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“It was.”
“And now you have your own office.”
I nod. “I was lucky.”
There was no luck involved at all. It’s an office I deserve after busting my balls for six years. It’s not as big and opulent as the offices on the third floor, but it’s still a step up from sitting in the open plan with all the other chumps.
But it’s always good to act humble. You never know what might get back to the bosses.
“I don’t think it’s that at all. I’ve heard your name a few times before today.”
Her words send a thrill through me. He’s spoken about me outside the office? The idea has a sense of validation spreading through me, settling deep into my bones.
Maybe this won’t be such a bad thing. If I play this right, it could be another way to show my worth to him.
I take her on a quick tour of the floor, pointing out the important places, trying not to breathe too deeply. Her smell is taunting me, inviting me to bury my nose against her neck to see if it’s perfume or the scent of her skin.
Once our tour is done, I point her in HR’s direction, and with a slight wave, she heads off in that direction.
“Who the hell is that?” Nick says, strolling up to me and watching Justine’s retreating form.
“Our new intern,” I mumble, not liking the way his eyes are focused on her ass.
“Hot damn,” he mutters, his head tilted.
I swallow heavily. Hot fucking damn, indeed.
*****
There’s a tap on my office door, and I look up to find Justine standing in the doorway.
“Sorry to bother you, but I’m done with HR and was wanting to know if you have anything for me to do.”
I want to ask her if this is a paid internship, but I don’t. It’s none of my business.
“Come in, have a seat.” I motion to one of the two visitors’ chairs on the other side of my desk. My office is nothing to sneeze at. It’s a decent size, has a big desk, and a couch and coffee table in the corner. But I don’t have a view. My couch isn’t leather, and I don’t have a minibar.
I sit back and take her in while she settles across from me. She can’t be too old. She’s dressed professionally in a business suit and heels, with her hair stylishly done, but she has a fresh-faced look about her. One that most people have when just starting their working career. The look you lose along the way when you become jaded from the never-ending demands of a stressful job.
“I’m sorry. Phillip sort of sprung this on me. How long will you be interning for?”
“Six months.” She keeps twisting and untwisting her fingers—a nervous habit, no doubt—and I have to clench my hand to stop myself from putting mine over hers to stop the fidgeting.
“Don’t be nervous,” I say, shooting her a reassuring smile. “Have you worked in this industry before?”
She shakes her head. “I finished college last year, and I was debating either HR or Marketing, then Uncle Phillip suggested I give this a try.”
I have to suppress my sigh. No experience in anything.
“What did you study?”
“Social Science.”
So, young like I thought. She’s about twenty—two, twenty-three, tops. Not that I’m old by any means. My big three-oh is coming up, and last time I checked, that’s still relatively young. It’s just that some days I feel much, much older than that.
“I’m going to be honest with you,” I say, sitting forward and folding my hands on my desk. “I wasn’t prepared for this, and I have a lot on my plate. I work extremely long hours, and occasionally, I might expect the same from you.”
Why the hell did I just say that? I don’t expect any of my team to work the same kind of hours as me unless they have a deadline.
