“Nothing special,” she says. “Just like last summer––yelling at kids to stop running, burning my retinas because of old guys in Speedos. The usual.”
I’m eating my cupcake with a fork because I’m weird like that, but my fork stops halfway to my mouth. “Guys don’t really wear those anymore, do they?”
She laughs. “Those who do definitely shouldn’t.” She licks more icing and nods at me. “Go on. Tell me about your day at the evil empire.”
I know where I have to start. “So…Jason Riggs is one of the interns.”
Her mouth opens, then closes. I know she wants to say something R-rated, but a cute toddler has wandered close to our table.
“Sorry,” his mom says, dragging him away and lecturing him about personal space.
Once they’re out of earshot, Lexi asks, “So did you attack him in the supply closet?”
“Yeah, right. Like that would happen.” I imagine the Manicotti’s reaction to PDA and shudder. “Anyway, he didn’t even remember me. He called me Laura, then he asked about Kendra, because of course he remembers her.” I stab a huge bite of cupcake with my fork and shove it in my mouth.
“Anyway.” I shrug, dismissing thoughts of Jason, which is easier than it used to be, especially when I remember Carlos’s grin when he found my unicorn face. I poke at my cupcake. No crushes on the job. I can’t risk it, especially if it means the guy would be disqualified from the competition.
I stare across the parking lot at the Apple store. Maybe I could get a job there.
“So far, my job is basically like working on a reality show, Survivor, intern edition. Remember the crazy guy who freaked out when I wore flip-flops to the office last summer? He’s in charge.”
Lexi’s dark eyebrows shoot up. “You’re voting people off the island? Firing them? I thought this was a good cause, for a scholarship.”
“It is, but I think Mantoni just likes to stir up drama. The interns all do a summer project, and someone wins the full scholarship at the end.”
Lexi studies me, eyes narrowed. “Tell me about the interns. Besides Jason.”
I lift my hand, raising fingers as I speak. “One, supermodel artist girl. Two, smart and hot suit guy who wants to be an accountant. Three, Jason. Four, Trish, she’s the crazy guy’s daughter. She’s already in college at Boulder.” I fake shudder. “She’s sort of scary.”
Lexi nods. “I thought there were five.”
“Right.” I focus on the little kids chasing each other. If I make eye contact with Lexi, she’ll read my expression too easily. “Last one is a guy named Carlos. Super smart. Knew a bunch of intel about my dad and his company.” I continue to stare at the giggling kids until Lexi reaches across the table, turns my face toward hers, and grins.
“Carlos is cute, obviously. Or he did something to get your attention.”
“He’s okay.” I shrug and stare at the orange and red striations of the sunset.
Lexi laughs and steals the rest of my cupcake. “Uh huh. Well, your gig sounds a lot better than mine. You might even score a few dates by the end of the summer.”
My gaze locks on hers. “No way.”
“Why not?”
Unbidden, Carlos’s intense dark gaze pops to my mind. “No,” I say firmly, more to myself than Lexi. “This is a job, not a dating game. I need to prove to my dad it was a good idea to hire me.”
Lexi doesn’t look convinced. “Why can’t you do a good job and have fun?”
“Even if I wanted to, I can’t. Dad said any guy I dated would be disqualified.”
“Wow. That stinks.”
Lexi’s phone buzzes and her eyebrows knot as she reads. She looks up, her gaze unfocused as she stares across the parking lot.
“Lex? You okay?”
“Sorry I’m distracted. Stuff at home.” She drags her finger through a bright pink glob of cupcake icing. “Lots of yelling between my brother and my parents.”
That surprises me. Lexi’s brother Scott is Mr. Responsible. He graduated as valedictorian last year with a full scholarship to Gonzaga. I assumed her parents would be thrilled to have him home for the summer.
“What’s going on?”
She shrugs and brushes a strand of hair from her face. “Let’s go to the movie.”
My skin prickles as I assess the worry in her eyes.
“Lex, you can tell me, whatever it is.”
“I know.” She bites her lip. “But I just want to escape, okay?”
