The Intern: The Billionaire's Successor

“I miss the piercing. I’ve spent eight years fantasizing about it—regretting that I didn’t spend more time focusing on it. Clearly I’m not getting any closure there.”

“I wish I had known,” she responds, her tone sounding pensive. “I would have gotten it redone.”

“For me?”

“For me.” Her eyes narrow and indignation seeps through her words. “Obviously.”

“Good,” I counter curtly. “Don’t do anything for me, Olivia. Promise me that.”

“What for?”

“Because if you fall for me, I’m going to feel like shit. The last thing I need is to end up like you—regretting my past because I hurt someone’s feelings.”

Olivia waits a long time before she speaks. When she finally does, she puts a hand on my cheek and says, “Don’t worry, Davis. I’m not going to fall for you. Believe it or not, it’s actually very hard for a woman to want a man who calls her a whore and pays her to hook up with him.”

Annoyed, I shake her hand away. “Then we should have no problems here, because I intend to keep doing that for the next six weeks.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

“Wonderful.”

“Perfect,” I nearly spit. I rotate onto my back and look up at the ceiling again. In my periphery, I see her continue to watch me—radiant and serious and somehow undaunted despite how much of a shit I’ve been tonight.

Six weeks to go. Six weeks to get under her skin. Six weeks left to screw with this girl’s head, and yet all I can do is think about how that’ll be the end of us. The real, definitive end.

Eight years ago, a sixth sense in me knew that Olivia and I would cross paths again. It was why I lost all of that weight and why I poured myself into my job. I wanted her to regret missing out on me—to regret hurting me.

Once this ends, that’s it. There’s nothing left for Olivia and me.

“By the way, I’m going out of town again. I won’t be here next week or next weekend, so we’re going to be on a hiatus,” I say, trying to ignore that I suddenly feel annoyed about this trip.

“Where are you going?”

“Boston office. Same as last time.”

The silence that follows is odd. I’m tempted to pretend that it’s the silence of disappointment, but in all likelihood, her brain is turning as she wonders how she’s going to earn her ten grand with me being out of town.

“How was it?” she finally asks, surprising me. “Your trip to Boston. You never told me if it went well.”

“Good,” I respond, allowing my tone to be too bright. I quickly lower my register as I go on to say, “Yeah, it was good. I drove in with my father and Gregory, and we worked out of the Boston office for the first two days. Then ended up taking meetings around the city on Wednesday and Thursday.”

“That’s fantastic. I’d love to do something like that one day. I mean, if I ever get a full-time offer.”

“You’ll get an offer,” I interject before I can stop myself.

She hesitates, which confuses me. Is it because she doesn’t believe that I think her work is high-quality or is it because I could easily send out a text message and have an offer letter for her before the end of the day?

“You think?”

Her uncertainty frustrates me, but I don’t say it. “I know,” I assure her, recalling that this was hard for her last time we spoke about business school and her career. “You’re doing great work, Olivia.”

Of course, she has to go ahead and thank me, and I’m angry because pillow talk was absolutely not part of the plan.

I’m about to roll over and turn off the light on my nightstand when she says, “Davis, I’m sorry about earlier.”

“What for?”

“When I wanted to switch tables earlier.”

Oh right. When she didn’t want to be seen in public with me. When she was aghast at the idea that anyone would see a woman as stunning as her with me.

“Davis, that wasn’t about you at all,” she clarifies, almost as if she can read my mind.

“Then what was it about?” I question abruptly, showing my hand.

“That was about me feeling like I have no business being in a place like that,” she finally admits. “I swear, we walked in and I saw Vera Wang.”

“You did. But she’s cool. Vera knows the family.” As soon as I say it, I realize how pompous it sounds. Luckily, Olivia doesn’t mention it.

We fall silent and I run my fingertip along the middle of my stomach. I think about apologizing for my stupid comment, but I realize that this conversation isn’t about me anymore.

“Look, Olivia, you belong wherever the hell you want,” I tell her, breaking the silence. “The sooner you stop questioning that, the better. You looked beautiful, by the way. I didn’t say that earlier, but it’s worth mentioning.”

Her sigh makes me think that she doesn’t believe me. “Thanks. I wish I had better clothes.”

“Better? You looked fantastic. It was the first thing one my mind when I saw you.”

“No, you looked fantastic. I looked like I was banking on the restaurant being dark.”

At once, I’m struck with this uncontrollable desire to call up any one of the designers that knows my family and—

“If you buy me a dress, I swear—” Olivia warns, knotting her brow as she watches me.

“What?” I object, holding up both hands.

“Money is one thing, but gifts are another. I need money. I don’t need a new dress.”

“But do you want a new dress?”

She pulls her lips to the side, holding back a comment dancing at the tip of her tongue. “No,” she settles on saying. “If you really feel the need to get me a gift, at least make it useful.”

“Noted,” I reply, my mind already buzzing about what to buy her. Then I realize that I’m nearly naked in bed with Olivia…thinking about what to buy her.

I’m not planning her demise, I’m planning a future with her.

Shit.