Dose 𝓕our

Dose Four Observations:
Subject’s disregard for the dress code appeared deliberate.

⨳ ⨳ ⨳

I woke up with a pit in my stomach.

One settled so deep that it made me nauseous.

The sun had barely come up, and the sky was still dark, lighter at the edges of the horizon.

The city was quiet.

All I could hear was the soft patters of rain, feeling the warmth of Jynx tucked against my side.

It was one of those mornings when I wished I still did freelancing work.

My morning could start when I wanted it to.

Instead, I had to get up and get ready for the first day of a fellowship that I didn’t want.

Jynx was mad the second I pulled the covers off of me and slid out of bed.

She let out this low unimpressed groan of a meow before burrowing deeper into the comforter, her blue eyes glaring up at me like I was ruining her life.

“You’re dramatic,” I whispered, scratching the spot between her ears.

She tilted her head away, which is Jynx for try again later.

That pit in my stomach didn’t move.

It still sat heavy, nearly making it hard to breathe properly.

I stared at the gray window light with heavy eyes.

The streetlamps were still on, and the rain was like a mist over the city.

I’ll be walking into Levane today.

Into that building—her building.

Her air.

I should’ve let them sue me.

I let out a deep sigh when my feet met the cold floor, my palms pressed against my thighs as I tried my best to wake up better.

My apartment smelled like new furniture and last night’s pumpkin candle.

Everything was still too clean—almost like a staged home or an Airbnb that I’m staying at temporarily.

Tea was first.

Chai tea, to be exact.

I heated some water in the microwave, threw in a tea bag for as many minutes as I could until I got impatient, and then stirred in a spoonful of honey.

My eyes burned the whole time from the kitchen light.

It was way too fucking bright, but I didn’t have any kind of lamps set up.

I hated using overhead lights.

I stared at my reflection in the microwave door as I sipped on my tea, taking in my current morning appearance.

My bonnet was still on, protecting my wavy blown-out hair.

My eyes were noticeably heavy and puffy, a tiredness lingering behind my stare.

I looked like someone about to do a thing she promised herself she’d never do again.

Step into the same building as her.

I squeezed the warm mug tightly in my hands, trying my best to ground myself.

It didn’t help.

I sighed through my nose, lifting the mug to my lips and finishing off the rest of my tea.

Then it was time to head back into my room, toward my closet.

I had plenty of slacks and blouses—navy, white silk, charcoal, pinstripes, all of the options were the ideal choice for today.

I pushed them aside.

The outfit on the hanger was what I picked out last night.

Black pleated mini dress, a white-collared shirt that I planned to layer underneath, and blue lace tights.

If Levane wanted professional, they could choke on the opposite.

I pulled on the white shirt first and buttoned it to the throat, then slipped the dress over it.

The lace tights went on like a second skin, especially as I smoothed the pattern up my tan thighs.

This was definitely an HR violation waiting to happen.

Good.

As for my hair, I left it down in silky waves and let it frame my face, which I covered in light makeup.

After looking in my full body mirror, I misted vanilla at my wrists and throat.

Then it was time for jewelry.

The silver necklace clicked when I clasped it, allowing the charm to settle at my collarbone.

I looked at myself for a long moment once I slid on my platform Valentino heels.

I looked… perfectly wrong.

Jynx had migrated to her smaller bed by the window by the time I finished getting ready.

She gave me one drawn-out meow when I kissed the top of her head, a disapproval behind those blue eyes of hers.

She smelled like clean laundry and the shampoo I washed her with over the weekend.

“You’ll forgive me by the time I’m back,” I whispered to her.

Another meow.

One that sounded like—

We’ll see.

I petted her for a moment longer, wanting to get on her good side before I grabbed my already packed tote and left.

The parking garage lights were bright and fluorescent, reflecting against my Porsche that sat waiting for me.

It was a glossy black that soaked up the light—even the rims and interior matched.

The heavy dark tint didn’t allow any wandering eyes either.

Zion’s Jeep was already gone, as expected from Mr. always early.

Being on time to him meant that you’re late.

Being early meant you’re on time.

I would agree if I weren’t walking into Levane.

Seattle had put its gray on—whether it was the sky or the heavy clouds.

People were hunched under umbrellas, rain slipping off the edges.

Leaves stuck to tires, to the roads, to everything.

The neon open signs downtown reflected in rain-slick pavement, smearing red and blue in a way that left me staring for too long.

