Roland Blum was already in the shitty mood. Not only was he stressed out about a recent case — and he never usually was — but now he had to help a brand new lawyer. He was supposed to be a mentor, a good fucking teacher. Which he definetly wasn't, according to his gorgeous self.

As you both sat in silence, he finally looked up at you from his phone, and his eyes narrowed.

"What the fuck are you lookin' at?" he asked, as if he didn't know that it was his time to explain you some stuff.