The Virgin Intern

“I’ve never done anything like that before.”

Andrew laughs softly in my ear. “I know.”

I love that he’s not afraid of my innocence. I love that he spent the day planning how to give me pleasure. I also really love the way we fit together, skin to skin and legs a little tangled. My mind starts to think things that are dangerous about how much I’m enjoying this, and I force those thoughts back.

“What’s your favorite color?” Andrew says, and it startles a laugh out of me. “What? I figure now is as good a time as any to ask some questions. If I did my job well enough, I should be able to ask you anything.”

“Green,” I say. “And I think you’re right. You could ask me anything. What’s yours?”

“Silver,” he says.

“That’s not really a color.” I turn myself a little bit toward him. “Colors aren’t shiny. So basically your favorite color is gray.”

He chuckles. “I’m actually fine with that. Gray is a nice color.”

“Favorite food?” I ask.

“Tiramisu, without a doubt.”

I find his hands and trace his with mine. “Good choice. As weird as it sounds, mine is pepperoni. I can’t get enough of it.”

“So it’s safe to say you’re not a vegetarian.”

I shake my head and grin. “Not even close.”

We’re quiet for a moment, then: “Tell me a funny story about yourself.”

My life hasn’t really been funny for quite some time, so it takes me a minute to think. “I used to have a roommate when I lived in L.A., and we would prank each other by trying to take embarrassing photos of the other and then printing them out and leaving them all over the apartment for each other to find. She was always really good at it—that, and I always take really awkward pictures. It seemed like every day I would come home and find a different awkward picture in a different place. It was a little weird when we had people over, but it was fun. I would try to go and delete the pictures from her phone or computer, but she always kept back-ups—”

“I would really like to see those pictures sometime,” he says. But I can’t respond, because my brain has snagged. Something I read in the files downstairs, about the security company. Trident Security. “Naomi?”

“Hold on,” I say, struggling out of his embrace and off the bed. I find my pajamas in the sheets and pull them on. “I have to go downstairs.”

“What’s wrong?” He’s suddenly concerned. “Are you all right?”

“I just thought of something for the case.”

I hear him stand up too, and say, “It’s almost two a.m., can’t it wait till morning?”

“I don’t think so.” I’m already out of my room and halfway to the stairs.

I flip the light on in the dining room and attack the boxes, looking for the box from the other day, the one with Robert Greene. It takes me a minute to find it, and Andrew is standing in the doorway watching me, totally bewildered. My eyes snag on his body and I have to force myself back on task because he’s so distracting.

“What are you looking for?”

“It could be nothing, give me a second.”

Here’s the box. I paw through the papers to find the comprehensive and boring rundown of the company. I scan it, feeling drowsy already from the minutiae, but it’s there. It’s there. “When the police checked the security records for the entry and exit logs, they checked the servers in the mansion and the central Trident servers, right?”

“Right. There was nothing on them to indicate he left the house.”

I beam at him. “Well, thankfully, Trident Security is a totally normal security company. A.K.A. totally creepy. This changes everything.” I fling myself at Andrew, forcing him to catch me and I kiss him full on the mouth. “And now I’m not sure I’ve had enough of you tonight.”

He spins me against the wall, and then we’re kissing like our lives are at stake. I’m breathing him in, ready to let him take me, do whatever he wants to me. Nothing could be more perfect. And then:

“What the fuck is going on in here?”

I freeze, closing my eyes. No. This isn’t happening. It’s really not happening. Andrew steps slowly away from me, and I see my uncle standing in the doorway. His hair is frazzled, his pajamas rumpled, and his expression thunderous.

“I asked you a question.” He’s not looking at Andrew, he’s looking at me. But I don’t say anything. How can I? He knows what was going on. Saying it is just an insult to both of us.

Andrew clears his throat. “She had a thought about the case, Roger. She came down here to see if she was right.”

“And I suppose she found what she was looking for inside your mouth, Finch?” From the corner of my eye I see Andrew flinch like he’s been hit, but my uncle’s not finished with me yet. “I warned you more than once that he would try to use you against me. I told you to stay away from him. We both know you’re not good enough for this job, but I thought I could trust you to follow simple instructions. I guess that’s not true.”

“Roger,” Andrew interrupts, his voice firm, “This has nothing to do with the case. I know you think I’m trying to take the firm from you—I’m not. I like Naomi, and our spending time together has nothing to do with you. She’s done amazing work on this case, you can’t just—”

“It has everything to do with me!” My uncle turns away from Andrew and toward me and I feel like he’s as tall as a skyscraper. “Did you tell him how much money I had to spend to bail you out? Did you tell him our deal, and how you somehow suckered me into hiring you, somehow convinced me that this would be anything but a waste of my time? Well, I guess I was right. You’re just like your father, a manipulative failure. If you have anything to say for yourself, do it now.”

There should be words coming out of my mouth, I know, but I feel numb. I can’t breathe, I can’t speak.

“Fine,” he says. “We will discuss your future at the firm and in my house at a later time when there’s less company present.”

He stalks out of the room, and I feel like the atmosphere collapses. He’s right, I am all of those things. I couldn’t get anywhere on my own in L.A. and had to come back, I did everything he told me not to with Andrew, I’ve been barely helpful on the case. He’s right. I am a failure.

“Naomi. Naomi.” Andrew has me by the shoulders, gently shaking me. How did I end up on the floor? “Are you with me?”

“I don’t know.” I think I’m the one who says that. I feel dazed and distant, like the world is suddenly filled up with fog.

“That’s better than ‘no,’” Andrew says. I feel him helping me up, but my legs don’t seem to be working right. Did my uncle’s words break my bones? Maybe…

He’s going to fire me. I’ll be homeless. I’ll never get to go back to L.A., never be able to try to make a second chance at music. It’s all over. Done. Finished.

I’m in bed—how did I get here? Did Andrew carry me? Andrew is with me, tucking me against his chest. He’s saying things like it will be okay, but he doesn’t know. It’s not okay. None of that was okay. This was my chance, my only chance, and now

it’s gone. I feel like I should cry, but I can’t. If I cry it will all be real.

I don’t cry…but eventually I sleep.

Chapter 13

I open my eyes a few hours later when the sun is barely rising. It’s one of those rare moments when I’m fully awake almost as if I never went to sleep. The barest hint of light is touching the walls, and everything is still a mess. The same thoughts enter my head, paralyzing and insidious. I sigh. I’m not sure what to do now. Andrew is asleep beside me, his arm slung across my waist. A feeling of warmth spreads through my chest at waking up next to him, but the next moment it’s gone. Because isn’t being with him what cost me everything? If my uncle hadn’t seen us together, everything would be fine. I’d still have my job, and a place to live.

A smaller voice tells me that it’s not true, that my uncle would never have been happy regardless of what happened with Andrew. I wish it was true, but I can’t bring myself to believe it.

I look at Andrew in the half-light. He’s beautiful. I like his openness and his willingness to try new things with me. I like the fact that he knows what he wants. I like that his favorite color is silver. I like that he is kinder than he appears. I smile, just for a moment able to forget what happened. I shift closer to him, and Andrew opens his eyes.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hey.” His voice is deeper than normal, edged with sleep. “How are you?”

“I’ve been better.”

His hand slides up my side, curling around the back of my neck to pull me closer. “Not one of those things he said was true.” I feel a wan smile appear on my face; Andrew can talk all he likes, but it won’t change the fact that my uncle’s words are true. Andrew looks at me deeply, as if searching for something. “You believe him,” he says.