And then, in the middle of all of it—

There was that building.

It looked like a sharpened weapon made of shiny steel and reflective glass.

It owned the entire block.

It owned the sky above its block.

It owned anyone dumb enough to step inside.

Aka—me.

The building was big and really fucking intimidating, but I expected nothing less.

I took the ramp down into the underground garage, following the white arrows as I recalled reading about in the onboarding PDF.

I parked between a navy S-Class and some kind of electric car, cutting my own car off to just sit there.

Completely in silence.

And defeat, hating that I had to open my door and walk into that building.

I glanced over when footsteps approached nearby, letting out a defeated sigh when I made eye contact with him.

Zion leaned his shoulder against the concrete pillar near my front bumper like a corny magazine ad.

He wore a blazer, a dress shirt crisp enough to cut, and shoes that I knew he had polished this morning.

He clocked my outfit the moment I stepped out of my car with my large purse draped over my shoulder.

There was a look already present on his face, especially with how he pursed his lips.

I knew it was code for—

 Don’t make me be the adult today.

“Libs.”

I shut the door and adjusted my bag higher on my shoulder. “Zi.”

He looked at me from head to toe.

The dress, the tights, even my platforms.

Then back to my face.

“The dress code,” he said, scrunching up his face like it physically hurt.

“What about it?” I said as I clicked the key fob, causing the car to beep behind me.

“You look like you’re about to go out for the night,” he deadpanned.

“Maybe I am,” I said. “I’ll need a good happy hour after this day from hell.”

“The day hasn’t started yet,” he just had to point out as he pushed off the pillar, falling in step beside me as we headed toward the elevator.

“Don’t remind me,” I mumbled.

“Libs, they’re going to say something,” Zion said, which was exactly what I wanted to hear.

“Good, just what I’m hoping for,” I murmured, pressing the elevator button that lit up immediately.

“They’re not going to fire you,” he said, making me roll my eyes.

“I know,” I admitted reluctantly as the elevator dinged open. “I just want to make something hard for them,” I added, stepping on the elevator with him.

The mirror steel doors shut on our reflections—Zion looking like the picture of Levane, me looking like the test they’d hoped to avoid.

He adjusted his cuff, watched me in the glass. “First impressions still matter here. Networking is a thing, Libs.”

“I don’t want to network with anyone here,” I emphasized.

“Yeah,” he sighed, letting his shoulders sink. “Me either.”

We rode the rest of the way in quiet, listening to the mechanical hum and the tick of something in the walls.

My stomach did that hard flip again right before the doors slid open, almost like the building’s air was heavier.

Levane’s lobby was the size of an airport terminal, yet somehow it had the mood of a courtroom.

The marble floors reflected the fluorescent ceiling lights, and the reception desk looked like it should be at a luxury hotel.

There were even towering chrome letters that spelled out LEVANE on the back wall.  

Everyone was moving like they were being timed—wearing suits, sleek dresses, and badges tucked into lanyards.

Even the air smelled expensive—whatever cleaning product they used, plus coffee that everyone probably drank to prevent themselves from banging their heads on the wall.

We stepped off the elevator, and my heels seemed to click louder than everyone else’s.

I didn’t belong here.

Zion stood a little closer than usual, like he was bracing for something.

I scanned faces, not knowing what Kara Briggs looked like in person, but I did look her up prior.

But as I stand here right now, I’m not sure I’ll even recognize her.

Wrong.

I mean, it was hard to miss the brunette woman.

Her light hair was pinned out of her face and trimmed to a precise length, her face covered in the most light amount of makeup.

She wore a white blouse and a skirt that fell past her knees, tanned stockings covering her exposed calves.

Her heels clicked precisely against the floors, hugging the large iPad to her chest like a book.

There wasn’t a single wrinkle in her clothes, and her expression was grim.

Almost like she was about to deliver bad news to everyone here.

She stopped exactly two feet from us and didn’t offer a hand, just letting her harsh stare sweep over us.

“Ms. Fierro. Mr. Lewis.” Her voice was crisp, and so fucking annoying. “Kara Briggs,” she said bluntly.

God, was her voice really high-pitched.

“Nice to make your acquaintance,” Zion said, a politeness in his tone.

I didn’t speak.

Kara’s eyes fell to my small black dress and moved back up.

No shock.

Just disapproval.

“You’re out of dress code,” she said flatly.

