Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 29567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
“You know, I’ve been very nice about not docking pay for all your infractions.”
How can you possibly deduct anything from ZERO? I keep finagling the pen.
“I truly believe that there is a deep lack of not only personal responsibility, but positivity in your life,” she says. “If you thought more positive thoughts and started listening to more motivational things, I think you’ll be promoted to paid status in no time.”
I bite my tongue; it’s too early for me to show any emotion, and the moment I do get promoted to paid status, I’m using it as leverage to get a job far away from Sutton International.
“Are you there, Miss Locke?” she asks. “Miss Locke?”
“Yeah, I’m here… I was just scrolling through YouTube to find a motivational playlist for my drive to work.”
“Excellent to hear!” She squeals. “I’ll let this lateness slide this time, but it’s pre-pitch season, so try to get here as fast as possible.”
“Will do.”
An hour & a half later
I refuse to believe that the intern floor at Sutton International wasn’t lifted straight out of the eighties. Past the green carpeted floor that greets you when you get off the elevator is a large room filled with short cubicles and a ceiling with grey-stained panels. The windows that wrap around the room don’t offer a view; they’re coated in tan brown plastic, and the manager claims it’s “so we won’t get distracted.”
Personally, I think it’s because our Selfish Suit CEO doesn’t want to renovate our workspace to match the rest of headquarters.
Slipping into my cubicle, I plug in my laptop and flip through today’s pitch decks.
The second my laptop wakes up, my inbox pings.
I scroll past the usual calendar junk and corporate spam until one subject line makes my throat tighten:
Subject: Report to the executive floor to see me. Now.
The sender is Dominic Sutton.
Him.
I stare at it, reread it, then check the timestamp twice like maybe it’s a glitch.
There’s no way he remembered me…
I send the email straight to the trash without opening it; the ignore route works on bill collectors, so it should work on a billionaire CEO, too.
I return to my screen, click open a spreadsheet, and start typing numbers.
“Miss Locke?” Miss Fierro calls from across the room ten minutes later. “Miss Locke?”
Pretend she’s a bill collector. Pretend she’s a bill collector.
I pull a set of AirPods from my bag, but she manages to walk over before I can turn them on.
“Miss Locke.” She stands next to me. “Did you not hear me calling you?”
I say nothing.
“Mr. Sutton wants to see you in his office for a meeting on the executive floor. Now.”
The room falls silent for several seconds, then a sea of whispers follows.
“Is it okay if I finish my spreadsheet first?” I ask.
The look on her face answers my question.
There’s no use pretending this is a “meeting,” and there’s no use leaving anything behind.
Standing to my feet, I grab a cardboard box from the Nice Knowing You stack parked near the printers—a cheerful little tower reserved for interns who vanish midweek—and start clearing my desk.
I feel every set of eyes burning into my back as I cross the floor, one click of my heels at a time.
Please at least give me a severance check.
THE INTERN
IVY
The elevator opens with a soft chime, revealing a floor that feels like an entirely different universe. Marble stretches out in every direction, and the skyline view is so stunning it’s hard to believe this is still the same building as my fluorescent-lit workspace.
“May I help you, Miss?” A blonde receptionist glances up from the desk. “This floor is by appointment only.”
“I’m Ivy Locke,” I say. “I received an email from—”
“Mr. Sutton has been waiting for you,” she interrupts me, pointing to the massive glass double doors to the right. “You may see him now.”
“Can you um…” I lower my voice. “Like, maybe give me a heads-up about what he wants? Is this how he typically fires people this far down the chain?”
She stares at me.
“Come on,” I say. “Help a fellow employee out.”
She picks up her desk phone and holds it to her ear. “Miss Locke is here, Mr. Sutton. She may need assistance getting into your office.”
I suck in a gasp. Traitor…
Turning away from her, I head to the office doors, and they’re already opening.
“Hello, Miss Locke.” Mr. Sutton greets me with a slow smile that catches me off guard. Walking perfection, he’s wearing a black button-down shirt and slacks today, and the diamond watch I last saw is replaced with a golden one.
“It’s good to see you again,” he says, looking me up and down. Then he eyes my box. “My birthday isn’t for another month and a half.”
“You honestly think I would get you a present?”
“You did already.” He narrows his eyes at me. “I received a one-star rating with a ‘hostile customer’ review from you via UberEats. And now I can’t use the app for two weeks.”