“Won’t you join us, Ms. Rouzier? We’ll be wrapping up our meeting in a moment, and then you and I can speak in more detail about your internship.”
Oh, I couldn’t
wait
to speak about my internship. I sat at the end of his high-end conference table and stared at the polished tabletop. I’d bought a briefcase for this ridiculousness. I’d dressed up for this. This was my senior internship, my life, my career, not some fucking game.
“Don’t worry,” he said to the men and women at the table. “She’s not here to replace anyone. I just thought I’d give back to my old alma mater by taking on an intern.”
“Norton has a great design program,” said one of the women, an older Latina with salt and pepper hair.
“Are you thinking about moving into architecture after graduation?” asked the guy beside her.
“No.” I allowed some vitriol in my voice. “In fact, I’m afraid there may have been an error in my placement.”
The staff members seemed troubled by this possibility. Price smiled and leaned back in his chair.
“Design and architecture are two sides of the same coin,” he said. “We’ll find ways to engage you. This will be a highly productive internship for you, Ms. Rouzier, if I get my way.”
*** *** ***
“This isn’t going to stand,” I said as soon as we were alone in his office. “I’m going to get my internship changed.”
“Are you?”
He moved to a side table and poured a glass of ice water from a frosted carafe. I stood in the middle of his elegantly furnished workspace with my briefcase clasped in front of me. I refused to be impressed with his world-famous architectural firm, and his breathtaking office with its massive iron-and-glass desk and drafting table.
“Sit,” he said over his shoulder.
“No,” I retorted. “I would rather stand. I’m not going to stay.”
When he brought me the water, I ignored him, staring out his picture window at Manhattan’s Lego-like cityscape. After a moment, he set the glass on his desk and leaned on the edge next to it. I turned and moved toward the door.
“Don’t leave,” he said.
“I’m not staying.”
“You’re not leaving either, not until we talk. You can stand if you like, but put down your briefcase.”
My fingers tightened on the handle. He was so good at giving orders. I hated him for it.
Still, I put down my briefcase.
“Is this your idea of a joke?” I said. “Because I don’t find it funny.”
“No joke. You’re required to complete an internship if you want to graduate.” He shrugged. “We can keep it professional, if you’d like.”
“I would like to keep it professional,” I said, shaking with anger at the situation. “Not that it’s very professional to force someone who hates you to continue interacting with you.”
He gazed at me, piercing blue eyes beneath blond lashes. “You
hate
me, Chere?”
Just like that, I knew he had my number. He saw through my false bravado to the needy confusion underneath.
“I don’t want this,” I insisted, but some part of me couldn’t stop looking at his hands, his broad shoulders, the way he filled out his suit.
“I think we’d enjoy working together,” he said. “And doing other things together.”
I backed away when he reached to touch my arm. “I’m not doing anything with you. You’re an asshole. I can’t believe you arranged this.” I scowled at him. “You’re playing with my life.”
“I’ve been playing with your life for a while now. Have I done you any harm?”
“Yes!” But when I tried to think of some instance of real harm, real danger or malice, I came up short. “You harm me by...by freaking me out. By trying to control me. You arranged this so I’d be forced to hang out with you.”
“Not just hang out with me. Fuck me, Chere.” He cast a glance around the office. “Imagine it: over the desk, over my drafting table, in the conference room, in hotel rooms when we travel.”
“Fuck you. I don’t want you. I don’t want this.”
He strode toward me, and caught me when I tried to evade him. “Don’t be a fucking liar. And don’t use bad fucking language in my office, you unprofessional piece of shit.” He jerked my face toward his and kissed me. I resisted for all of five seconds. His lips coaxed mine open, his passion mixing with my anger. My hands opened against his suit, texture and fabric and the muscles underneath. The scent of his cologne went right from my nose to my pussy. Everything clenched.
He ended the kiss and leaned back to gaze at me. “Now that we have that out of the way,” he said.
“Nothing’s out of the way.” I wiped my lips like I could wipe away my unwanted attraction to him. “I’m leaving now to return to Norton. I’m going to explain everything, and make them change my assignment. It’s completely inappropriate for us to...to do this, considering our past.”
The corner of his mouth turned up in bemusement. “Going to tell them everything, are you? All about our sessions?”
“No. I’m just going to tell them that we have a history, and that we don’t get along.”
“But we do get along.” His fingers stroked my waist, making small, caressing circles. “And they won’t let you change this internship, not when I requested it. They know we have a history, Chere. They’ve known it since you applied.”
I stared at him. “How do they know?”
“Did you ever wonder how you got that new, highly specific and exclusive Elberta Stephensen scholarship? Elberta Stephensen was my grandmother, and I’ve paid every dime of your tuition at Norton, not to mention yearly stipends for your metals and materials.”
I gawked at him. “
You
paid for my scholarship?”
“Yes. Although it did, admittedly, come out of my grandmother’s trust fund. She would have liked you. That’s what I told them at Norton, that she would have liked to see you succeed. I’ve paid them enough that I’ve pretty much earned a say in whatever decisions they make about you. And I don’t think I want you to have a different mentor. I think I’m best for the job.”
“Is that what you think?” I asked, covering my shock in sarcasm. “I’m sure I’ll learn a lot as you’re fucking me over various pieces of office furniture.”
