Lawyer!Sevika x Assistant!Reader
✧Chapter one: A Careless Mistake. ✧ 3k words
**MMDNI**
“And you have experience with handling scheduling?” Her grey eyes rose to meet yours over the edge of her glasses, the frames resting low along the sharp slope of her nose.
Her brown hair had been pulled back tight, smoothed into a bun without a single strand out of place. The deep purple of her suit sat clean against her shoulders, tracing a build that looked far stronger than you expected.
The thought came slowly. She was not just neat or professional. There was a firmness to her, a sense of control held close beneath the fabric. You could not name it clearly, only that it made her difficult to read and harder to sit comfortably in front of.
Your throat felt dry as you swallowed. You managed a small nod.
“Yes, ma’am, I do.” Your voice came out softer than you intended.
She gave a slight dip of her chin, then placed your resume on the desk. The paper met the surface with a muted sound that seemed to hang in the room.
Her attention moved over you and your shoulders tightened under it. She looked at your face first, then lower, taking in the line of your collar, the stillness of your hands in your lap, the careful way you held your posture. Her gaze lifted again, slower this time.
You became aware of everything at once. The pale pink blouse. The cardigan sitting neatly over it. The pressed lines in your slacks that you had checked more than once before leaving the house. Even your shoes, polished and matched, felt too deliberate now.
You had spent time on this. More than you usually would. You curled your hair, smoothed it into place, and added makeup with a careful hand that still felt unfamiliar.
Now it sat differently on you. Not like preparation. Like it was being examined piece by piece.
She leaned back, the chair shifting slightly beneath her. Her head tilted to the side while her eyes stayed on you. She drew in a quiet breath through her nose.
The words carried no warmth. No hesitation.
You stood a little too quickly, catching yourself as you forced a polite smile. You nodded and extended your hand before you could think better of it.
She did not take it right away.
Her eyes stayed on you, steady and unreadable, as if weighing whether the gesture deserved a response. Then she reached forward. Her grip closed around your hand, firm and brief, before letting go.
“Thank you for your time,” you said, your voice quieter now, the words slipping out too quickly.
The silence stretched, pressing in against your chest.
You turned before it could linger any longer, moving toward the door with more urgency than you meant to show. The handle felt cool under your palm as you pulled it open and stepped into the hall.
The door shut behind you with a soft click. Only then did you let out the breath you had been holding, your pulse still beating hard in your throat.
When the door closed behind you, the click settled into the quiet and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. It slipped out of you slow, dragging against your chest, leaving your body a little loose and unsteady as if you’d been bracing the entire time without noticing.
You passed the assistant’s desk on your way out. It sat empty, pushed slightly off-center, the surface crowded with loose papers, a tipped-over pen cup, and a thin film of dust that softened the edges of everything. Two green waiting chairs sat near the door, their fabric worn thin along the seams, the padding uneven where people had sat too many times. A plain frame hung crooked on the wall beside them, holding a washed-out image of a boat drifting across open water, the colors faded into pale blues and grays. The overhead light cast a dull yellow glow that didn’t quite reach the corners, leaving parts of the room dim and tired.
You pushed through the front door and stepped into the corridor.
The building stretched out around you, long and quiet, lined with other offices. Small plaques were fixed beside each door, some polished, others scratched, names etched into metal or printed behind plastic. A dental office sat halfway down, its door opening just long enough for the sharp, sterile smell to drift out before it closed again. People moved through the halls in slow patterns. Some kept their heads lowered, hands tucked into pockets. Others spoke in soft, careful voices that didn’t carry far. There was a heaviness to it all, a sense that most of them had come here with things weighing on them, things they couldn’t quite carry alone.
The elevator waited at the end of the hall, its metal doors scuffed and marked with thin scratches that caught the light. When it opened, it let out a dull ring that echoed briefly before fading.
You stepped inside. An older man stood near the back.
His eyes slid over you, not lingering long but not quick either, and it made your shoulders draw in just a little.
“Which floor?” he asked, his voice low, almost careful.
You gave a small nod. “One, please.”
The doors slid shut with a soft scrape.
