The Intern: An MM Office Romance

by Akeroyd , Serena

  I cleared my throat. “What happened then?”

  “I had two years of freedom. And I enjoyed it. I banged every girl I could, but nothing... Shit, it was like nothing fit. Like I didn’t fit in my skin. That penultimate year, I came to terms with why and I made a plan.” He pursed his lips. “I knew Dad would cut me off. He weaponized his wallet a long time ago. When I did as I was told, I got money, so I made sure everything was copacetic, gave him no reasons to cut me off that year or to question my spending.

  “My grades were en pointe, and even though I was raising hell, they didn’t know that. Some months, I was withdrawing fifty grand from the bank account he let me use.”

  “You were squirreling it away?” I guessed.

  “Yeah. Because I knew, when the time came, that would disappear and I had plans. I wanted my MBA and then I could do whatever the hell I wanted on my own terms. I bought so many suits for ‘business’ that he had to wonder if I was going into the tailoring industry, but then I resold them. Friends wanted to buy shit, so I’d grab it on my card and they’d pay me cash.”

  Curiosity had me asking, “How much did you save up before you came out?”

  “Nearly seven hundred grand.”

  I had to laugh. “Jesus.”

  His eyes twinkled, and this time it had nothing to do with a fever. “I know I went crazy—”

  “No, it’s an expensive town, and your MBA will eat up over a third of that. Never mind living expenses.

  “It’s just shitty that you knew you had to do that.”

  He shrugged. “At least I was prepared. He thought I’d take my MBA somewhere closer to home, expected me to make it up to Chelsea who hadn’t married, you know?

  “When I saw where he was taking it last summer...” He shook his head. “I would have liked to save up some more funds, but I knew I had to end things fast before I was drugged, hogtied, and hauled to the wedding. Chelsea was sniffing around, she threatened to tell my father about us having fucked before marriage—”

  I could feel the lingering traces of his panic in his words. “She threatened you?”

  “She wanted to marry me.” His mouth twisted. “I’m a good catch in Cali.”

  “And you’re not here?” was my wry retort. “I’m not the only one who doesn’t see the woods for the trees, Micah.”

  He grunted. “I’ve talked enough. My throat’s already raw. You talk now.”

  Because he’d been so open, I murmured, “You want to know about my family?” His nod had me clucking my tongue. “Mother is beyond eccentric. It must be killing her to be stuck in Cumbria. She’s had a routine that I don’t think she’s changed in thirty years.”

  “What kind of routine?”

  “She started off in Camden Market every day, went to the same market stalls. Then, she ended up at what we call a greasy spoon, where she ate her breakfast. She spent most of the day there if she didn’t have other engagements, before she drifted to Claridges for afternoon tea.”

  He frowned at me through discomfort-dazed eyes, which had me wondering if he’d remember any of this conversation tomorrow. “Why?”

  “She likes her food. Plus she reckons herself to be a poet.” I pulled a face. “She’s terrible.”

  “Is she published?”

  I snorted. “What do you think? She’s quite capable of making Father’s life hell.”

  “Does she write under a pen name?”

  “Oh, yes. She likes to think she’s unassuming.”

  “And she isn’t?”

  “Good God, no. I’m pretty sure she’s certain she was Lady Chatterly in a previous life.”

  He snickered at that, and my lips curved into a smile at the sound of his laughter. “You’ll have to hook me up with one of her books so I can check it out.”

  My eyes widened with horror. “Why would you put yourself through that torment?”

  Amused, he shoved my arm, and asked, “What about your father?”

  “He’s Casanova reborn. It used to be embarrassing, but now I’m past caring.”

  “Why was it embarrassing?”

  “He’d come to school and hook-up with my friends’ mothers.”

  Micah’s eyes popped open. “You’re shitting me.”

  “I wish I was.” I pulled a face. “I got the crap kicked out of me way too many times. Until I got big enough to handle myself.

