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CHAPTER ONE
Christina Bradford’s low heels clicked on the linoleum as she moved curiously down the hall like a wide-eyed kid in a candy factory. Her escort from the lobby, a woman whose name and title she’d already forgotten, was busy pointing out different areas and different individuals without actually introducing her.
Christina tried her best to look serious and professional, but her heart was beating a thousand miles per minute.
This was Pearl Magazine, after all: one of the top fashion and lifestyle magazines in the city. Pearl ran a variety of stories targeting women of all ages. And as an intern, she would get to work with columnists, designers, editors, and marketing experts.
This internship was a dream come true. She wanted to write. She wanted to design. But more than anything, before this internship was over, she wanted to have her own column.
Her escort led her into a small office where a pleasant looking young man wearing a fitted blue suit and stylish red bowtie sat fiddling with his iPhone. When he saw them standing at the door he tossed the phone on the desk and smiled.
“Hi, Phyllis, is this out new intern?”
“Yes, sir, she’s the new intern for Mr. Jones on the third floor. She’s already completed her paperwork, so Jane from HR asked that I bring her to you.”
“Fantastic,” he said, rubbing his hands together. He came around the desk and shook Christina’s hand. “Josh Morrison. I’m in charge of our intern program. Nice to meet you.”
Christina snapped out of her daydream and reached out to shake Morrison’s hand. His eyes lingered a bit too long on her face, and she could tell that his curiosity wasn’t strictly professional. But that was okay. She knew that it would take some work to show that there was actually some intelligence underneath the pretty wrapping.
She’d hit puberty the summer before high school. Not only did she finally grow into her long legs, but at twenty-three, she’d also blossomed in other areas as well.
Her long blonde hair, baby blue eyes, and naturally creamy skin were more of a curse than a blessing sometimes, though her mother said she would thank her lucky stars for them once she learned to use them to her advantage. Few people took her seriously, and she felt like she had to work extra hard in life just to have her voice heard.
If Josh Morrison was impressed by her firm handshake or her constant eye contact, he didn’t let on. He gave her a brief smile before heading down the hall. Christina could almost hear what he was thinking. Another cute blonde college girl hoping to be discovered in the fashion world.
She sighed and fell in behind him. She was getting ready to graduate college with a 4.0 GPA, and she’d earned this internship, beating out over fifty other applicants, so the HR lady said.
She’d be damned if she didn’t leave this job without at least one job offer within the company.
“Okay, here we go,” Morrison said he led her into the elevator. “The editorial and marketing departments have the entire third floor. Jones should be waiting for you. Any questions so far?”
“No. I’m just trying to take it all in right now,” Christina said honestly. “I’m sure I’ll have tons of questions once I get started.”
He gave her a sympathetic smile. “It’s a big company, and most of our interns always feel a little lost when they get started. That’s normal.”
Christina nodded and bit her lip nervously when the elevator doors opened. The third floor was an open space of dark wood set against white walls and white linoleum. Instead of individual desks or tiny cubicles, one piece of custom desktop curved and flowed throughout the room to provide a connected working space for everyone. It was more a work of art than furniture.
“Oh my gosh, this is amazing,” she gushed.
He laughed. “Supposedly the design inspires creativity, though some of the old guard in the editorial and marketing departments would probably argue the fact. We actually hired a hotshot interior designers a couple of years ago to revamp the space,” he made air quotes with his fingers, “for maximum creativity. I’m not sure it worked. I like personally like a little privacy, but I’m not a creative.”
“Does everyone sit out in the open?” she asked, looking around. There were probably a few dozen people milling around the space, some sitting at computers, some in groups in front of whiteboards, some passing a football back and forth; in a creative manner, of course.
Morrison shook his head. “Not everyone. The managers have offices.” He shook his head as they passed the football game. “Most of them have outgrown this kind of stuff.”
She followed him through the space until they came to a corner office. Morrison gestured at a woman stationed at the desk in front of the office door. “Maria, this is Christina, Mr. Jones’ new intern.”
The woman eyed them both and bit her lip nervously. “But Mr. Jones’ new intern started yesterday,” the woman said, offering them confused smile.
