Boss's Intern: An Older Man Younger Woman Romance

by Arlo Arrow

“Would you mind if we had a few words with you about…?”

  Somehow they’ve already got their microphones stuck in my face. And their voice recorders. A couple of cameras.

  I take another deep breath and walk right into my house.

  I want to tell them to go fuck themselves.

  But Ava’s waiting for me.

  I head right into the garage where my Harley is parked. It’s not a super flashy one, but it’s got power and great pickup.

  I sling my leg over the bike, and I’m about to crank the engine and open the garage door. But my phone rings.

  I didn’t even remember that I had my phone with me. But here it is in a little zipper pocket of my gym shorts.

  I wouldn’t pick up, since I’m going to get Ava. But it’s Dave. And somehow he’s marked the call as “URGENT,” which is written in huge red letters.

  His call probably has something to do with the paparazzi who are swarming my house and invading my private property.

  “What’s up, Dave?” I say. “Make this quick. I’ve got somewhere I need to be.”

  “Got some bad news for you,” says Dave.

  Chapter 9

  Ava

  He said he would be right here. I pull out my phone and check it again. It’s been ten minutes already.

  Did he have a problem with the paparazzi? Did they follow him or something, and he didn’t want to lead them here to me?

  The air is really starting to feel chilly the longer I stand here. I’m starting to wish I had a sweater or a light jacket or something. Or maybe some warmer pants. These yoga pants are great. They’re stylish, and I can move around in them easily. They’re the most comfortable pants I’ve ever had, but they don’t exactly hold the chilly air at bay.

  Maybe something happened to Liam.

  Or maybe he’s already gotten tired of me.

  I don’t have the best self esteem in the world. After all, he was pretty adamant ten minutes ago that we were definitely going to see each other again. I felt so safe with him. And I felt so safe knowing that he was going to take care of the whole paparazzi situation. He’s caring for me, and protecting me.

  But now I’m really staring to wonder. The chillier I get, the closer I get to just trying to walk home. Although it’s a long walk. I’d be freezing and tired by the time I got back to my dorm room.

  I’m surprised I haven’t gotten a call yet from Emma asking where the hell I am. Maybe she went out.

  Maybe this is just some cruel trick that Liam likes to pull, some immature stunt. He leads ladies that he’s slept with off through some path, promises to pick them up, and then never shows up again. That would really be something. Look where my mind’s turning—not to good places.

  Speak of the devil. My phone rings and it’s Emma.

  I was hoping it would be Liam. If he’s not going to show up, he could at least let me know. If there’s been something that came up… the least he could do is tell me. But really, even with all the paparazzi, what could have happened? All he has to do is drive around the block. I can literally see his house from where I’m standing.

  “What’s up, Emma?”

  “Hey,” she says. “Just checking up on you. It’s not like you to stay out this late.”

  “I’m heading home now,” I say. “I’m just waiting for my ride.”

  “Your ride? Who’s giving you a ride home?”

  “Someone,” I say vaguely.

  “It’s like 1 o’clock in the morning. Have you been kidnapped, Ava?”

  “Of course I haven’t been kidnapped,” I say.

  “That’s exactly what you would say if your kidnapper was right there, right?”

  “I guess so,” I say, sighing.

  “OK, say the word banana if you’ve been kidnapped. They won’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Come on, Emma,” I say. “This is absurd. I haven’t been kidnapped. And what if they had me on speaker phone and could hear everything that you’re saying?”

  “Damnit,” says Emma. “I’ve got to work on that.”

  “You do that,” I say.

  I tell her that I’m waiting for Liam to pick me up but he hasn’t shown up yet. I tell her briefly about the paparazzi. What I leave out is the crazy hot sex we had. She doesn’t need to know about that, not yet. It’s too much to get into on the phone with her. She’s going to have a ton of questions.

  “Screw him,” says Emma. “I’ll come pick you up.”

  “You don’t have a car.”