  “Truly, I don’t know either of them very well. I had Nanny until I was eight, but then I was shipped off to boarding school in Hampshire.” My nose crinkled. “I was at Highcamp until thirteen, which was when I started at Eton.”

  “They sent you away at eight?” he rasped, his voice loaded with horror. “Jesus, Devlin, no wonder you’re weird.”

  I snorted. “Thank you. I think.”

  His hand snapped out, and he cupped my wrist. “Seriously. That has to mess with a kid’s development.”

  I hitched a shoulder. “Home life wasn’t that warm and cozy, what with both my parents trying to out fuck each other. Not that I knew that, of course. At the time, I mean. School was no better or worse.”

  “I think that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  His earnestness tore at something deep inside me. I shot him a shaky smile. “The same could be said for a kid who had to hide away three-quarters of a million from his parents because he knew they’d reject you.” He tensed at my words. “Quite a pair, aren’t we?”

  “They can’t hurt us now,” he told me, his tone fervent. Too fervent.

  “Can’t they? Mine can’t. Not really. They can piss me off, but there’s little they can do to hurt me.”

  “After what mine put me through? I’m done with them,” he spat, but he was protesting too much.

  “I don’t think we’re ever really done with a parent,” I told him carefully. “Even if they let us down repeatedly, we still hope.

  “There’s always going to be a kernel of hope inside you that’s praying he’ll change. That he’ll relent and accept you, and the worst thing is, that’s normal, Micah. He should relent. He should accept you. And he might, but he might not.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed, and I knew it took a lot for him to admit, “I wish he would.”

  Because I’d known that without him having to say a word, everything inside me clenched down at his vulnerability, and the most ferocious desire to slay whoever and whatever hurt him overcame me.

  At that moment, if his father had been standing at the side of my bed, I’d have beaten the shit out of him.

  “I wish he would too. For your sake.”

  His eyes gleamed for a second, glittering with tears he didn’t shed before he clenched them closed.

  Neither of us spoke, letting the silence drift between us, until he broke it with forced cheer, “I think we should have a competition. My family thinks I’m going to hell in a hand basket because I’m fucking you.” He popped a single eye open. “What’s the worst yours can do?”

  “Tie me to some Hoo-ray Henrietta just so I can whelp some progeny that’ll inherit the Keighly duchy and waddle around in their misery as much as their ancestors.”

  “I feel sorrier for me.”

  I laughed. “I suppose hell is a worse fate, although, you say that now. You haven’t met the Henriettas I’m talking of. They can bray like horses.”

  His lips twitched. “That’s not nice.”

  “No? You haven’t met them. It’s not all Made in Chelsea.”

  “What the hell’s that?”

  I grimaced. “A show. Henriettas all wear tweed, are fond of pearl necklaces—and I’m not talking the good kind—ride horses, dislike the government for banning the hunt, and think the House of Lords should only answer to God.” I shuddered. “A living hell, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “You don’t have to marry someone like that,” he pointed out.

  “I have no interest in women. No interest in men, either,” I said wryly, but I stroked his bottom lip as I made that particular comment. “I feel as if
I’ve only ever been interested in you.” My brow puckered. “Isn’t that strange? A one-night-stand who I barely know, and you’re all I can think about. When I close my eyes at night, I see you.

  “I’ve never noticed how empty my life is until you walked into it, so, why wouldn’t I be nervous, Micah? You’re alien to me.”

  His brow furrowed. “Have you never been in love before?” Quickly, he licked his lips. “I mean, I’m not saying you love me, I, just, well... I mean, you’ve never felt infatuated?”

  I snorted. “Course I have. But this isn’t an infatuation.”

  “How do you know?” he rasped, his surprise at my statement clear.

  Maybe it was because I’d been sick, or because he’d cared for me when the only person who’d ever done that was my nanny when I was a child. Maybe it was because he was beautiful and because he looked at me like I mattered more to him than just for an open wallet. And maybe it was because I wanted to... I’d never know what made me be so candid, never know why I admitted the truth to him.

