Page 5 of Selfish Suit (Steamy Latte Reads Collection #1)

THE INTERN

IVY

T he 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.”

My cheeks flush red.

I forgot I did that.

“I thought you said you didn’t plan to use it again anyway,” I say. “You rated me two stars for my delivery.”

“One more than you deserved.”

“Is that why you sent for me?” I ask. “To get me to revise my rating?”

“Quite the contrary.” He lifts the box from my hands, his fingers gently brushing against mine. “Come. Have a seat.”

“I’d rather be fired while standing up.”

“Okay.” He smiles, and my stomach betrays me with a bout of butterflies. My heart joins enemy lines by thumping loudly and skipping beats.

For several moments, Mr. Sutton simply stares at me, and I’m certain he can hear the beating in my chest.

“What if you’re not getting fired?” he asks.

“I’d want it in writing before taking a seat.”

A slow smirk crosses his lips, and he slides a hand inside my box, pulling out a pen, then a Post-it.

In neat handwriting, he writes, I am not firing you...yet. He signs his name, and then he presses the sticky paper to my blouse.

“Is that good enough?”

Without waiting for my answer, he turns away and heads to the desk.

I warily follow, slowly plopping down into a plush grey seat across from him.

He leans back in his chair, staring at me, daring me to utter the true first word.

I know better than to try.

“I summoned you because something unfortunate has come to my attention regarding your employment.” He finally speaks. “You’re the longest-serving intern in the department, and it isn’t due to any pettiness on behalf of the supervisors.”

“You’re late twice a week, you speak out in official pitch meetings when you don’t have permission, and you pick and choose which rules of my employee protocol you wish to follow…”

I swallow, unsure of where he’s going with this. If he blatantly lied about not firing me.

“Yet, despite a record number of red flags in your file, and the fact that your supervisors have an entire private forum where they talk about you all day—” He pauses at that surprise reveal, as if he’s amused—“they know better than to let you go…”

What?

“Now, while I don’t appreciate them giving you so many chances or letting you stay on so long without moving you to the paid level after the trial period, I can see why both things were done.”

“And now that?—”

“Sorry for interrupting, Mr. Sutton.” A guy in a dark grey suit rushes into his office. “It’s a stage five emergency.”

Dominic waves him over, and the guy brings a notebook to his desk.

“The clients from Waldorf are here a week early,” he says. “Can you sign off on this latest campaign so we can present it?”

“ No .” His rejection is instant. “Hold them off by giving them a tour of headquarters for the next two hours.”

“But sir?—”

“They need us more than we need them,” he says. “Make my office the last stop so I can explain how the dates on contracts work.”

“Uh, I—” He stammers. “Yes, sir.”

“Lock my door on your way out and tell Tracey not to let anyone else inside without calling me first.”

The guy rushes out as quickly as he came in, and Mr. Sutton picks up where he left off without missing a beat.

“Now that I’ve gone through everything thoroughly, I’ve decided to offer you a reassignment, Miss Locke,” he says. “It’s a position where I think your talent will be best put to use.”

My fingers curl into my palms.

I’m itching to ask questions, but I hold back.

“You’re my executive marketing advisor now—well, technically,” he says. “I’ve emailed you the new job description, and you start tomorrow.”

I blink in disbelief.

That position is several levels above my current supervisors.

“Are there any questions?” He finally opens the floodgates.

“Yes.” I nod, but my brain short-circuits.

“I’m listening, Miss Locke…”

“The pay,” I say. “Can you tell me the salary?”

“It’s in the email I sent you,” he says. “Whenever you look over the contract, you’ll see that the percentage rise is very impressive.”

I shake my head; I’ve been led into fake promise-lands by my supervisors far too many times.

“With all due respect, Mr. Sutton,” I say, “multiplying my current salary by any percentage would still be zero…”

“That’s why you’re going to read the contract .”

“Or, you could just tell me now and save me the time.”

“I’m sorry?” He leans forward. “Which one of us is the boss?”

“If I quit your company today, neither of us…”

“I see.” He looks torn between smiling and railing on me. “When you go home and read the contract, you’ll see that you’ll be making a little over a quarter million dollars a year, and that amount doesn’t include bonuses or milestone increases.”

I blink.

I am utterly speechless.

“You can leave my office now, Miss Locke,” he says, smirking. “Unless there’s something else you’d like to say—other than ‘thank you,’ that is…”

“Thank you.” I barely manage as I stand to my feet. “I appreciate this promotion.”

“You’re very welcome.” He extends his hand, and I shake it.

Every nerve in my body goes wild, and his fingers linger against mine far longer than necessary.

Suddenly, I’m envisioning how his hands would feel elsewhere on my body, if they would have this same effect, and from the look in his eyes, I can sense that he’s thinking the same thing.

“Miss Locke?” he says, his hand still shaking mine.

“Yes?”

Silence.

After several more minutes, he finally lets go of my hand, leaving me bereft.

“Get the hell out of my office. Now.”