The Intern

Chapter One

GWEYNEIRA

If you had asked me what the top three most embarrassing things I could do on my first day would be, I would have said: 1, falling and tripping in front of everyone, 2, spilling my Dunkin' all over myself, or 3, offending my boss unintentionally.

In no universe could I have ever imagined all three happening to me because, really, who is that clumsy?

The answer is me. I am. I have too fucking left feet and the grace of an elephant on crack. I also cannot stand when my music doesn't match my mood. Every moment in my life has a perfectly curated song that matches; a playlist for any event, storyline, or plot. On the way to the grocery store I pull up my bubble tea and anxietea playlist which is overrun with Ellie Goulding songs. When I go to the gym it's the get in shape, bitch playlist where Ashnikko is the most played artist. Or, relating to this event of starting a new job in the middle of a new city and walking into a skyscraper's elevator for the first time ever - okay new name to be decided - playlist, Glass Animals is the perfect artist.

Or, at least, they would have been the perfect artist if I had paid more attention to where I was going and not my phone when the thirty-second elevator ride came to an end. I don't know why I couldn't just wait to change the track.

Actually, I do know. It's because I needed the confidence boost. The chances that I'd land an internship were slim, but the chance that I'd land an internship in Manhattan that's paid? Even slimmer. This was a wonderful opportunity to start the beginning of my career, but it was nerve-wracking.  Moving to a new state, starting a job in a new field, and forcing myself into these stiff khakis was stressful. It was different. It was thrilling. It felt the same as the first day I moved into my dorm, the fear and excitement twisting my stomach into bittersweet knots.

It's probably due to this concoction of elation and nerves that I shot out of the elevator and right into a wall. The wall moved, its hands grabbing my upper arms to steady me from falling backward. Mortified, I realize two of the most embarrassing things that could happen have happened. Not only did I trip myself, I drowned this poor unsuspecting man in a three-dollar iced coffee.

The light blue button-down is darkened from the blotchy liquid and I can't bring my eyes to look up because I pray to everything that I am dreaming. But he doesn't move, and his hands are still on me, hot and strong, contrasting the cold chill of coffee falling down my chest and the looseness of my stomach.

My eyes snap up as frigid wetness slithers down the valley of my breasts and out the bottom of my shirt. Darting down to my feet, I grimace watching the ice cube break into pieces on the tiled floor.

Thank god his dress pants are black because not a trace of my spill can be seen. He releases me from him and steps back, and as he does, I take in who he is. Well, I don't know who exactly he is, I don't know his name or number, but I do know he's well over six feet tall with dark, curly short hair, well-groomed facial hair, and hazel eyes which are alight with humor. He's beautiful. He's the most beautiful man I ever laid eyes on. He's...fucking covered in Dunkin' Donuts.

I forget how to speak, not that I can do that well either.

Why isn't he screaming at me? He should be angry. He should be cursing at me.

Fear riddles me at the prospect of what he will do.

He smiles. And it's not one of those cheesy, I-smile-because-it's-professional grins, but a beautiful wide smile with a chuckle ripping through his throat. He laughs as he runs his thumb down his cheek to remove a droplet of coffee.

It knocks me from my stupor. "I am so sorry."

"Are you alright?"

What?