  “Because when I look at you, I see a future. A future I could fuck up by being me, and that’s the most terrifying thing I’ve felt in my entire life.”

  Twenty-One

  Micah

  Three days later

  The peace of the office was pleasant after weeks and weeks of the madcap rush, in the run up to several summer releases, that were penned as large launches.

  I’d been around for the mania, and while that mania hadn’t died down yet, with Trevelyan’s book still a high priority, there wasn’t much to be done when over half the staff were out for the count with the same stomach flu Devlin and I had endured.

  It was mean of me, but Cassandra was out sick too, and I was really loving being at this end of the floor without her sniping at me or glaring at me. It wasn’t like she could have this bug forever though, so I was just appreciating the lack of judgment from her quarter, and taking advantage of the silence of the floor.

  Even if it was odd to be one of only eight on staff.

  The pressure was intense, but after the past few days, I was glad for it.

  Work was a sanctuary I’d never expected it’d be.

  Devlin was... well, to be frank, he was more than I could ever have hoped for.

  Both of us getting sick had calmed him down some, and when he’d been bright enough to talk, our conversation had really eased the tension in him. Now he’d made that crazy admission, he seemed to be better, was less awkward, so it was ironic that I felt as if that awkwardness was contagious.

  What he’d said still made butterflies dance in my stomach. Not with unease, but with relief.

  I felt the same way.

  And it was crazy.

  He’d said it himself—I barely knew him.

  He barely knew me.

  But in the shortest space of time, I’d opened up to him in ways I had with very few people, and he knew the ins and outs of some sordid home truths that I hadn’t been ashamed to admit to him.

  He was Devlin Astley, however. And even though he bitched about his family and the Hoo-ray Henrietta he feared they’d make him wed, he never outright said he wouldn’t eventually concede to their wishes.

  From experience, I knew what someone would do for their family. For years, I’d tried to shove myself inside the closet because of my parents, so why wouldn’t Devlin do something equally as drastic?

  So, even if I felt sure he meant every word he said, what was to stop him from pulling back? From doing his duty—when that was all that seemed to matter to his dying father?

  All of that turbulence, thrown in with the fact that I loved going to sleep in his bed, even if we’d only slept because neither of us were back to being one-hundred percent, adored waking up in his arms in the morning, enjoyed cooking in his kitchen at night, then teaching him the art of enjoying Naruto even though he totally didn’t get the classic anime, and how he didn’t love Kakashi was beyond me…

  My major issue? He was starting to become my haven, and that was the most idiotic move I could ever make when we weren’t formally an item.

  I bit my lip at the thought, craving that so desperately it hurt. I had no desire to play the field, not when he was all I wanted.

  Sighing, I eyed the time and saw that it was approaching seven. I wanted to text him, tell him about an annoying email exchange I’d had with a graphic designer, bitch about regular shit people bitched about with the people who mattered to them, but I was afraid of getting further entangled.

  When that was exactly what I wanted.

  Had it been so complicated with Chelsea?

  Grimacing, I picked up my cell and, because I needed to connect with him, tapped out: Me: You feeling okay?

  He’d asked me if I wanted some food brought to me, and when I’d said yes, and had asked if he was going to eat, he’d told me he couldn’t face anything.

  I was pretty sure he should still be at home, even if he wasn’t infectious or anything. Devlin’s hours made mine look sane, so why wouldn’t he be hit harder?

  Devlin: I’m tired, but I still have to play catch up. I can have Gian take you back to my place if you want?

  Me: No, I have some work left as well.

  Devlin: Just tell me when you want to leave?

  Me: I should probably go back to mine—I can’t keep wearing your suits. Plus my fish will need food.

  Devlin: You could pick up some of your things and bring them to mine. That commute is too much for you when you’re still under the weather.

  My lips twitched. Me: Is that British Bullshit I’m reading?

