Page 7 of Selfish Suit (Steamy Latte Reads Collection #1)

THE INTERN

IVY

On the negative side, I’m already three cups of coffee in, and my body is begging me to go back to sleep.

As I pull into the parking garage, I take advantage of my first perk of the new position: a designated parking spot.

Coasting into the “Executive Marketing Advisor” spot, I let out a breath.

No more getting drenched on the way to work. No more racing back and forth to feed greedy parking meters, and no more?—

Tap! Tap! Tap!

A blonde is tapping on my window, motioning for me to roll it down.

It doesn’t work, so I gesture for her to step back so I can open the door.

“Am I in the wrong parking spot?” I ask.

“Not at all, Miss Locke,” she says. “But you are wearing the wrong thing, so for future notice, stick to neutral or jewel-tone colors. I’m sure Mr. Sutton will let it pass since it’s your first day in the department.”

“Um, okay. Who are?—”

“Follow me, so I can walk you through your new job.” She cuts me off. “Less talking, more walking, and try not to ask too many questions.”

I sling my purse over my shoulder and follow her into the building.

“I’m Tracey, but everyone calls me Mr. Sutton’s right hand because everything goes through me. But you’re now his left hand, so we’ll work together.”

“I thought I was a marketing executive…”

“You are, but you have this additional work to do as well.” She thrusts a phone into my hand. “This is your work phone. It rings, you answer. Do not pass go. Do not wait.”

“It’s preloaded with all of Mr. Sutton’s contacts and preferences, and you have a week to learn them all.”

She leads me onto the elevator, still talking a mile a minute.

“I’m responsible for getting his morning coffee and lunch, but since we’ve reassigned our lead intern, you’re responsible for presenting it to him with the day’s updates.

” She hands me a notebook. “This is his notebook. You will carry it around whenever you’re with him, and if he says things like, ‘Remind me to…’ or ‘I need to…’ you’ll write it down, and you’ll also record a note via the phone. ”

Where the hell was this in the job description? I bite my tongue.

“Look alive, Miss Locke!” She snaps her fingers when we reach the designated floor. “We’ve got a lot to go over today, and you look like a deer in headlights.”

“I kind of am.”

“Well, let’s get you some coffee on our way to prepare Mr. Sutton’s, and hopefully you’ll snap out of it.”

I stand still on the elevator, tempted to ride it back down and ask for my former job back, but she grabs my elbow and tugs me off.

“Let’s go…”

Only two hours have passed since my tour, and I swear it feels like an eternity. It also feels like this man gave me a promotion out of pettiness and spite, so… after I cash my first few checks, I’m moving on to someplace else.

While Tracey juggles three different cell phones, someone hands me a lanyard with my new badge attached.

It’s a lot heavier and thicker than my old one, and it bears a second job title under the one on my contract:

Left Hand to Mr. Sutton.

Ugh.

“Let me show you to your new office, Miss Locke.” Tracey finally takes a breath, walking me past a hallway of glass doors and beautiful rooms.

She stops at a desk.

A glass desk right outside the double doors of Mr. Sutton’s office.

Before I can ask her a question, the elevator pings behind me, and Mr. Sutton’s energy hits the room first—sharp, clean, cold like a new suit fresh from tailoring. He says nothing to us as he enters his office.

The doors shut behind him.

“He’ll call for us after he enjoys his breakfast,” Tracey says. “In the meantime…”

I’ve had enough. I rush toward Mr. Sutton’s doors and open them, slipping inside.

Mr. Sutton looks up from his coffee as I approach his desk.

“I don’t believe I’ve called for you yet, Miss Locke,” he says. “I’ll let you know when I want to see you.”

“This is an emergency,” I say. “A stage five one,” I repeat what I previously heard the other guy say.

“In that case.” He leans forward. “I’m listening.”

“I don’t believe my job description in the contract is matching what Tracey is asking me to do.”

“You said this was an ‘emergency’…”

“I didn’t agree to become your personal assistant,” I say. “That’s—not something I’m interested in at all.”

“So, you’d like me to demote you back to the intern level?”

“If I could keep the pay, yes…”

He lets out a low laugh that sends shivers up and down my spine. Then he slowly rises from his chair and walks toward me, moving closer and closer until his custom Italian leather shoes brush against my Target-branded pumps.

“Since you clearly have always struggled with following directions here,” he says, “allow me to make a few things clear. You’re now being paid to do what I need you to do, and you don’t get a say in that…”

I grit my teeth, trying not to inhale his intoxicating cologne.

“In addition to being a marketing advisor, you’ll learn how to assist me in numerous ways because Tracey is getting promoted at the end of the year, and I might need you to stand in for her.”

“But—”

He presses his fingers against my lips, daring me to say another word, turning me on against my will.

“I’ll summon for you when I need to see you, and I’ll summon for you when I’m ready for my lunch, which better be on time,” he says, slowly moving his finger away. “And as sexy as your brand of sarcasm is, I would like to hold off on hearing it for the rest of the morning.”

“That’s the end of this discussion.” He steps back and nods to the door. “You’re dismissed now.”

He returns to his desk and his breakfast, pulling out files and reading them as if I’m not there.

Swallowing everything I want to say, I turn on my heels and walk through the doors, right into a red-faced Tracey.

“Next time you do that, I’m writing you up.” She points to the seat at my new desk. “Now, get comfortable and write down what you need to do between now and lunch.”