You noticed him more clearly then. He stood tall in a narrow way, his frame thin beneath his clothes, the fabric hanging loosely along his arms. A burn scar stretched across his dark skin, wide and uneven, the texture raised and pale where it crossed his cheek and down toward his neck. His hair had been slicked back, catching the overhead light with a faint shine that made it look almost wet.
You swallowed and turned your gaze away, fixing it on the panel of buttons, watching the small numbers shift as the elevator moved.
It opened again with another dull chime.
You stepped out quickly, your pace picking up as you crossed the lobby. The air felt different out here, cooler, more open. Outside, you checked your watch. The bus wouldn’t come until three. It was only two.
A quiet sigh slipped out as you looked across the parking lot. Cars filled the spaces in uneven rows, some clean and polished, their surfaces reflecting the light in smooth lines, others dulled by age and wear, paint chipped at the edges, windows slightly clouded. A shopping cart sat abandoned near the far curb, one wheel turned awkwardly to the side.
Across the lot, a small coffee shop glowed through its windows, warm light spilling out onto the pavement.
You headed toward it, moving between the rows of cars, your steps quick, your shoes tapping softly against the ground. The air carried a faint mix of exhaust and distant food, but it faded as you got closer.
The door opened with a soft chime when you stepped inside. The smell hit you immediately, thick and warm, coffee and sugar and something baked, wrapping around you and settling deep in your chest.
The girl behind the counter gave you a soft smile as you stepped in. Her hair was dyed a bright blue and pulled into two braids that hung behind her head, the strands woven tight and neat. Her makeup blended shades of purple across her lids and under her eyes, smudged just enough to look lived-in. A cloud tattoo stretched across her shoulder, pale ink curling along her skin in soft shapes that faded at the edges.
“Heya,” she chimed, her voice light as she wiped down the counter with a damp cloth. “What can I get for you?”
You nodded and smiled back, your hands still a little tight at your sides. “It’s my first time here,” you said, your voice quieter than you meant it to be. “I’m not from around here.”
Her expression brightened immediately. “Oh, really?” she said, leaning forward slightly. “You here for coffee?” Her voice carried a rasp beneath the higher pitch, rough around the edges in a way that made it stand out.
You gave a small shrug. “Yeah. Sure.”
She grinned. “Got it. I’ll make you a banana walnut latte with oat milk.” She glanced at you as she said it, like she was testing the idea.
Your brows lifted. “Oh. Yeah, that sounds great.”
“That’ll be five seventy.”
You nodded and reached into your small brown leather purse, pulling out your change purse. The clasp snapped softly as you opened it. You counted out the bills and coins carefully, placing them on the counter one by one.
She smiled as she gathered the money, counting it quickly before closing the register with a dull click.
You moved to one of the chairs near the window and sat down while she turned to make the drink. Your foot tapped lightly against the floor without you thinking about it, a steady rhythm that didn’t quite stop.
The café felt small but put together with care. Blue and white tiles lined the walls, some chipped at the corners, others still glossy. The tables and chairs followed the same colors, painted wood with worn edges where hands had brushed over them again and again. A few small decorations sat along the counter, mismatched but placed with intention.
This place felt like it belonged to her.
Her voice carried from behind the counter. “So what brings you in?”
You cleared your throat, sitting up a little straighter. “I just moved here,” you said, a quiet breath slipping out after. “I came from an interview.”
She let out a short laugh. “Where at? Those offices down the road?”
You nodded. “Yeah. For an assistant position at a law firm.”
There was a pause. You could hear the soft clink of something against ceramic as she worked.
Then she spoke again. “The UnderCity Legal Associates Firm?”
You turned your head, glancing out the window for a second at the trees lining the roadside, their leaves shifting slightly in the breeze. “Yeah. That one.”
She puffed out her cheeks for a second before looking back at you. Then she lifted the cup slightly, motioning for you to come get it.
You stood and walked over, wrapping your hands around it. The warmth seeped into your palms. You realized too late you would have preferred it iced.
She clicked her tongue, glancing up at the ceiling before looking back at you. “My aunt and dad work there.”
Your brows lifted again. “Oh?”
You took a small sip, the flavor settling warm and sweet on your tongue.
She leaned her elbows lightly on the counter. “My aunt’s probably the one who interviewed you.”
You looked her over more carefully this time. The difference between them stood out immediately. Nothing about her matched the woman you’d just met.
