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I’m fucking late for work.
I slam open the door to the office, ignoring the receptionist who gives me a grim look while she talks to whomever on the phone. I have no clue how I’m going to explain this to Samuel. He’s so much like my father. I look at the time on my watch, grimacing when I seeit’sten minutes past eight. Sure, I’m ten minutes late, but for men like Samuel and my dad, that’s like an eternity. Most likely blaming the traffic isn’t going to cut it. It’s not my fault that someone got into an accident. These things happen.
I knock at Samuel’s door, waiting for him to answer while I shift nervously from foot to foot. I am so screwed. I should have left earlier, but I was so drained from spending most the evening with my parents. I needed that extra fifteen minutes of sleep.
“That better be Lucas,” I hear Samuel say on the other side.
I grimace while opening the door, peaking inside and seeing Samuel’s dark scowl from where he sat at his desk. His chin is in his hands, elbows pressed into the dark wood while he leans over, his glare darkening on my form.
Open the door further, I bow my head, keeping my gaze fixed on the floor. “I’m sorry,” I say, cringing at the slight tremble in my voice. “It was the traffic. I’ll-”
“I don’t care if you stopped to help a little old lady cross the street. What’s so hard about being on time?”
I grimace at the bitterness in his tone. Lifting my head, I swallow the lump in my throat and hold myself deathly still, knowing no amount of fidgeting will help me get through the terribleness that this morning is becoming.
“I’m really sorry. It will never happen-”
“When I decided to take you on, I thought I was taking on a member of the Brent family,” says Samuel while slowly rising from his chair, reminding me of a tiger on the hunt. “I was irritated that you could just waltz in hear and ask for a job, but I thought: hmmm, it might be good for the firm.” I watch him stroke his beard mockingly. “He’s Franklin’s kid after all. I’m sure Franklin raised him to uphold company values.” His hand drops, smacking his pants and I cringe at the sharp sound it makes. “But, no, seems like you’re just like all the other blockheads who come in here, wanting an internship.” He stalks towards me and my eyes widen as I watch him shove a finger into my face. “Do you know who I had to let go to make space for you? Do you know all the time and energy that went into finding the perfect candidate?” I watch him turn on hisheel, throwing his hands into the air in frustration.
“No, sir, I don’t-”
“Of course you don’t!” Samuel shouts while slamming his hands on the desk. “All that was pretty much a waste of my fucking time now that I had to let him go and replace him with you.” I grimace as he turns around and waves a hand in my direction. “I should tell your father about how much of a freaking asshole you’ve been.”
My eyes widen. “No,” I say, taking a step towards him.
“Demanding a job from me, then half assing it. Now coming in late.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice cracking. I feel like a little boy again. My legs tremble and my stomach twists. I feel like I might throw up, or go to my knees and beg. I root my feet into the floor, demanding my body remain upright. “Really, I won’t-”
“I should tell him that you weren’t planning on interning with me.”
My skin goes cold and I watch him grab his cell phone from his pocket.
“What is it you wanted to do, Lucas?” Samuel asks while tapping something onto his phone. My breath stills. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. I pray to God he isn’t texting my dad. Samuel chuckles bitterly. “Did you want to be a writer? Was that it? Was that how you were going to spend your summer?”
I take another step towards him. “Please, I’m very sorry. It won’t happen again. I swear.” I press my hands together. It’s the closest I will get to begging. “Please, don’t call my dad. Just give me another chance.”
Samuel stares at me. His phone lingers in his hand. He’s going to do it. I can’t believe he’s going to call my dad. Then all my plans will be foiled. What will I do then? I stare at him, wondering what more I can say to get him to listen to reason. I’ll wash his dirty underwear? Clean the dishes? Mop the kitchen floors? Although, these are all tactics that would work on the bros, not on a grown man. Not to mention, my bros would never rat me out to my parents, no matter how pissed off they are with me.
The office phone on the desk rings and I flinch. For a moment, I think it’s my dad as I watch Samuel reach for it. Part of me wants to lunge for it, smack it away from Samuel’s freckled hands, grab it and throw it out of the window. However, I don’t, knowing nothing would help. Samuel still has his cellphone. He probably already has plans to meet them for cocktails later. Sooner or later, he’ll find some way to tell them.
“What,” Samuel says bitingly to the receptionist.
I watch him nod, watch him slide his cell back into his pocket. “Alright, I’ll be there in a minute. Bring them some espresso and sparkling water.” He slams the phone down before turning towards me. His gaze rakes over me, as if he’s sizing me up, while he strides my way.
“Well, lucky for you, I have a meeting.” He smiles brightly at me, as if he hadn’t been yelling at me for being late. “Make yourself useful and take notes.”
“Ye-yes,” I stutter, running after him as he strides briskly down the hall and further into the firm.
I follow him into a bright meeting room with large windows displaying a clear view of Paris. My gaze lingers on the Louvre for a moment, wondering if Rachel is enjoying her time working at the museum. I silently wish I was with her.
“Lucas,” I hear Samuel mutter and I flinch, turning towards the men seated in front of the smart board. My eyes widen as I see red hair and an annoying face. One I genuinely hate with a loathing passion.
“Marcus,” I say as cheerfully as possible, holding out my hand while watching Marcus take it. He’s dressed in his finest with a pin-striped suit and a gold Rolex hanging off his wrist. I turn towards his manager, a grey old man with a thick gut and flabby cheeks. “It’s nice to meet you, sir,” I say politely while shaking his hand and taking a seat next to Samuel.
“What are you doing here?” Marcus asks while waving a hand at me. “I thought you were still in Colorado or something.”
“Mr. Brent is my intern,” Samuel says distantly while taking out several files. I have no clue what is going on, or why we are meeting with Marcus and his boss. Are we suing their client? Is one of Samuel’s clients suing one of theirs? Maybe Samuel has a point. I obviously don’t care about this job. He probably briefed me about this yesterday and I wasn’t paying attention.