  “Oh yeah. Well, call a taxi or something.”

  “I guess I’ll do that,” I say, sighing.

  “Wow,” says Emma. “Paparazzi, that’s totally crazy. Do you think they have to bring snacks with them on the job? Like, they’re out there for hours and hours. I think they might get hungry or something, you know?”

  “You sound weird, Emma,” I say.

  I hear her clearly opening a bag of chips on the other end of the line.

  “Are you high, Emma?” I ask. Suddenly, it makes sense. The weird thinking patterns, the obsession with the snacks of the paparazzi.

  “Maybe a little,” says Emma.

  I sigh. “OK,” I say. “I’ll be home soon. See you later. And put the bong away before the RA finds it. I don’t need to get kicked off campus because of your famously large bong.”

  Emma starts giggling.

  “Bye,” I say pointedly, more than a little annoyed, before hanging up the phone.

  Down the street, there’s the roar of an engine.

  Could it be?

  No, there’s no way.

  But I look again. And it’s clearly a motorcycle. Its single headlight cuts through the dark night like a hot knife through butter.

  As it gets closer, I recognize the powerful figure of Liam. He’s still wearing the same workout clothes. The wind blows his shorts back, exposing his massive, muscular thighs.

  “Need a lift, honey?” he says, grinning at me.

  “What took so long?” I say, checking my phone.

  “Sorry about that,” says Liam. “I can explain later. Hop on, and I’ll take you home.”

  I hitch my leg up over the bike and get on the small portion of the seat. I’ve never been on a motorcycle before, and my heart’s already beating quickly with anxiety.

  He takes off his helmet and hands it to me.

  He helps me squish it onto my head. It’s a tad big for me, but it’ll do. Liam grins at me as he pushes the visor up. I can see and breathe a lot better now, but it feels just a little claustrophobic.

  “Grab on to me tight,” says Liam, as the engine roars to life again. The bike starts moving.

  It seems like we’re moving incredibly quickly. But realistically, he’s probably going easy on me, accelerating slowly.

  I don’t need to be told twice to hold on. I clutch his sides for dear life as the wind starts to rush against me.

  A minute later, roaring down the dark Philadelphia streets, my anxiety starts to leave me. Now, I’m filled with the thrill of the ride.

  I’m talking to myself in my head, promising myself I’m going to actually buy a motorcycle. I know that sounds crazy but unless you’ve ridden on the back of one with Liam Horns driving the thing, there’s no way to even know what I’m talking about.

  The ride is over much too soon. The thrill starts to fade as soon as Liam cuts the engine and coasts to a stop in front of my dorm room.

  There are a few students here and there, smoking cigarettes outside the dorm, a solid fifteen feet away from the building. They give us curious looks. It’s not usual for students to be dropped off by muscular men on motorcycles. And especially not students like me, the type who are quiet and studious.

  “That was fun,” I say, as Liam helps me take off the helmet.

  We both get off the bike and we stand looking at each other.

  “Sorry about the wait,” says Liam.

  I’d forgotten all about it until just now. The ride pushed it right out of my he
ad.

  “Oh,” I say. “It’s OK, but I was beginning to wonder if you’d actually come for me.”

  Liam chuckles. “Of course I was,” he says. “My lawyer called me with some… very pertinent information about the paparazzi outside my house…”

  “It’s OK,” I say. “You don’t need to give me excuses. I don’t need to know all the details now. Truthfully, I’m completely exhausted.”

  Liam nods. “What about dinner on Friday?” he says.

  I grin at him. “I’d love to. Of course, I’ll see you on Thursday.”

  “Thursday?” says Liam, a look of confusion on his face.

  “I’m your intern, remember?” I say.

  Liam laughs. “I almost forgot.”

  “Looks like you did forget.”

  “There’s no way I could forget that a woman like you is my intern,” says Liam, looking pointedly at my body.

  “Goodnight,” I say, as he leans in to kiss me.

