Page 3 of The Interns

“Here you are,” she repeated, forcing a pretty smile.

At least it wasn’t the worst-case scenario but the less she knew the better. She really didn’t want to learn anything else that would sour this opportunity for her. Reed Stanton seemed like a nice enough guy to talk to in line at the coffee shop or even a bar, but not here. Not at her dream associateship. Not when she had worked her ass off to get a foot in the door while he seemed to have slipped right through the back somehow.

She walked to her desk with purpose, seeing his feet drag along the carpet out of the corner of her eye as he turned in his chair to follow her. She grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder then took a few steps towards the door before stopping, those dormant southern manners awakening and guilting her into giving some reason for her departure.

“I haven’t had any coffee yet,” she said as she squeezed her temples with her fingers. Total lie. She’d had too much, in fact, and was buzzing with nerves, frustration, and caffeine. She just needed a minute to herself. “So I’m gonna run out and grab something. You want anything?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Good,” she answered without even looking as she moved for the door again.

She sped down the hall and out the glass-pane office doors into the lobby. She jammed her finger into the down button on the elevator five or six times even though it was already illuminated. When the doors opened, she stepped in and paced around the polished steel-and-marble car, thankful the morning rush was over.

As soon as the bell dinged and doors opened, Maya raced out of the building smack into the stifling humidity, yet it felt like paradise compared to her air-conditioned office. She rounded the corner and found a bench in the shade of the building’s shadow.

She took a few deep breaths as she watched the smokers exiled to the park across the street milling about while breathing their clouds of smoke in and out. She couldn’t stand cigarettes, but in that moment, she wished she had a little vice to take the edge off. Instead, she reached for her cell phone and hit redial. In just one ring, she had her best friend and fellow law student on the other end.

“I take back everything I said about you wasting your time working so hard. It was worth it. I can see that now,” Sydney spilled without even a hello. She seemed to be having an equally stellar first day.

“I don’t know about that.”

“Oh, I do. I’m sitting here all alone in the basement of the courthouse waiting for my supervisor to get in because they forgot I was starting today. I’m drinking something I was told was coffee and seriously rethinking all of my life choices. Please let me live vicariously through your proper associateship. Tell me about your office. Tell me where they’re taking you for lunch today.”

“Nowhere. Lunch is tomorrow.”

“And that would be where?”

“That steakhouse in Buckhead.”

“Bones?”

Maya pulled the phone away from her ear and grimaced at the loud groan that followed.

“Wait—I didn’t know it was open for lunch.”

“It’s not. It’s a special event.”

“I hate you.”

“Oh please, you go there all the time with your parents, Syd,” Maya pointed out.

“Not for lunch! I bet the steak tastes so much better in the middle of the day—oh shit. I think that’s my boss coming to get me. I gotta go.”

“But I didn’t even get to tell you about my morning,” Maya whined, realizing she’d missed her chance to vent which was the entire reason for calling.

“Cypress Street Pub. Six o’clock.”

The phone went dead. Maya made a face at it, then tossed it into her purse. She leaned against the cool granite wall and closed her eyes, allowing herself to have a pity party. She was justified in feeling blindsided and disappointed by the change in circumstances, but she was going to have to let it go and figure out how to salvage this opportunity.

* * *

“So the teacher?” Adam asked, swiping from a cute guy with blonde hair to an equally cute guy with brown hair. “Or the financial analyst?”

Syd and Darby leaned in closer, scrutinizing the faces displayed on his phone and weighing each candidate’s self-proclaimed attributes as they tried to decide on the best match for their friend.

“Which one has a pet again?” Darby pushed the bridge of her thick-framed tortoise-shell glasses back up her nose to keep them from sliding off while she leaned over the phone.

“The analyst?” he answered hesitantly before checking the profile, unable to keep their stats straight.

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