Page 11 of Bratva's Intern

I forced my feet to move forward and approached the front desk with its glowing “RECEPTION” label prominently displayed. The receptionist—a thin woman with a long, graceful neck, immaculate makeup, and dark hair pulled back into a bun—raised her gaze from her monitor and offered me a polite smile.

“Good morning. How can I help you today?”

I cleared my throat, clutching the strap of my bag. “Hi, uh, I’m Wren—Wren Holloway. I think I have an interview today for an internship.” I hated how uncertain my voice sounded.

She tapped something into her computer, her smile staying in place. “One moment, Mr. Holloway.” She scanned the screen, nodded, and then reached under the desk to retrieve a slim, white badge with a bold blue stripe across the bottom suspended from a blue lanyard. “You’re right on time,which is perfect. We are strict on time, so the boss will like that a lot. This is your temporary pass that will get you into the elevator. You’ll need to wear it at all times while in the building.”

I accepted the badge and fumbled to slip the lanyard over my head. “Thanks.”

“Take the elevator to the fifteenth floor.” She gestured toward a bank of elevators encased in mirrored steel at the far side of the lobby. “Someone will meet you when you arrive.”

I nodded, mumbling another thanks, and headed toward the elevators with her final words “Good luck” echoing in my head. I tugged at the hem of my blazer again, wishing it would magically transform into something more suitable.

The elevator doors whispered open, and I stepped inside, gripping the strap of my bag tighter as the doors closed. The silence was thick, punctuated only by the hum of the elevator as it carried me up.

By the time I reached the fifteenth floor, my palms were damp, and I’d repeated the same thought over and over:They’ve made a mistake. They called the wrong person.

The doors opened to reveal a smaller, more intimate lobby with frosted glass walls and plush gray carpeting. A man in a tailored navy suit stood waiting, tapping something on his tablet. His sandy blond hair was perfectly styled, giving him an air of cool sophistication.

“Mr. Holloway?” he asked, his voice warm, and extended a hand.

“Yes, that’s me.” I shook his hand, trying not to feel like a kid meeting a principal.

“We spoke on the phone a couple of days ago. I’m Archie Mayfair. Please call me Archie.” He gestured to a glass-walled conference room off to the side. “Come on in.” A long table and ergonomic chairs that looked more like sculptures thanfurniture dominated the sleek and minimal room. “Have a seat. We’ll start with some paperwork—a quick pre-interview form. Once that’s done, we can move on to the next steps. Mr. Morozov will join us a bit later.”

“M-M-Mr. Morozov?”

He would interview me himself? Oh shit, if these people I’d met so far didn’t sus out that I was a fraud, he no doubt would.

“Yes, but don’t worry. I’ll be the one conducting the interview. He will just pop in to introduce himself.”

I nodded, sitting and reaching for the pen he slid across the table toward me. My heart thudded as I stared at the form, but I kept my head down and filled it out, determined to prove I belonged here. Even if I wasn’t sure of it myself yet.

I filled in my personal details first. Even though my fingers trembled, I wrote in crisp block letters.

Name: Wren Holloway.

Address: Flat 305, Ivy Lane.

The pen squeaked on the glossy paper, and I winced at the sound. It felt like I was screeching out my inadequacies to the silent room.

Archie had stepped out, leaving me on my own with the form and my insecurity. Through the translucent glass walls, staff carried on with their day. Everyone seemed so efficient, so purposed. How could I fit in with these people? My boxers had a hole in them.

Taking deep breaths to steady my shaking hand, I refocused on the form. I filled in my education. In one year, I would finish my program at college, graduating as mediocre as I had started.

Nothing special.

Destined to be average.

Archie entered the room, the soft click of his leathershoes loud in the silence. He took his seat across from me, his gaze flicking between me and the half-filled form lying on the table.

My face burned. I should have already finished.

“Do you need anything? Coffee? Water?” he asked.

“I’m good.” I’d already stolen someone’s coffee this morning. What would he say if he knew? Archie didn’t look as if he had stolen anything a day in his life.

“Once you’re finished, we’ll get started.”

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