keep Gabriel in the neat little box labeled Dad’s Annoying Best Friend. And it was still his first day.

Gabriel remembered everyone’s name. Not just the partners. The paralegals. The IT guy who came to fix a printer. The woman who brought around the afternoon coffee cart.

“Maria, tell your son congratulations on the scholarship. I saw the article in the paper.”

He never raised his voice. Even when one of the junior associates fucked up a filing and came in red-faced and apologizing, Gabriel just leaned back in his chair, calm as ever.

“Fix it. Then tell me how you’re going to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Clients didn’t just respect him—they trusted him. Noel overheard one older man in the conference room say, “You’re the only lawyer in this city I’d let near my family’s money, Gabriel. You built this firm with your own hands. That means something.”

Noel had looked up from his laptop at that. Gabriel hadn’t preened. He’d simply nodded once, like the compliment was both true and irrelevant.

He built it himself.

The thought sat heavy in Noel’s chest for the rest of the afternoon.

By seven o’clock most of the bullpen had cleared out. Only a handful of people remained—two associates, three interns including Noel, and Gabriel himself, still in his office with the door open and the lights on.

Noel’s memo was done. He’d sent it twenty minutes ago. He should go home. He should walk out like everyone else and not care that Gabriel was still here, still working, still—

His stomach growled loud enough that Marcus laughed from across the way.

“Same, man. I was about to order—”

“Already handled,” Gabriel’s voice said from the doorway.

Noel’s head snapped up.

Gabriel stood there in his rolled-up sleeves and loosened tie, holding his phone like he’d just finished a call. His eyes swept the remaining desks.

“Food’s coming in fifteen.  You’re all still here because the Harrison motion needs to be airtight, so the least I can do is feed you.”

A couple of the associates groaned in relief. Priya actually clapped once.

Noel didn’t know what to say. His shoulders sagged lightly from exhaustion.

“Laurent. I had them add the carbonara with extra pancetta. Figured you’d want the good stuff after the long day.”

Then he turned and walked back into his office like he hadn’t just detonated a bomb in Noel’s chest.

Carbonara. Extra pancetta.

Noel’s favorite. The one he always ordered when Dad took him out for “grown-up dinners”. The one he’d eaten three times in the last month because law school stress made him crave salt and comfort.

Gabriel knew. How the fuck does he know?

Noel stared at his dark laptop screen and felt the two sides of his brain slam into each other so hard he almost flinched.

It means nothing. He probably asked Dad what I like. Or he remembered from some barbecue a long time ago ago. Coincidence. It’s just food. He’s feeding the whole team. Stop making it a thing.

The other voice was louder.

It wasn’t a coincidence. He looked at you when he said it. He remembered. And now he’s acting like it’s nothing because that’s what you wanted, right? Normal. No special treatment. Well congratulations, Angel. You got it.

His phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: Food’s here. Conference room. Eat before it gets cold. —G

Noel didn’t answer. He stood up on legs that felt too steady for how fucked up his head was, grabbed his jacket, and walked to the conference room like a man going to his own execution.

Gabriel was already there. When Noel reached for a plate, their fingers didn’t brush. Gabriel didn’t even look at him.

He turned to help one of the associates with a drink and left Noel standing there with a plate of his favorite pasta and a heart that wouldn’t stop trying to climb out of his throat.

Noel sat down at the far end of the table, stabbed a fork into the carbonara, and told himself the same lie he’d been telling all day.

It means nothing.