Thoroughly Whipped

“I heard you loud and clear.”

“Oh. I was worried there was something wrong with you.” I tried again. “I’m Faith.” When I was met with silence, I added, “And you are?”

“Will. You. Stop. Talking.” As the words left his mouth, I tensed in complete shock. His jaw clenched and he flicked his lofty gaze at me before looking back at the front of the room. Second by second, my shock turned into red-hot blazing anger.

“Excuse me?” I hissed. “Stop talking?” But Blue Eyes didn’t even flinch. “You can’t speak to me like that.”

“I can and I did,” he said, and I realized he had an accent. British. English.

“How dare you!” I snapped, just as someone entered the room. “You won’t get far here if you treat people like this—” I was cut off as Colin Frank, the internship program director, entered the room and clapped his hands to get our attention.

Seething, I tried to listen to Colin talk about what the internship entailed. I bit my tongue in fear that I would give the English dick beside me a piece of my mind. I had earned this internship fair and square. I wanted to work for HCS Media in some way in the future. I wouldn’t let some stuck-up twat ruin my chances.

“You’ll report to me,” Colin said, “but we have Henry Sinclair of HCS Media here for the summer, and he will also be present sometimes. He is here to see how things are done at the New York Journal.” Before I’d even had time to wonder where Henry Sinclair was, Blue Eyes got to his feet. He fastened his jacket button as he stood; then he walked to the front of the room. With every step he took, I felt my excitement about this internship lessen.

Colin shook hands with Blue Eyes. “Let me introduce you to Henry Sinclair, heir to the HCS Media Group.”

Henry’s cold eyes settled on mine, as I shrank back into my seat, and his cheek twitched in annoyance.

Oh shit.

After introductions had been made, Colin invited us all up to meet one another. I watched Henry shake the hand of each of the interns. Then it was my turn. But just as I went to introduce myself, Henry gave me a blank stare and turned and walked out of the room.

I was a damn statue.

“What have you done to piss him off?” my new friend Jayne asked.

“I talked to him,” I said, forcing a nonchalant smile. As Henry’s broad back disappeared from sight, my resolve set in. I’d clear the air with him the next time I talked to him. I would smooth things over.

I didn’t smooth things over.

The next day I caught Henry behind the desk in Colin’s office. “Oh,” I said, putting down the envelope I’d been tasked with dropping off. Henry didn’t even acknowledge me. I should have walked out of the office, but I was a stubborn bitch. And, apparently, I didn’t know when to leave well enough alone. “Look, I know we started off on the wrong foot.” I edged toward the desk. He didn’t even look away from the screen. “We’re going to be here all summer, right?” I tried to smile, but it was so forced I felt like my face had just been injected with an ungodly amount of Botox and I had yet to learn how to move my facial muscles. “Can’t we just be friends?” I shrugged. “I promise I don’t bite.”

Henry sighed heavily and, looking directly at me, said, “I do not care to make friends, Miss Parisi. This isn’t a summer camp, this is a New York City publishing company. Now kindly do the job you have been hired to do.” I radiated anger, I knew I did. But Henry Sinclair was the heir to HCS Media. He was King Sinclair’s son. I was never winning this battle.

Closing the office door behind me, I vowed to not let a stuck-up little rich boy ruin this for me. I would kill the prick with kindness. And I did. All summer long, whenever he gave me a task, I responded with a spritely “Yes sir” and gave him a wide saccharine-sweet smile. Each time I addressed him this way, his eyes flared with annoyance. His silent censure helped me get through each day. I chose to live my life loudly and with joy. He was brooding and miserable. I knew who had the better deal.

Then came the party at the end of the internship program. A summer of hard work ended on that night. We interns were dog-tired and run ragged after a summer of fetching coffee, printing and copying documents, and basically being everyone’s bitches. But I knew I’d proven my worth, and the editor of Visage, the Journal’s magazine, seemed to have taken a shine to me, and she wanted me to intern for her next year. Life was good. My exhaustion couldn’t dampen my mood, and I entered the ballroom, nodding my head to the music, already three large glasses of wine deep. I had a good buzz zipping through my veins, and I was ready to let loose. Jayne and Blake waved me over to the rest of the interns, and the shots and liquor flowed.