  Devlin: It’s me being a bad spin doctor. Lol. Bring the fish too. I think I can spare the room.

  Me: I’m tired enough to take you up on that tbh.

  Devlin: You don’t have to stay late, Micah. For God’s sake, they’re not supposed to be working you this hard. I had a word with Rhode about it. It’s not on.

  Brow puckering with annoyance, I replied: Me: You’re kidding?! Why would you do that?

  Devlin: Because I care.

  I gritted my teeth.

  Devlin: Because it’s my company and they’re treating you like a workhorse, and it’s WRONG.

  Me: I’m learning so much from her.

  Devlin: You’re learning that corporations bleed their employees dry. I didn’t realize this was what they were doing with interns. It’s indentured servitude. Well, not on my watch. Not now I know.

  Unsure whether to be irritated or touched, I glowered down at my cell phone, then jumped when a voice purred, “Lover’s quarrel?”

  Twisting around in my seat, I wanted to glare at her for sneaking up on me, but you didn’t glare at Rhode.

  At least, not without losing an eye.

  “Sorry?” I rumbled, studying her warily and taking note of the two coffee cups in her hand.

  Knowing full well she never made her own coffee, to say I was stunned summed it up.

  When she shoved one at me, murmuring, “In appreciation for all you’re doing. It’s hard rallying the troops when we’re working on a deficit.”

  I didn’t want the coffee—if anything, I wanted some red wine. I didn’t give a damn if it was supposed to be room temp, either. I wanted it chilled, and preferably by the bottle. But it’d be impolite, so I reached out for the coffee with a false smile and said, “I really appreciate that. Thanks, Rhode.”

  She shrugged. “My pleasure.” Her gaze drifted from my phone to my computer. “Is there anything wrong?” Her lips primmed. “I know Mr. Astley has taken you under his wing, and he complained to me the other day about your workload. So, is there anything I can help you with?”

  What was I supposed to do? Snitch on Cassandra?

  I just had over two weeks left in this place, she had to stick around and work with Rhode for the foreseeable future. Poor bitch.

  Funny how, at the start of this internship, getting a job under Rhode had been my goal. Now I knew her, I was ready to get away from her. She gave me the
creeps.

  “It’s fine,” I said brightly. “I enjoy my work.”

  She did that thing Chelsea had picked up on after watching Next Top Model—smizing. Only, Rhode didn’t look alluring. She just looked like she had a tampon up her ass.

  Wanting to smile at the thought, I grabbed the coffee and took a deep sip. It was stronger than I was used to, really bitter as well, so I almost choked on it as she laughed.

  “I made it strong enough to stand your spoon in. I figured that would help keep you alert.”

  “I can tell,” I rasped.

  “Go on, drink up,” she prompted when I put it down, my intention to leave the damn thing alone.

  When she just stayed there, hovering, I frowned at the cup, picked it up, and downed it in one painful gulp. If my stomach was susceptible to ulcers, then she’d just given me at least three. But it was worth it if it got rid of her.

  She granted me a benevolent smile. “That’s my special blend. Gives me a boost at this time of the evening.”

  And with that, she waved and tottered off on those damn heels of hers.

  As I stared at her, wondering what the hell she was up to, I had to shake my head. Rhode was one of those people whose genius led to madness—at least, that was my reasoning for her level of weirdness.

  Scanning the floor and spying precious few people around, Martin, in the far corner who was packing up his bag as well as Ramona who was all ready to go and who was talking to him, I realized it’d just be me and Rhode for the time being.

  I should probably be grateful she’d returned to her office.

  Determined to sort out the last few emails I had on my list of things to finish tonight, I dove into my work, not wanting to stick around for much longer.

  With that in mind, I quickly shot Devlin a text, telling him I’d be ready in a half-hour, and dove into my work. The sooner I was out of here, the better.

  Twenty-Two

  Devlin

  I felt like shit.

  It was the only reason I was going home, because productive, a word that usually defined me, in no way encompassed the shit show that today had been.