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“Randy. Hello. Welcome to MMM,” Quentin boomed. “What brings you here? What was your dramatic path that led you to this coveted internship?”
As he spoke, his eyes barreled into Randy’s skull. Charlotte’s perfect, pouty mouth parted in shock. The tension in the room was palpable, causing Quentin’s blood pressure to rise.
“Come on, Randy. We’re all waiting,” Quentin said.
“Well, I—I grew up in Maryland,” Randy began, his voice trembling.
“That’s not a good start,” Quentin said.
The other interns laughed, causing a nervous smile to stretch across Randy’s face.
“If you’re going to tell stories for a living, why not tell me the story of you, Randy? Why not tell it to me in a way that gets magazines into the hands of our readers? Why not tell it in a dramatic, beautiful, heartbreaking way?”
Randy’s nostrils flared. “My mother died when I was fifteen. She died of cancer and requested that I play the Who on repeat on her old record player until she died. She loved music more than anyone I’ve ever met. She introduced me to everything. And even though it still hurts to listen to the Who, I do it. And I do it constantly, just because I recognize that emotion isn’t something to be feared. It’s something to celebrate.” Randy stabbed his finger against his desk, his eyes flashing. “And I want to celebrate the emotion of music here. At MMM.”
Everyone was quiet for a moment. Maggie’s mouth hung wide, clearly shocked that Quentin had yanked such an emotional response from the little intern. Quentin bowed his head in recognition, giving Randy two firm claps.
“That’s fucking right, Randy,” he said. “That’s fucking right.” He swallowed, turning his eyes toward Charlotte, who looked as if she might begin to cry. “I want all of you to approach this gig just the way Randy is. With an idea of why you’re doing this, every single day. With an idea of what you want to say to the world.”
“And what about you?” Charlotte said then, her voice raspy and far away. Immediately, it yanked at Quentin’s dick, causing it to drum up against his pant leg. Beneath her low-cut top, he imagined her gleaming, white breasts and those soft, kissable nipples.
“What do you mean?” he asked. He felt the tension in the room mount.
“How do you approach this job, every single day? How do you throw your soul into it? What story do you tell yourself?” she asked him, her eyes flashing with anger. He’d told her it couldn’t happen again; he’d told her it wouldn’t.
“You all know I was lead singer of the band Orpheus Arise,” he found himself saying, stupidly.
“But that was a million years ago,” Charlotte said, almost challenging him. “That was before you quit the drugs. The sex. That was before you married and then got divorced. That was before you were a father. Who’s to say you can even tell that story to yourself, now, if you’re a completely different person?”
The other interns tittered, obviously anxious. Why was she challenging the boss? Their eyes glanced to-and-fro. Maggie clapped her hands, sending their eyes toward her in a dramatic movement.
“Hey, there,” she said, scowling. “Let’s try not to put each other down, now.”
“Nobody’s ‘put me down,’ Maggie,” Quentin said gruffly. “To use a kindergarten term that, yes, my daughter often uses. I am a father. That is correct, Miss—“
“Charlotte,” she answered, biting her bottom lip. “Charlotte Barracks. Remember, we met yesterday?”
Jesus Christ. She was toying with him, now. Wasn’t he supposed to have all the power? He felt his groin rush with blood. Setting his jaw, he turned to the other interns, gazing at their glossed-over faces. Several of the female interns wore too much makeup, trying to make themselves look older, wiser, despite their twenty-three years of age.
Another redheaded girl, similar looking to Maggie, if over ten years younger, thrust her hand into the air.
“Hello. Yes. Introduce yourself, please,” Quentin said, gesturing.
“Pamela,” the girl said primly. “And I can tell you exactly how I approach the work day, here at MMM.”
Quentin had already forgotten this charade and was growing bored of it. He swept his eyes toward his watch, recognizing that it was nearly time for the advertising meeting. The seconds ticked on, with Pamela itching to ask. Her tongue was literally poised in the air, like a turtle’s.
“We’ll have to halt this meeting just now,” Quentin said, moving toward Maggie. “We have an advertising meeting. Charlotte. Randy. I’d like for you both to come.”
“And Pamela, and Emily,” Maggie whispered afterward, gesturing to the social media girls. “We don’t have room for all of you, but we’ll switch you guys in and out throughout the semester. You’ll all get to have the excitement of being in a real, live advertising meeting.”
“Bunch of no-nothing fucks, is what it is,” Quentin joked, his eyes flashing toward Charlotte.
