My Intern - 1. Chapter 1

Here we go again, I mused, a bunch of freshly graduated ass-kissing interns looking to snake their way up to the top.

The minute hand of the clock on the wall inched its way to 8 a.m.

Anytime now, I scowled, they’d ambush me with their crisp, ironed shirts and shined shoes.

Some days, I hated my job.

Voices and footsteps approached the door simultaneously.

7:51 a.m.

The conversations lowered into a hushed whisper, ceasing altogether with the halted footsteps.

7:52 a.m.

Hushed discussion seeped through the frosted glass doors. I rolled my eyes impatiently. I tapped my foot, audibly.

7:53 a.m.

The muttering died down once more. A footstep echoed against the marble.

Come on, grow some balls already.

7:54 a.m.

A deep breath in and a deep breath out.

7:55 a.m.

The double-doors swung towards me, opening to reveal a mob of twenty-somethings, hair-slicked, fresh-faced, hunger burning in their eyes.

And some days, I loved it.

I grinned, Let the games begin.

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“Today marks the beginning of the rest of your careers. The next three months will be hell on earth. They will be a gateway. Succeed, and your dreams await you on the other side. Fail, and you’ll be forgotten,” I paused. “You’re nobodies. You’re grunts. You will do all the work and see none of the reward. You’ll fetch coffee. You’ll write reports. You’ll shine shoes if you have to. You’ll type until your fingers blister and then some more. You will work until you fall asleep with drool dripping from your chins in front of your desk. You will not set foot out of this office for days on end…”

Nods of affirmation peppered the crowd while some shoulders sunk, eyes overcast with worry. A handful seemed to grow taller with every threat, challenged, hungry.

I wonder how long before they break, I smirked.

“You will receive your assignment in a couple of minutes when the executives come down to fetch you,” I mocked.

I looked down at the envelope that Human Resources had passed me the day before, a name stamped across the top of the envelope.

Fresh meat, I mused, he won’t know what he’s in for.

“Brooks, Tyler,” I announced, scanning through the crowd for a look of recognition.

There was a silence for a moment. A slight movement caught my eye: a tall blonde with broad shoulders clad in a well-fitted suit drove his elbow into the side of a smaller man. The yelp that was produced almost stole a laugh from me.

“That’s me,” he muttered, shooting murderous glances at the chuckling blonde between looking thoroughly embarrassed.

“You’re with me,” I said, narrowing my eyes with him as I pulled my mouth into a menacing grin.

This was going to be fun.

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Tyler’s mousy brown hair, expressive brown eyes and delicate features hid his brilliance behind a faux sense of awkwardness. His work was impeccable: reports error-free, meetings punctual and he had a keen sense of knowing what I wanted before I even asked. In other words, it was infuriating.

“Coffee?” Tyler offered, a cup of Starbucks in his outstretched hand.

I nodded, picked it from his hand and took a sip: a double shot of espresso, no sugar, no cream. It was just the way I liked it. I sighed. I watched Tyler watch me out of the corner of my eye, his lips curling into a smile.

“The reports,” I demanded.

“Oh right, they’re on your desk,” he replied, calm and cool, leaning back a little more against the door.

I hesitated. I had run out of ways torture him. He had met every daunting task I threw at him with the same impossible standard. He smirked, as if he knew the predicament he had put me in.

“So, run me through the schedule for the day?” I asked, resigned to his brilliance.

“Oh…,” he stuttered, as though surprised, “Uhm…m… sure.”

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His head was thrown back in laughter, punching the tall blonde, Brad, in the shoulder. I watched the scene through the window from my office; they talked animatedly. The joy melted off Brad’s face as he nudged Tyler and darted his eyes in my direction. Curious, Tyler turned his eyes towards me. Caught by surprise, I waved him over.

The door opened as he poked his head in.

“Uh… Mr Wyatt?” he asked.

“Right, Tyler. I need you to go down to the archives and fetch me these dossiers whenever you’re available,” I said, emphasising heavily on the last word, handing him the list of names.

He blushed and stuttered, “Uh… sure… right away sir.”

He turned and walked off, shoulders hunched, with Brad giggling as he watched Tyler approach.

That’s better, I thought.

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Mondays, I sighed.

I shrugged off my blazer and draped it over my chair.

“How was your weekend?” Tyler asked perkily as he slipped through the glass door.

I raised my eyebrow at him.

“Fine,” I answered curtly.

He nodded, a smile plastered across his face. His cheery demeanour on a dreary Monday morning intrigued me.

“How was yours?” I asked, the question sitting uncomfortably in the air.

Surprise replaced the smile in an instant. Red painted his cheeks.

“It was fine,” he replied bashfully.

“Was it someone special?” I probed, the question bypassing my brain.