“Sure.” I stand up, wincing at the scrape of metal chair on the sidewalk. I offer her my pinkie. “No more boy talk or work talk. Pinkie promise. Just girl time for the rest of the night.”
She smiles and locks her pinkie with mine.
“Deal.”
Six
“Why do you always go into the office so early?” Leaving the house at seven a.m. on a summer day is criminal.
“Why do you think?” Dad’s thumbs bounce on the steering wheel in time to a horrible eighties hair band.
“I’m not in a riddle mood, Yoda.” I nibble on the granola bar I swiped on the way out of the house.
Dad chuckles and takes a sip from his coffee mug. He’s always been a morning person—just one more sign he’s from the dark side.
“Let me guess. Because you’re running the Empire and your work never stops?”
“Exactly.” He gives me an air cheers with his cup.
I grumble to myself, but softly so he can’t make out the words. Unlike yesterday, we don’t talk much on the way in. Dad listens to news on the radio and I put in my earbuds and resume my sci-fi audiobook.
Qa’hr has a plan to attack her alien captor with a metallic wall panel she’s managed to loosen, but she can’t decide when to do it. Part of me hopes a hot Captain Mal dude is going to show up and help save the day, but that’s not how this story goes; she has to save herself. I’m sure that’s important symbolism I should pay attention to in my own life, but I’d like at least one hot kissing scene before this book is over.
At the office, I make myself a cappuccino with the fancy one-cup machine and grab a donut from a box on the counter, silently thanking whoever brought them in.
Now it’s time to put my win-over-Miss-Emmaline plan into action. Last night I pondered why her animosity bugs me so much. It’s because she thinks I’m a slacker. She only busted me once last summer, but it colored her whole perception of me.
It’s bad enough worrying the interns think I’m useless; I don’t want Dad’s staff thinking that, too. Plus, she looks like a sweet little old lady from a cookie commercial. Shouldn’t she like everyone?
I approach her cautiously. She glances up but doesn’t return my smile.
“Good morning, Miss Emmaline.” I force extra enthusiasm into my voice.
“Laurel.” Her gaze sweeps over me and I wonder what she thinks.
Today I’m wearing this funky crocheted top Mom made and a swishy skirt. My sandals are strappy gladiators. I don’t think they’re against the dress code, but I guess I’ll find out. I decided not to fake it and dress like a mini-executive like Ashley. I’m going to be myself and not worry about impressing anyone. Including the guys.
“I see you found the donuts.” Miss Emmaline frowns.
A bolt of panic jolts through me. “I hope it’s okay that I took one.”
She nods. “They’re for everyone.”
“Did you bring them?”
“No, Ms. Romero did. Your dad makes sure we have them.”
Huh. Dad unleashes his sweet tooth at work, apparently. Donuts, brownies. I tuck that bit of info away for later use, then take a breath and launch phase one of my plan.
“Miss Emmaline, what do you call a pig that knows karate?”
Her frown deepens as I wait for her to play along. She doesn’t.
“A pork chop!” I laugh like this is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. A few employees crossing the lobby stare at me, but I keep the hilarity plastered on my face.
Miss Emmalin
e shakes her head and types on her keyboard, dismissing me. Sighing in resignation, I turn away. I take the elevator to the top floor, hoping my embarrassment at my failed joke will burn off by the time I reach my desk.
No surprise that I’m the first one in the intern wing; it’s not even eight o’clock yet. A woman in the finance area glances up and nods. I sit at my empty desk and eat my donut, allowing myself a few moments of self-pity, then I think about Qa’hr, who managed to loosen a spaceship wall panel with just her fingernails. Convincing the interns that I’m here to help should be a lot easier than that.
My computer whirs to life. I have one email, from Miss Emmaline. She’s sent it to the office distribution list, reminding everyone that next Friday is pizza day. Also, it’s a foosball tournament and people are supposed to bring desserts.
It will be painfully awkward if I’m the odd one out at the pizza party. But that’s assuming the worst––maybe by then I’ll have connected with some of the interns. I try rousing myself with a pep talk.