“Oh, gosh,” I breathed out with a frown. “Am I? I should go home and change. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

Kara only laughed, one that felt more mocking than authentic, “Don’t waste the gas,” she said, glancing away from me. “I doubt your closet can perform miracles.”  

My head bounced back before I could help it.

I stepped forward, planning to mock her stupid fucking tights, but Zion had nudged my arm.

Rather harshly, knocking me back to reality.

“You’re here. You’ll remain here as a humiliation to the company, should I add,” she said almost sarcastically, shifting the tablet to her other arm. “Today you’ll complete your required onboarding in what you’re wearing,” she paused briefly, meeting my narrowed stare. “Tomorrow, you’ll try again.”

“I’ll try so much harder tomorrow,” I said with a fake smile, wanting to slap her and just run out of the building and never come back. “Maybe with something shorter.”

Kara only smiled in the most bitchy way, “If attention is what you’re searching for, try a new face, Ms. Fierro. The outfit isn’t working.”  

Bitch.

She pivoted without waiting to see if we would.

Of course we fucking would.

And I could feel Zion nervously looking between us, wondering who would make the next jab first.

But I… had nothing.

I had fucking nothing to say to her rude words.

It made my face burn up, matching her pace because it felt like I would lose if not.

I mean, can she even say things like that?

It’s so unprofessional.

Then again, the Leclairs like people like that.

They like them mean and with edge.

They must’ve found Kara when she peaked in high school, and decided she was the right mean girl for them.

“We’re headed to the lower level,” Kara said as we slipped into an elevator where she swiped her badge without looking. “It’s the cafeteria and lounge. Open from seven. The lounge is accessible twenty-four hours a day with your badge,” She briefly glanced at me. “Food is not complimentary. Don’t assume otherwise.”

Do I look like a food stealer or something?

I’m genuinely going to slap her.

There’s no way I'm going to make it to the end of this without laying a hand on her.

I glanced over when the doors opened to something that looked like a boutique hotel restaurant—polished wood floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, and white-clothed tables spread throughout.

People sat individually or in twos, phones out, and laptops up.

No one lingered.

No one dared to laugh either.

Kara let us briefly look into the cafeteria, which was less of a normal workplace cafeteria and more of a restaurant where it was appropriate to have your laptops out.

Apparently, they had information on each employee, so you didn’t have to swipe a card.

They had your badge number, and that was enough to take each meal or drink out of your paycheck.  

Of course, a company in an industry as corrupt as big pharma wouldn’t cover meals.

It wasn’t the least surprising to me.

Next up, the doors slipped open to a fully glass wall, entrapped by steel.  

The lab levels didn’t pretend to be warm.

White coats moved along bright, closed-off corridors, wearing masks and hairnets.

We couldn’t walk past the first glass door—not with the reader glowing red next to the door and requiring clearance.

“These floors are restricted,” Kara said. “Your badges don’t grant access.”

Suddenly, I felt it—the watching.

Not eyes through glass, but cameras in corners and ceiling fixtures you don’t notice unless you’re looking for them.

Kara closed the elevator doors yet again, taking us to the highest levels that didn’t smell like bleach.

We stepped off this time, allowing my eyes to trail the open space.

Frosted glass offices lined both sides of a broad hallway, names etched into metal.

We passed Kara Briggs “Chief of Staff”, on the right.

Then someone named Iris Wexler “Head of Research”, on the left.

Past them were the cubicles from hell.

“This is where you’ll be stationed,” Kara said, walking further past each person glued to their expensive computers. “Tech division sits near executive and research for a reason—proximity is productivity,” she said, glancing at me with a sarcastic smile. “And accountability.”

Kara suddenly turned to face us fully, her disapproving stare glancing between us.

“Ground rules,” she said bluntly. “You’re both competent. On paper, at least. That’s why you’re here. I don’t have the patience to teach structure or the rules of a workplace,” she purposely clarified, meeting my stare again. “My job is to clear obstacles for people who are indispensable and remove people who are not.”

Zion didn’t hesitate to nod once. “Understood.”

Kara’s gaze returned to me when I failed to answer. “If your goal is to be sent home, this isn’t the way.”

I frowned like I was genuinely disappointed, “Really?”

“Walking into a courtroom barefoot doesn’t cancel the trial,” Kara said, her thin lips pursing into a fake smile. “It gets you reprimanded on record and the trial proceeds.”

