Page 16 of The Interns

6

Maya

Maya rounded the corner onto Baker Street, iced coffee in one hand and tan suit jacket slung over the other arm. By the end of her first week working in the thick of an Atlanta summer, she had learned to leave for work much earlier than needed so that she could walk as slowly as possible so as not to work up a sweat before the day even started.

And on this particular morning, she was glad she did when she spotted an older red pickup truck waiting in front of the office building. She looked down at her watch which read eight-fifteen and then through the rear window at the head of closely cropped light brown curls peeking out over the back of the headrest. The man was always impossibly early which was yet another thing that seemed out of line with his otherwise laid-back personality.

She walked the rest of the block to his truck, then rapped lightly on the window with her knuckles to alert him to her presence before opening the passenger side door. Her eyes went to his dark denim jeans first, then to his tucked in plaid shirt with shades of blue and gray running through it, and finally to his face, the lower half of which was shaded with a thicker growth of stubble leading her to believe he really hadn’t picked up a razor since Monday. It was no wonder he had all this extra time in the mornings.

He smiled at the sight of her and turned down the sports talk radio station droning through the speakers.

“Casual Friday?” She leaned over to place her coffee in the center console then slid her bag off her shoulder and set it on the floorboard.

He glanced down at his outfit and shrugged, seeing nothing wrong with it. A small smirk developed on his lips, however, as he watched her smooth her hand over her snug skirt, gathering the bottom corner in one hand to hold it in place as she stepped up into the truck and slid into the seat before pulling the door shut.

“Morning,” he greeted. “You’ve never been to Corinth, have you, Hendricks?”

“What do you think?” she asked as she put on her seatbelt.

“I think you’re in for a treat.”

She huffed out a laugh and tossed the suit jacket she realized she wouldn’t be wearing over the back of her seat, then reached for her coffee now that she was all settled in.

“It’s not Atlanta,” he explained as he threw the truck in drive and checked the side mirror before pulling out into traffic. “Hell, it’s not even Clayville.”

“This week keeps getting better and better,” she said under her breath before taking a sip.

“Doesn’t it, though?”

She went quiet as she watched the city’s morning commute play out around her. The sun was so bright it almost blinded her as it reflected off the tall buildings. Lines of cars from every direction funneled into parking garages. Commuters crossed the streets en masse to get to their offices. In just a few minutes they would be on the interstate, buildings giving way to billboards and trees, and eventually the sparsely inhabited stretches of rural Georgia that awaited them just fifty miles south of the city.

“You do anything fun last night?”

She was slow to respond, still looking out the window as she tried to remember what she’d done the night before. The first week of the job had felt like an eternity and she had lost all sense of time.

“Right. No small talk. Sorry.”

“No, that’s not it,” she said softly, finally recalling the home-cooked meal she’d shared with Adam before settling in on the couch with her laptop as he watched a Real Housewives marathon beside her. “Not really. You?”

He quietly shook his head and she nodded before clearing her throat, and getting back to business. “So, any changes you want to make to the deal?”

“No, I think we’re set.”

She reached for the file in her bag to review one last time, though she’d already done so several times the night before, and he turned the volume up on the radio again. A heated discussion over the Braves’ bullpen took the place of their own as they drove down the interstate.

* * *

They pulled up to a single-story red brick home set in the middle of a field of brown and yellow grass that had been scorched by unrelenting summer sun. There were a few trees up by the house and a pickup truck under the carport. It was about as old as Reed’s but with rusted frames and a faded blue paint job.

They hopped out of his truck and met at the narrow cement path that led to the house. Reed paused, allowing her to step in front of him before following her up to the door. She held her hand up, waiting to knock until he reached her side. The instant she did, it set off a cacophony of barking and cursing that grew louder as the occupants neared. The door cracked open, and a middle-aged man with ruddy cheeks and tousled black hair with streaks of gray at the temples poked his head through the narrow space.

“Who the hell are you?” he sneered over the incessant barking as he eyed them.

“Mr. Johnson, my name is Maya Hendricks and this is Reed Stanton.” She began to raise her hand to shake his out of habit before deciding to return it to her side given how unwelcoming he seemed. “We’re part of your legal team.”

“I told them I didn’t want their two-cent lawyers. I’m better off on my own.”

Maya’s nose twitched and she stepped back to avoid the pungent smell of alcohol that permeated his breath with every word he spoke. “Sir, we’re not with the public defender’s office,” she explained. “You hired us.”

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