TERMS OF ENGAGEMENT

POV — Catriona

It’s 5:42 a.m.

The city is still half asleep when I step out of the elevator onto the executive floor. The lights are already on. Of course they are. Shawn Reid doesn’t operate on normal hours.

He operates on advantage.

His office door is open. He’s at the conference table, jacket off, sleeves rolled, a spread of acquisition files laid out like surgical instruments. He doesn’t look up when I enter.

“You’re late,” he says.

I check my watch. 5:43.

“I was told six.”

“You were tested.”

My jaw tightens. He finally looks at me.

Measured.

Neutral.

“You adjusted.” Not a compliment. An observation.

“Sit.”

I do. He slides a file across the table.

“Hostile acquisition. Energy sector. Cross-border compliance issues. We present to the board at nine.”

Nine.

Three hours.

“You’re presenting the legal risk summary.”

The words land like impact.

“I’m an intern.”

“You’re a law student,” he corrects. That again. He leans back slightly.

“Convince twelve board members that this deal won’t collapse under regulatory scrutiny.”

No warm-up.

No rehearsal.

Just execution.

“You said no margin for error,” I say.

“There isn’t.”

The challenge hums between us.

I open the file. Thirty-two pages of projections. Regulatory charts. Risk matrices. My pulse accelerates — not with fear.

With focus.

For two hours, we dissect strategy. He interrupts. I counter. He challenges assumptions. I refine them. His questions are surgical, stripping away hesitation until only precision remains. Every time I think I’ve reached the limit of my preparation, he pushes further. And every time, I push back.

At 8:57, we step into the boardroom.

Twelve executives.

Polished.

Powerful.

Predatory.

Charles Laurent sits third from the head of the table. His gaze finds mine immediately.

Sharp.

Assessing.

Interesting.

Shawn doesn’t introduce me. He simply says: “Legal summary.”

No safety net. No softening.

I stand. If my hands shake, I don’t feel it.

“Clause fourteen exposes us to minority shareholder litigation if disclosure timing isn’t structured through staggered compliance,” I begin. “However, if we restructure the liability shield through offshore regulatory alignment—”

A board member interrupts. “Who prepared this analysis?”

I don’t hesitate. “I did.”

A murmur ripples through the table. Charles watches carefully.

One of the older directors leans forward. “You’re the intern.”

“Yes.”

“And we’re trusting a first-year law student with cross-border exposure?”

Before I can answer— Shawn speaks. Calm. Even.

“We’re trusting the most precise legal assessment in this room.”

Silence. That wasn’t indulgence. That was endorsement.

I continue. My voice steadies, my reasoning sharpens. Every clause, every precedent, every risk mitigation strategy is laid out cleanly, deliberately. By the time I sit down, the room is no longer murmuring. It’s calculating.

The vote passes. Nine in favor. Three abstentions. Deal approved.

As the room clears, Charles approaches me first.

“Impressive,” he says quietly.

“You sound surprised.”

“I’m recalibrating.” His gaze flickers briefly toward Shawn across the room. “Be careful,” he adds softly. “Public endorsement creates private enemies.”

Then he walks away. A warning. Or positioning.

Shawn joins me seconds later.

“You performed,” he says.

“Was that the expectation?”

“It was the requirement.”

A pause.

“You didn’t defend me because you liked my analysis,” I say.

His eyes narrow slightly. “No.”

“Then why?”

He steps closer — not enough to touch, but enough to feel.

“Because I don’t present assets I can’t control.”

There it is. The shift. Asset. Not protégé. Not equal. Asset.

I hold his gaze. “I’m not something you control.”

The air tightens.

“No,” he agrees evenly. “Not yet.”

That lands differently this time. Less promise. More challenge.

He steps back first. “Six a.m. tomorrow.”

Six a.m. again.

And just like that, we move forward. Faster. Sharper. More dangerous. More and more dangerous.

Because now the board has seen me. Charles has assessed me. And Shawn has publicly claimed my competence.

---

The walk back to my desk feels longer than usual. Every associate I pass looks at me differently. Not with recognition — not yet.

But with curiosity.

Building insecurity.

Building gossips.

The kind that spreads quickly in buildings like this.

I replay the boardroom in my mind. The interruption. The skepticism. The silence after Shawn’s words. His gaze. His voice.

“We’re trusting the most precise legal assessment in this room.” That wasn’t just defense. That was ownership.

Owning me.

Charles’s warning echoes louder. Public endorsement creates private enemies. He’s right. In a place where ambition is currency, visibility is risk. And Shawn Reid just made me visible.

I think of law school lectures, of professors who told us the courtroom was the ultimate test. They were wrong. The test begins long before the courtroom. It begins in rooms like this, where power is negotiated in silence and ambition is measured in risk.

Shawn called me an asset. Assets are managed. Assets are leveraged. Assets are expendable.

But I’m not expendable.

I’m not manageable.

I’m not controllable.

I’m totally not his——asset!

I’m building something of my own.

And if Shawn Reid intends to test me, then I intend to test him back.

---

The rest of the day blurs.

Meetings.

Contracts.

Numbers.

But beneath it all, the pulse of something sharper.

Alignment.

Collision.

By the time I leave the building, the city is fully awake. Traffic hums, sunlight glints off glass towers, and I feel the weight of what just happened pressing against my ribs.

This isn’t mentorship. It isn’t protection. It isn’t even rivalry.

It’s engagement.

Terms not yet defined. Boundaries not yet drawn.

And tomorrow at six a.m., those terms will be tested again.

Because Shawn Reid doesn’t build protégés. He builds competitors.

And I don’t intend to lose.