I narrowed my eyes, trying my best to resist the urge to roll them.

She’s genuinely one of the most annoying people I’ve met, which is pretty hard to top.

“Now, you will not waste my time, your project manager’s time, or anyone in the labs’ time. If you need help, ask for it. If you make a mistake, report it before I learn about it elsewhere,” Kara spoke again, “Any questions?”

“Where’s the exit?” I asked.

Zion elbowed me again, his lips pursed like he was trying his hardest to hold back a laugh.

“Briggs,” a deep voice suddenly interjected, causing my attention to shift past the mean girl wannabe.

A blonde man passed by the different cubicles—his hair sprayed too perfectly in place.

He wore a navy sweater with a white button-down poking out from underneath the collar.

His khaki dress pants were completely wrinkle-free, his dress shoes and expensive watch glistening under the fluorescent lights.

“Rowell,” Kara addressed the man.

He walked closer toward us with a smile that actually felt comforting in this cold, heartless building. “There they are,” he said. “My missing pieces.”

Zion didn’t hesitate to step forward with his hand out. “Zion Lewis.”

“Grayson Rowell,” he said, briefly shaking his hand before turning to me.

His eyes flicked over the outfit, and I saw the corner of his lips twitch like he was about to enjoy his job.

“And you must be Liberty Fierro,” he said with an amused tone.

“Unfortunately,” I said, taking his hand to briefly shake.

“Welcome to tech,” he said. “We’ll make sure day one doesn’t kill you,” he said, glancing past us to Kara. “Eventually.”

Kara’s expression didn’t change. “Good luck,” she mumbled flatly to him, glancing back at us. “Your first day packets are in your inboxes. This includes security forms, NDAs, dress code, device policies, and floor maps.”

Zion nodded again. “Understood,” he said before I could say something sarcastic.

Kara didn’t say anything else.

She didn’t even nod.

She just locked eyes with Grayson, giving a narrowed look before she turned on her heel and walked down the hallway toward her nameplate office.

Grayson blew out a tiny breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “She’s in a mood.”

“Is there a day she isn’t?” I purposely asked, pretending to be oh so curious.

“Rumor says yes,” he said. “I’ve never seen it.”

He gestured us along, “Come on. I’ll show you your desks. We’ll do the tour the way it actually matters.”

We followed him down an aisle lined with low partitions and neat desks.

A few people glanced up, but no one stared for too long.

They were all too busy with work.

Grayson stopped at the cubicles with two clean setups.

They were smushed between the other desks, which there already wasn’t a lot of.

Almost like one big table, six people on each side.

We were one of those six now.

A team of twelve meant that our work would be more scrutinized.

I glanced at the dual monitors, noticing the docking stations, our badges, and fresh notebooks still in plastic, sitting on the desks.

He tapped the left desk first. “Zion,” he said, tapping the desk next to it. “Liberty.”

I dropped my bag on the chair and spun it once for fun.  

“So,” Grayson said, leaning his hip against the open partition. “Welcome to Levane, tech edition. We’ll do a floor tour, my version, not the gatekeeper’s.”

“Gatekeeper?” I curiously asked, turning my attention fully to him.

Grayson smiled, tilting his head, “Yes, that’s what we call Kara,” he briefly explained, “She acts like Dr. Leclair’s gatekeeper. No one ever really gets to talk to her. It’s always Kara that passes a message along.”

I nodded, trying not to let her name rattle something inside of me.

But it was the first time I had heard it aloud in…

Well, a really long time.

I wanted to scrub my ears clean.

“Anyways,” Grayson suddenly said, “You will shadow two projects today—one enterprise platform we’re refactoring, one lab-adjacent tool you’ll probably hate but we have to build anyway because executives like dashboards. Lunch happens if you remember. Questions?”

“We need to know about the badge zones,” Zion suddenly said, thinking about the important stuff. “We were told labs are mid-level restricted.”

“They are,” Grayson said. “You won’t go in without a white coat by your side.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle, “A white coat?”

Grayson’s expression grew more amused. “Yes, we call them the white coats. They run around all frenzied, especially Dr. Wexler.”

Zion laughed. “You guys have a lot of nicknames.”

“It makes things interesting,” Grayson determined, motioning to my desk. “You’ll do lab-adjacent work up here—data handling, integration, tools to keep them from breaking things they don’t intend to break,” he briefly explained, looking at us. “Before you ask—you’ll still see plenty of the white coats. They like to come upstairs and pretend they speak software.”

