Page 12 of Bratva's Intern

I scribbled quickly, wishing I had the time to think more about why I wanted the internship. In the end, I added something neutral about seeking to gain practical experience in my field. Finally, I signed the form and slid it back across the table, along with Archie’s pen.

“Thank you.” Archie picked it up, scanning it too briefly to have read any of the answers. “Mr. Morozov may not get to join us after all, but we don’t need him. I’m confident we can handle this on our own.”

Thank god, but I nodded.

Archie folded his hands neatly on the table and gave me a warm, reassuring smile. “Let’s start with a simple question, shall we? Why do you want to intern at Morozov Property Holdings?”

My heart pounded. I never had any intention of interning at Morozov’s. If they hadn’t called me, which I still didn’t understand, I would never have set foot in this building.

But I couldn’t say that, could I?

My mind went blank. I’d answered the question on the paper interview, yet the words I’d written escaped me.

“I, uh…” I fumbled, staring down at my hands clenched in my lap. “I’ve always been… interested in real estate and, um, property development.” My voice faltered, and I cringed at how unconvincing I sounded.

Archie nodded patiently, but his expression gave nothingaway. He probably thought I was the biggest loser he’d ever come across, but was too professional to let me see that. “And what do you think makes you a good fit for this position over the other candidates who applied? Do you have any specific skills that you want to shed some light on?”

Other candidates? I was so stupid to not have considered that other people were vying for this position as well.

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat growing bigger. Skills? Did barely scraping by in classes count? What about being stubborn enough to steal coffee from a stranger?

“I, uh, I’m a quick learner,” I stammered. “And I’m good at… adapting. To, uh, new situations.”

Archie raised an eyebrow, waiting for me to elaborate. I fidgeted in the chair, tugging at the hem of my blazer.

“What about teamwork?” Archie prompted gently. “Can you give me an example of a time you worked successfully as part of a team? I imagine you would have done much of this in college, yes?”

My mind raced, searching for an answer, but all I could think of were the group projects in which I’d always taken the easiest tasks so I didn’t fuck things up for the others. “I…” I sighed, my shoulders slumping. “I worked on a group project once in one of my business classes, and we, uh, we managed to present on time.”

Archie tilted his head slightly, his expression still unreadable. My chest tightened. I couldn’t do this. I wasn’t polished like Archie, wasn’t confident, wasn’tready.

“This was a mistake,” I blurted, pushing myself to my feet so fast that the chair almost toppled over. I grabbed my bag. “I’m sorry, but I’m not the right person for this internship. I… I shouldn’t have come.” My voice cracked, and I couldn’t bring myself to meet Archie’s eyes. “Thank you for your time.”

I bolted for the door.

“Wren, wait.”

But why should I wait? I already knew what the outcome would be. Why would they give someone mediocre this internship? My heart hammered as I pushed the door open and rushed into the hallway.

“Uff!”

I hit the wall hard. Not wall. Walls didn’t have hands. Certainly not big, strong ones grabbing my shoulders and holding me steady to prevent me from falling.

“You!” A familiar voice, deep and irritated, cut through my spiraling thoughts. “You’re the guy who stole my coffee this morning!”

I shot my head up, my eyes wide. Shit. It was the man from the café—the devastatingly handsome one with the piercing eyes who thought he could buy his way to the front of the line. What was he doing here?

“I-I-I paid you back!” I cried.

Behind me, footsteps came closer. The coffee shop stranger released me, and I took a step back. Archie hurried toward us. “Mr. Morozov, nice of you to join us after all.”

I froze, my blood turning to ice.

Morozov?

My heart sank as the realization hit me like a freight train. The man I’d just slammed into—the man whose coffee I’d stolen—wastheMr. Morozov.

“Oh god.” My face burned with humiliation. “I—I—I” Words failed me. The amused glint in Mr. Morozov’s eyes was unbearable, mocking.

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