“Today’s a new day. Start fresh. Be the change.” I take a big bite of donut.
“Sounds noble.”
The voice startles me, and I jump, smearing chocolate icing on my face. I scrub my face with a napkin, but not fast enough. Carlos appears in front of me, that cocky grin of his firmly in place.
“Sorry I startled you.” He points to his nose. “You missed a spot.”
Fantastic. I wipe my nose with the napkin and will him to disappear into thin air, but of course he doesn’t. He’s not wearing a tie today, but he still looks…good. Really good. I remind myself of the reasons I can’t have a summer fling with an intern and add an extra reason just for him—he’s too…something. It’s a swagger, an aura he gives off like he’s got everything under control.
“Are there more donuts?” Carlos watches me warily, and I’m grateful mind reading isn’t a thing.
“Yeah. In the kitchen.”
He nods and heads for his desk. I watch as he unpacks his backpack. I shouldn’t stare but I can’t look away. He’s wearing khaki pants and a pale yellow Oxford shirt, a leather belt, and Sperrys that are worn but not trashed. He looks like he went to a prep school, yet he’s planning to attend the urban commuter college unless he wins the scholarship. An intriguing mystery.
No, I tell myself, I’m not intrigued.
“Want anything from the kitchen?” Carlos glances up and busts me staring at him.
Crud. I feel my cheeks heat as I wait for the smirk, but it stays hidden.
“Why’d you choose that desk?” I blurt.
“Why do you ask?” He crosses his arms over his chest and holds my gaze. I’m transfixed by his mouth, still hoping for the smirk. I think I spot a lip twitch, but it might be wishful imagining.
“Just making conversation.” I shrug, then blunder ahead. “It’s just…the other interns all chose prime window seats. Except you.”
This time his lips definitely twitch. “You didn’t.”
“I’m not an intern. I’m an assistant.”
His eyes widen briefly, then dart toward the windows. “Top secret,” he finally says. “You have your reasons and I have mine.”
Way to shut me down, dude. I turn back to my computer, wishing I had a hundred emails to distract me. I hear his footsteps come closer, but I ignore him, clicking the new message button. I’m typing gibberish, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Last call for another donut.” He stops in front of my desk, so close I can smell him. And he does not smell bad. The opposite, in fact.
“No thanks.” My fingers fly over the keys like the survival of my dad’s company depends on how fast I can type a nonsense string of letters. He looks ready to speak again, but he changes his mind and walks away quickly.
Even though my plan is to make friends with the interns and make myself useful, that plan sort of falls apart around Carlos.
My inbox pings with a new email from Mr. Mantoni and I spring to attention.
“Interns! Meet in the conference room at 9:00. Don’t be late.”
I take a deep breath and wish I’d asked Carlos to bring me a second donut.
…
By eight-thirty, everyone else has arrived. Today Ashley’s wearing a red dress, which only highlights her fabulous blondness. Jason can’t stop staring at her. He still looks slightly disheveled, though he’s managed to comb his hair. Elijah ratcheted his junior exec look down a notch, ditching the tie like Carlos. When they do the dude-chin-nod, I realize Jason didn’t acknowledge Carlos when he arrived. Interesting.
Trish is the last to arrive, wearing a long black skirt, a black blouse, black boots, a spider necklace, and dangling anarchy symbol earrings. I want to give her a thumbs-up, but I don’t since she’d probably slice off my thumb with a hidden switchblade. Still, I have a healthy respect for a girl who’s mastered the art of vicious compliance with dress codes.
The window-view interns focus on their computers, keyboards clacking. I wonder if they’re writing gibberish like me or surfing the internet. I glance at Carlos in the middle of the room. He’s propped his head on his hand, elbow on his desk as he reads a book. He’s polished off two donuts. Not that I’m spying.
My gaze shifts to Elijah, whose fingers flick over his phone screen. He glances up and smiles at me. Flustered, I turn back to my computer and resume typing nonsense.
There’s movement and rustling as everyone stands up. It’s almost nine o’clock. We all make our way down the stairs to the conference room, but we’re quiet. This bothers me because I don’t think Dad would want his interns to act like they’re headed to an execution. I wish he’d listened to me when I brought up my worries about the Manicotti.