  The kiss is long and passionate. Liam doesn’t care who’s watching. He simply devours me with his mouth. And it feels good.

  I watch him ride slowly away, with the engine roaring.

  I head into the dorm room, walking past all the closed doors on my hall. The beige doors seem bleak and the gray carpet seems depressing. Especially when I compare it to the luxury of Liam’s house, with all his crazy expensive furniture. Everything here is just… so boring.

  I can smell the pot about ten doors down. I open the door to our room and start coughing immediately.

  Emma’s sitting cross legged on her bed, leaning over her enormous bong.

  She doesn’t smoke all the time. Maybe once a week or so.

  I’m not really into it myself.

  Usually it doesn’t bother me, but come on.

  “Emma!” I say. “I can smell it all the way down the hall.”

  “Sorry,” says Emma, starting to cough.

  As she exhales, she accidentally lets out a huge stream of thick grey smoke.

  She starts fanning the area.

  “You’re just pushing it around!” I say. “Open the window. Here.”

  I open the window, which takes about thirty pounds of extreme force to get open. But finally I do, and I switch on the fan that sits precariously in the window. Emma has it rigged up so that it blows the smoke right out of the room, rather than pulling air into the room.

  “You were out late,” says Emma. “What happened?”

  “I already told you, remember?”

  “Honestly, no,” says Emma, going into another coughing fit.

  “We talked on the phone for like five minutes.”

  “Oh, right. So what happened?”

  For some reason, I decide to tell her everything. I even tell her how crazy hot the sex was.

  “You slept with your boss?” she says, startled. Her eyebrows rise practically to her hairline.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  I don’t sound sheepish. I feel proud of this little affair. This isn’t like me. Am I getting more confident or something?

  “Wow,” says Emma. “That’s like… completely crazy.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “But it’s not like a one night stand thing. I think there was like, a real connection there or something…”

  “A real connection? Oh no,” says Emma.

  “What?”

  “Are you seriously talking about this like it’s going to be a real relationship?”

  “He drove me home and everything.”

  “Of course he did,” says Emma. “But didn’t you see the article in the paper?”

  “The article? I mean, I heard about it. There were paparazzi all around his house.”

  “But you didn’t read it?”

  “When the hell did you read it?” I say. “When you were as high as a kite?”

  “Yup,” says Emma, giggling a little, since she’s still really high, apparently.

  “Here,” she says, holding out her laptop for me to take.

  “I’ll just look at it on my phone,” I say, flopping down on my bed.

  I find the article. My jaw drops as I read it.

  “It says he slept with how many women?” I say.

  “You read it,” says Emma. “You know the number.”

  “But is that even real?” I say. “Is that even possible?”

  “Of course it’s possible,” says Emma.

  It’s a huge number of women that Liam has supposedly slept with. And the thing that hits me: he isn’t in a relationship with a single one of them.

  Obviously I’m not another notch in his belt, just another number for him.

  Chapter 10

  Liam

  I don’t understand why this thing has gotten so big. So I’ve slept with a lot of women. So what?

  I mean, that’s what every guy wants to do, right? I just happen to have the looks and the confidence and the right demeanor to make it happen.

  But I’m bored with all that.

  And I’ve found the solution.

  And her name is Ava.

  And she’s crazy hot.

  It’s Thursday, and I’m not doing much all day. I can’t concentrate on work, knowing that she’s going to be walking through my door any minute.

  How we’re going to get any work done, given what happened the other day, well that’s completely beyond me.

  There’s a knock on my door.

  It’s my secretary, who swishes into the room in her skirt, her heels clacking.

  “Mr. Horns,” she says, knocking on the wall for some strange reason.

  “You’re already in the room,” I say. “You don’t need to knock on the wall.”

  “Sorry, sir,” she mumbles.

  “What’s up?”

  “Mr. Jacobs would like to see you.”

  “Jacobs?” I say. “He’s here?”

