The Intern - (18+)

Chapter Two

Claire

I WALK OUT with confidence and feel optimistic that I nailed the internship. I had Paul and Logan eating out of the palm of my hand. Mr. Bieber was impressed. I could tell-and feel it, but he didn't let it show to his colleagues. While I was researching Bieber Enterprises, I came across many pictures of Mr. Bieber himself. He's gorgeous on screen, but in person, he's trip-over-yourself-just-to-lick-him gorgeous. His hair is a shade of light brown-golden, almost-but purposely messy.

I could tell his suit fit him just perfect. I imagine his body is rock hard, chiseled to muscular perfection. It was hard to tell with him sitting down, but from his pictures he looked tall-well over six feet. The thing that tripped me up was his age. He's certainly successful and extremely smart for only being twenty-six.

After doing more research, I learned it's a family owned company. After the interview, I can successfully assume he's just getting started, and his family is now forcing him to be a part of the bigger decisions like interviewing and being involved in the mechanical aspects of the corporation. He certainly acts as if he belongs there, yet he acts completely bored and irritated for having to waste an afternoon.

My mother pays little to no attention to my antics anymore. After dad died, and the insurance money drained from expenses, she started working full-time to keep up with Casey's tuition. And with three kids, she has a lot to balance.

She used to take me to therapy after the incident, but after thousands of dollars and no results, she was finally convinced I wasn't going to participate anyway. Best decision she ever made. All I did was sit and stare at the wall anyway. I didn't want to talk. It didn't help. It didn't bring my dad back. And it sure as hell didn't take the memories away.

"Why are you dressed like that?" my younger brother, Nathan, asks as soon as I walk into the kitchen.

"None of your damn business." I open the fridge and grab a can of soda.

"Claire," my mother warns, "be nice."

I slam the fridge shut. "That was me being nice."

I turn to walk away before remembering I need her to sign that form. I spin back around and grab it out of my purse. "Here, sign this."
She eyes me suspiciously. "What did you do this time?"

"It was an accident," I defend. "No one got hurt."

"Oh, my god! Hurt? What the hell, Claire?" She unfolds the note and reads the note Mr. Jamison typed out. "Jesus, Claire." She shakes her head in disapproval before scribbling her signature on the line. "I don't work forty plus hours a week to save up for your bail money," she scowls. She assumes I'm going to get in enough trouble some day, or that I'll smart off to the wrong person, and end up behind bars.
I wasn't worried about it.

"You're not invincible, Claire," she warns after I roll my eyes at her lame lecture.

"I don't know why I need your damn signature anyway. I'm eighteen."

"Doesn't matter. You're still living under my roof. Mr. Jamison and I have a deal."

I snatch the letter from her hand. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." I turn on my heel and head back upstairs to my room.

I watch my phone like a hawk wishing they'd call me today and just tell me I got the internship. I know they said a few days, but that's going to be torture waiting.

I grab my lock box from under my bed and place it on top. I have the key in my bedside dresser underneath My Little Ponies and Barbie's I used to play with when I was a child.

The only reason I keep them is that they are the last thing I could find that was from my dad. Mom went crazy and started throwing all of his shit out that would remind us of him. She said it would help us 'heal' and 'move on'.
I didn't want to heal. And I sure as f*ck didn't want to move on.