The flush on his cheeks deepened. No other answer was needed.

“Well… let’s get started shall we?” I said.

He blushes easily, I noticed.

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8:01 a.m.

The door swung open. Tyler burst into my office, eyes wide, hair mussed-up, suit wrinkled. He looked at me, face pulled straight, as though bracing for impact. Laughter overcame me, his shock at my reaction further feeding the hilarity of the situation.

“Mr Wyatt?” he probed, worry creasing his forehead.

Recovering from the fits of laughter, I strode over to him. His eyes widened, in fear.

It looks so soft, I thought.

My hand froze in mid-air; I had unintentionally reached out to comb my fingers through his hair. I settled for his shoulder, brushing off a piece of lint. I averted my eyes from his.

Clearing my throat, I announced, “Let’s begin.”

As I settled into my chair, I saw that he had made no attempt to move, looking as uneasy, if not possibly more so than when he arrived.

I softened my tone, “It’s alright.”

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Tyler poked his head into my office.

“Hmm?” I mumbled, continuing my rapid typing.

“Uhm… mm… it’s lunch,” he stuttered.

“Oh,” I checked my watch, and replied, “Sure, go ahead.”

Turning back to my screen, I noticed he walked into the office.

I looked at him and raised my eyebrow.

“Uhm…mm… did you want something for lunch?” he asked, hints of pink appearing on his cheeks.

“Uh… no –“ I replied.

“Actually, I already got something for you,” he blurted, producing a paper bag that he had been hiding behind him, red blooming over his cheeks.

“Oh,” I said, taken aback.

He fidgeted.

“It’s just that I’ve seen you get absorbed into your work and not eat. I don’t think that’s healthy, sir,” he explained urgently.

Warmth blossomed in my stomach as I gathered my wits and gestured to the seat across my desk.

“Thanks,” I managed to say, discomfort slithering under my skin.

Tyler took a seat and took out the two sandwiches from the paper bag. He held both out.

“Chicken salad or roast beef?” he asked.

“Either,” I dismissed.

“Chicken salad or roast beef?” he repeated insistently.

I chuckled.

“Roast beef,” I replied, taking the sandwich from him.

“Thanks,” I said again, as I took a bite.

I watched as he took a bite out of his own sandwich, eyes darting nervously around the room.

“So… how old are you again?” I asked, broaching the uncomfortable tension.

“25,” he replied.

I cocked an eyebrow.

“Yes, really,” he insisted, rolling his eyes.

I chuckled.

“Where were you before this?” I asked again.

“Oh…,” he began, breaking into a story, the worry melting from his demeanour.

I watched his animated expressions and gestures as he recounted his previous job and college experiences. The tension in the room dissolved into an amicable truce. I immersed myself in the conversation, surprised that I was truly interested in what he had to say.

Flecks of gold swam in the pools of warm chocolate. I lost myself in their intricate dance, the light reflecting off those bits of colour. They shifted as he spoke, his words: the melody, to which they moved. Suddenly, they stopped moving.

“Sir?” Tyler asked, noticing that my mind had wandered off.

“You can call me Blake,” I replied, the words leaving my own mouth startling me.

Tyler fell silent, looking at his own hands as a blush threatened to overcome him.

“I think we’re done here,” I said.

“Oh,” he gasped.

“Tyler, set up for my next appointment,” I instructed.

“Oh…,” he said, relief smoothing over the lines on his forehead.

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“Uh… Mr. W- Blake?” Tyler mumbled.

“Yeah?” I asked.

I looked up to see Brad nudging Tyler, a sly grin plastered across his face. Tyler’s face was completely flushed. An aggressive force leapt from the pits of my stomach as I shot Brad one of my withering glowers. He retreated, the smug smile wiped clean off his face.

“I just want…ted to get you to…to read this through,” he stammered, gesturing at his computer screen.

I leaned over his shoulder, reading the lines of print.

He smells good, the thought wormed its way into my head.

The hints of coffee on his breath, detergent and his deodorant fused to form this addictive scent that left me wanting more. I had to physically restrain myself from burying my nose in his neck and inhaling; I tightened my grip on the end of the table.

“Blake, you alright?” he asked, concerned.

“Yeah I’m fine,” I yelped, “The report’s fine too.”

Retreating hastily, I knocked over the coffee on his desk onto myself, the patch of brown claiming more and more of my white shirt.

“Fuck,” I cussed.

I froze, the searing heat burning my skin like an iron brand as Tyler dabbed against the stain with tissues. The heat spread along my skin and blood rushed to my head.

“Uh… Blake,” he whispered, embarrassed, eyes darting downwards.

I brought my eyes to the object of his attention.

I definitely have to fire him now, I sighed.