  “Yes,” she says. “He’s in his office.”

  “Wow,” I say. “He hasn’t been there in… at least a year.”

  Jacobs founded the firm and he’s essentially retired. He’ll come around the office once a year or so and putter around. Sometimes he misses a year. He spends a lot of his time golfing and traveling the world, looking for the best wine.

  “Tell him I’ll see him soon,” I say.

  She nods and leaves the room.

  Jacobs, wow.

  I think I know what this is about. There’s no way it’s not about the recent press “scandal” involving my love life.

  Sometimes I worry that this business is simply too conservative for me. But it’s not like I’m doing any illegal or anything really crazy. So I slept with a few women over the years. Well, maybe more than a few. But who’s counting, anyway? Certainly not me. That’s never been my style. Some guys like to write down all the names of the women they’ve slept with. Me? That seems childish and silly. Really immature. That doesn’t mean I don’t remember a lot of them, though. But count them? That’s crazy.

  I stand up and smooth down my suit.

  I check my watch. Still another hour before Ava arrives at the office. Hopefully I can assure Jacobs that everything is going fine and he can head back home, maybe hitting the course for a late round of golf if he’s lucky.

  “Mr. Jacobs?” I ask.

  Now it’s my turn to knock awkwardly on the open door.

  But I’m not the type of guy to wait for someone. I just walk in and take a seat in front of his desk.

  “Mr. Jacobs?”

  He’s an older guy, in his seventies maybe. He’s snoring at his deck. His head is propped up on his arm, his elbow on his unused desk. There’s absolutely nothing on the desk except for his elbow.

  “Jacobs!” I say, rapping my knuckles on the desk.

  “What?” he says, waking up startled.

  “You wanted to see me,” I say.

  “Oh, Liam,” he says. “Yes, thanks for coming in.”

  “Sure,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “You know, I’m here at the office almost every day.”
/>   “Yes,” says Jacobs, smacking his lips strangely. “I try to stop by when I can. But these days I’ve been very, very busy. You know how it is.”

  Busy playing golf, I think to myself.

  Jacobs starts unfolding a newspaper that he has tucked away in one of his pockets. He lays it out on the desk and pulls a magnifying glass from his other pocket.

  “I presume you’ve seen the news,” he says, looking at me quizzically.

  I shrug my shoulders. “Yup,” I say. “And trust me, it’s under control. My lawyer is working closely on the issue with me. There’s no need for you to be concerned.”

  “But as you know, Liam, this is a company with a tremendous reputation at stake. We can’t have our young CEOs running around bucking every fawn in the valley.”

  Every fawn in the valley? Bucking? I don’t remember any other older guys talking like that. Maybe it’s just his own peculiar expression.

  “Now when I was younger,” says Jacobs, starting to chuckle. He keeps laughing, without speaking, until he falls into a coughing fit.

  “You OK?” I say.

  “Yes, of course. Now when I was younger.” He’s finally stopped laughing and coughing. “I was quite the young buck myself in my early wayward days. But this behavior needs to be stomped out. It’s time you settle down, Liam.”

  “I’m working on it,” I say. “Don’t worry, that whole lifestyle is long behind me. And it’s not because of the newspaper articles.”

  “There are articles all over the internet, too,” says Jacobs. “And pictures too!”

  He sounds excited about the thought of the pictures. So he’s looking up the chicks that I banged once or twice? Weird. He’s probably finding their bikini pictures online. Some of them are quite well known. Whatever, I guess it’s his free time and he can do with it what he likes. That’s his problem.

  But he uses the internet? He seems like a dinosaur. Frankly, I’m surprised. I mean here he is bringing me an actual newspaper rather than just pulling it up on his phone or tablet.

  “Yeah,” I say. “But I’ve grown tired of it. There’s no emotional connection, you know? But all I needed was to find that special someone.”

  “Ah,” says Jacobs, raising his eyebrows. “You’ve found someone new, is that it?”