“Do they?” I asked.

“They don’t,” he said, and his grin grew deeper. “If they did, we wouldn’t be here.”

I liked Grayson immediately.

Mostly, because he didn’t sound afraid of the building when he talked.

He sounded like someone who knew how to survive inside it without losing his spine.

Unlike gatekeeper Kara.

“Alright,” he softly clapped once. “Tour time of this level. My version is better.”

“Sold,” I said, pointing my finger at him as Zion smiled in amusement.

We walked past the cubicles again, out into the silent hallway where Kara’s office was, along with someone named Iris Wexler.

Grayson pointed down the corridor to the elevator. “Board rooms up top,” he said, glancing at Kara’s office nearby. “The gatekeeper lives there. Avoid surprise drop-ins and schedule meetings. She loves structure like it pays rent.”

I nodded, following him as we turned left down the long hallway.

It was in the opposite direction from the elevators and the two private offices belonging to Kara and Iris Wexler.

The hallway was wide, the floors glossy, and a desk was waiting at the end of it all.

She sat behind it, next to the white double doors.

I contemplated whether I was hallucinating.

If I were still dreaming right now, and had to redo this morning all over again.

But no.

There was Sienna.

The same receptionist I hated from months ago.

She must’ve decided to make her a receptionist here.

Of course, she did.

“Sienna,” Grayson said as soon as we made it to the end of the hallway.

But all I could focus on was the shiny plaque by those double doors.

Monroe Leclair
“Chief Executive Officer”

She was in there.

The idea of her being in there made me feel nauseous and dizzy at the same time.

“Liberty?”

I glanced back at Sienna, who had the nerve to smile at me right now.

I’m sure she’s getting paid a lot more for being here.

God, I think I hate her more now.

“Sienna,” I said, trying my best to force a smile.

“You know each other?” Grayson curiously asked.

Even Zion looked over, curiosity on his face.

I never really told him or Sarai about Sienna.

She wasn’t worth discussing.

“Yes, we go way back uh,” Sienna paused, tilting her head with furrowed brows, and that’s when I recalled the NDA she signed so long ago. “Anyways,” she awkwardly said, glancing over to my best friend.

“Zion Lewis,” he introduced himself with his usual smile.

Sienna nodded. “Nice to make your acquaintance,” she said, looking back at Grayson.

“Right, well,” Grayson spoke as he turned on his heel, briefly waving at Sienna, “That’s Dr. Leclair’s executive assistant,” he explained, leaning in closer to us. “We call her the shadow because she’s glued to Dr. Leclair every second of the day.”

Sounds about right.

I’m sure Sienna is loving this.

I briefly glanced over, my brows furrowing as soon as I laid eyes on the lone office and the plaque beside the door.

“Eliza,” I said before I could process it.

“You know Ms. Montao?” Grayson asked, stopping by the office.

I quickly shook my head, realizing I wasn’t supposed to know her.

“I know of her,” I corrected myself, reading over the plaque again.

Head of Public Relations

“I heard she’s good with PR,” I suddenly spoke again.

There was a weird relief that flowed through me, knowing Eliza is here.

I recalled her doing PR over on the East Coast.

I think she had her own company, I’m not really sure.

The Leclairs must have offered her a lot to work here.

“She’s the best,” Grayson said, snapping me out of my thoughts. “She somehow twists any bad press into a positive light,” he added as we walked down the hallways back to tech.

Then it was time to log on and get everything set up, which took me less than thirty minutes.

The systems were easy to navigate.

Somehow, my inbox already had hundreds of unopened emails.

I wondered how it was even possible.

I opened the welcome letter first, which Kara had cc’d herself on.

There was a single line at the bottom—Please review the dress code before EOD. Tomorrow is not optional.

No exclamation point.

No best.

Just a calendar invite that will eat your life away.

I looked up from the screen to Grayson at the cubicle beside mine, his head stuck out past me, looking toward the nearby hallway.

Then I heard it.

The soft echo of steps.

Some of them were scattered.

But I could make out the precision of the heels amongst them.

Sharp clicks, echoing against the floors with intention.

“The white coats are coming—the white coats are coming,” Grayson whisper-yelled to everyone with a smile, and I wanted to chuckle at the reference with them all.  

 But suddenly, the air felt caught in my throat.

And all I could do was turn my head, glancing to the hallway just steps away.

Fuck.