You tilted your head slightly. “Really?”
She nodded again, slower this time. “You should hope you don’t get it.” She let out a small huff, her face tightening as she stuck her tongue out in brief disgust. “She’s not easy to be around. Always in a mood.”
You gave a small shrug, lifting the cup again. “It’s just work,” you said. “I don’t mind.”
She pressed her lips together, nodding once as if she wasn’t fully convinced. Then she glanced at your cup. “You like it?”
You smiled, taking another sip. “It’s really good.”
Your eyes lifted to the clock on the wall. It had been painted by hand, soft clouds stretched across the face, thin red ribbons curling through the white space where numbers should have been. The minute hand crept closer to the hour. Almost three.
“I should get going,” you said, your voice quiet as you stood.
You turned toward the door, your fingers already reaching for the handle, when she spoke again.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
You paused, turning fully this time.
She bit her lip before continuing, her fingers tapping once against the counter. “I mean… I could put in a good word for you.” She gave a small shrug, though it didn’t quite hide the hint of nerves in her posture. “She’s had a hard time keeping an assistant.” She swallowed, then added, “She needs someone who can stay steady. You seem like you could handle it.”
A small smile pulled at your mouth. “Pamela.”
Her lip curled slightly as she repeated it. “Pamela?”
She leaned forward over the counter, one brow lifting. “You got a last name, Pam?”
You hesitated for half a second, then answered. “Cortez.”
A grin spread across her face, a little too pleased. “Cool,” she said, letting out a short laugh. “I’ll tell her.”
You gave her another smile and turned back to the door, pushing it open.
You barely made it a step.
Your face collided with something solid, thick fabric pressing abruptly against you. The impact forced you back a step, your balance catching late as your hand flew out to steady yourself.
You shook your head once, disoriented, then looked up.
The woman from the interview stood in the doorway, filling the space, her presence immediate and unmovable.
Her grey eyes fixed on you the moment you looked up. She stood just inside the doorway, close enough that you could see the fine lines around her eyes, the tension set into her mouth. The older man from the elevator stood beside her, still and quiet.
You swallowed hard. Heat rushed into your cheeks.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” you said quickly. “That was entirely a mistake—”
“A careless mistake,” she cut in, her voice sharp.
You nodded at once. “Yes. You’re right.” You stepped to the side, clearing the doorway. “Very careless. I should’ve been paying attention.”
The older man moved past you without a word. His expression didn’t shift.
“Jinx,” he said softly, already turning toward the counter. “Do you have our usual?”
She perked up immediately. “Anything for the investors!”
Your attention snapped back to the woman. Her gaze dropped to your cup, then lifted to your face, then lower again. You followed it without meaning to. A faint smear of makeup streaked across the front of her purple suit where you’d collided with her.
She drew in a slow breath, then closed her eyes for a moment.
“This is dry clean only,” she said.
You bit your lip. “I can pay for it—”
Her eyes moved over you again, slow and assessing, then one brow lifted. “I doubt you could.”
Behind her, Jinx slid a cup across the counter. “Here, Silco.”
The man took it and moved to a round table near the back. He set the cup down, pulled out a laptop, and opened it with a quiet sigh, already lost in whatever waited on the screen.
You looked back at her. Your fingers tightened slightly around your cup. “If… if you hire me, you could take it out of my pay.” You let out a breath, forcing the words through. “A few weeks, if you need to.”
Her brow lifted again. “That would be a poor decision on your part.”
You nodded once, your lips pressing together. “Right.”
She took a slow breath, studying you. “Pamela, was it?”
Her gaze shifted past you for a moment, toward Silco at the table, then toward Jinx behind the counter, before settling back on you.
“Must be fate,” she said, her tone quieter now, though no softer. “You start Monday. Eight in the morning. Don’t be late.”
Her eyes moved over you one last time. “And I don’t like pink.”
She stepped past you, moving toward the table where Silco had already set a coffee aside for her. She pulled out a laptop, her attention gone from you as quickly as it had landed.
You stood there for a second, the weight of it settling in.
Then you exhaled and pushed your way out of the coffee shop.
The air hit you cooler than before.
You looked up just in time to see the bus pulling toward the stop.
Your jaw tightened and you broke into a run, your shoes striking hard against the pavement.
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