We file into the conference room, taking seats around the table. Mr. Mantoni is already there. On the whiteboard is a new rule, in all caps.
8. NO FRATERNIZING!!!
Three exclamation points. This must be big. Elijah leans over and whispers to Carlos, who glances at the board with a sly grin. They fist-bump and I’m dying to know what they just said.
“Any questions, interns?” booms Mr. Mantoni, making Ashley flinch.
Jason’s hand shoots up. “By fraternizing do you mean, uh, well…what exactly do you mean?”
Ashley blushes prettily, Trish rolls her eyes, and Carlos and Elijah exchange wicked grins. I stare at Hello Kitty and start drawing whirlpools in my notebook.
“I mean no boy-girl stuff.” Mr. Mantoni points at all of us, wagging a warning finger.
“What about girl-girl stuff?” Trish asks and Elijah chuckles. My pen digs into the paper as I color in my whirlpool. I glance up in time to see the Manicotti’s neck vein bulge.
“You all know exactly what I mean. None of it on the premises.”
Ashley tosses her hair over her shoulder. “But off-premises is okay? After work’s over?”
I can’t look at any of the guys because I know their eyes are bugging out. Other body parts might be, too, and I definitely don’t want to know about that.
Mr. Mantoni folds his bulging arms, reminding me of a sumo wrestler. “Look, it’s clear what I mean. No funny stuff on the job.” He glances at me and I wonder if this new rule is because of Dad seeing Jason and me talking after work yesterday. Ugh.
“Our full-time employees have the same rule,” Mr. Mantoni continues. “We don’t allow romantic relationships between people in unequal power positions. For instance, a supervisor and his or her underling.”
“Gross,” Trish says. “No one here is interested in that, since you’re the supervisor.” Ashley’s eyes widen in horror and Carlos does his cough-laugh.
I’m stuck on the word “underling.” Who says that in real life?
“Part of working together is forming bonds,” the Manicotti continues, ignoring Trish. “Teaming up on projects. But everything needs to stay professional, am I clear?”
“Crystal,” I mutter under my breath.
I don’t have to worry about this stupid
rule, but Ashley does; I’m sure all the guys want to fraternize with her. I draw a girl with a giant F on her chest, yelling, “Help! I was caught fraternizing!” I smile to myself as I doodle. When I glance up, Carlos is watching me with an inscrutable look. He points to my notebook and gestures like he wants to see it.
No freaking way. I shake my head. We’re across the table from each other so my doodles are safe from his prying eyes, but still…I shoot him a slit-eyed warning glare. Laughter dances in his eyes, eliciting butterfly swirls in my stomach. Evidently the butterflies are now on Team Carlos.
“We’re starting with a brief presentation by our marketing director today.” Mr. Mantoni scribbles Marketing on the whiteboard. “She’ll go over a few of our popular campaigns and talk about how we came up with them. Then we’re going to turn you loose on a test project.”
Everyone sits up straighter, except for Trish, who lounges in her chair, snapping gum. Carlos catches my eye again, a quizzical look in his eyes. I turn away.
A light knock sounds on the door, then it opens, and a tall, slim woman enters. She reminds me of Halle Berry, and I recognize her from past holiday parties at our house.
“Hello everyone, I’m Katherine Simmons. Please call me Ms. Simmons.” She smiles around the table and nods with recognition when her gaze lands on me. Trish sighs in annoyance.
Ms. Simmons sets her laptop on the table and picks up a remote. Cheesy music wafts from the ceiling speakers. Mr. Mantoni leaves, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“This is a presentation we use for prospective clients,” Ms. Simmons says. “It’s an overview of some of our most successful ad campaigns and gives a glimpse into our employee culture.” She dims the overhead lights and we all focus on the screen.
“Where’s the popcorn?” Elijah whispers. Ms. Simmons cocks a disapproving eyebrow in his direction, but a contradictory smile curves her lips.
Spies, Lies, and Allies Page 6