His cool gaze betrayed a flash of heat. “So ungrateful. Do you know how much Norton costs?”
“I never asked you to pay for it.” I tried to push his hands away. “I never asked you for anything.”
My bid at escape was quickly arrested. He pulled me back against him, then turned me around so my back was pressed to his front. His hand went to my neck.
“Don’t,” I whispered.
“Ungrateful interns are bad interns,” he said, tightening his fingers around my windpipe.
I arched my neck, pushing back against him. “Let go,” I begged. “I don’t want this.” But my body was growing aroused by his force.
“A good intern is grateful. Obedient. Attentive to her boss’s needs,” he said into the curve of my ear.
I could feel his cock hardening against my ass. “No. No!”
“Interns don’t say no. They say ‘
What would you like me to do?
’”
“Had a lot of interns, have you?” I asked, clinging to my last shards of control.
“No, you’re the first one.” His hand tightened on my neck until I had to struggle for breath. When I flailed and tried to dislodge his grip, his other arm wrapped around my body.
“I’ve always dreamed of having an intern,” he went on in a casual, bemused tone, like he wasn’t a squeeze away from strangling me. “A cooperative, sexy, eager-to-please young professional. Good interns say things like ‘
What would you like me to do?
’”
I knew I’d have to say it if I didn’t want him to choke me to unconsciousness. I didn’t want to wake up from a faint on his office floor with him on top of me.
“What...” I tried to speak through the pressure at my throat. “What would you like me to do?”
His grip loosened a little, a reward for obedience.
“Lift up your skirt,” he said.
My fingers moved to the hem of my skirt, traced over the material. My nice skirt, my professional, expensive skirt I’d put on to impress my new boss. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. I thought I was starting my career today, and instead, I was back in Price’s grasp.
“No,” I whispered for the third time.
“What?”
I fought his grip and gave voice to the agony roiling inside me. “No,” I repeated, and this time it sounded awful, like a cut-off screech. I jerked away from him, and he let me go. I turned away, rubbing my neck and staring down at the muted diamond pattern of his office carpet.
I had too many feelings, and none of them were sane. Some part of me wanted him. Some part of me wanted to lift up my skirt and see what he’d do to me, but a greater part of me was viscerally opposed to becoming his intern-whore.
“I can’t do this,” I said. “I’ll be your intern, but I won’t... I can’t...” My voice shook. “I’ve worked so hard for this.”
He was silent a moment. Maybe he was going to kick me out of his office. Maybe he was going to force me anyway, against my will. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Please,” I said. The carpet pattern blurred. So many hopes, so many feelings, and all he had for me was “
Lift up your skirt.
”
“Chere.”
I tensed and turned my head to the side. “What?”
“Look at me.”
“No.”
I didn’t want him to see my tears, because I knew him. They’d only turn him on. I spun the other way and hurried for the door. I didn’t make it. He caught me and wrapped his arms around me, not a chokehold this time. Just a hold. A rough sob shook me as I tried to break away.
“Don’t.” His voice sounded as ragged as my voice sounded when I had said no. “Don’t cry, Chere.”
“I can’t do this.”
“You don’t have to. I thought...” I heard him sigh beside my ear. “Fuck.”
I pulled from his arms and turned to him, wiping away my tears. “You know where I came from. You know how much this means to me, how hard I worked to get to this place.”
He moved back to his desk, reached into a drawer and produced a tissue. He shoved it at me. “Stop crying.”
That was easy for him to say. I swabbed at my cheeks and tried to pull my shit together. He leaned and picked up my briefcase, and handed it to me.
I took it with a sense of relief, but also a sense of devastation. This thing between us was so ugly and so raw, and so unfathomable. I wanted to be over him, but I clearly wasn’t.
“Thanks,” I said, taking the polished handle.
“You should go,” was his only reply.
He went back behind his desk, avoiding my gaze. I wondered what he’d tell everyone when I was gone.
Not a good match. She wants to make jewelry
. My cufflinks shone at his wrists, elegant squares of polished silver. Someone as wealthy as him should have been wearing gold.
I turned and headed for the door. I heard him sit, then stand up again.
“What if we were professional?” he said.
My hand froze on the doorknob. I tilted my head so I could see him in my peripheral vision. “I don’t… I don’t think we can be professional.”
“I can be a fucking professional. I built this business. I can be professional when I need to be. I can help you. I would like to help you, Ms. Rouzier.”
The lazy mockery was gone from his voice. I turned and braced my back against the door, and stared at him standing behind his desk. He was a beautiful man, a tempting, powerful man. A man I wasn’t sure I could trust. “I don’t know,” I said.
“One hundred percent professional, I promise. I’ll give you the best internship any Norton student ever had. I know hundreds of designers in Manhattan. Big designers, small designers. I’ll help you meet them all.” He held up his arms in a helpless gesture. “What do you want out of this? Tell me and I’ll try to make it happen.”
“I just want to work and learn,” I said. “I want to focus on my career. I don’t want to be fucked with, especially after what happened with Simon, and then you.”
I could see by his expression that he couldn’t stand being lumped together with Simon as one of the men who’d fucked me over. Too bad. I didn’t want him to think this would turn out the way he wanted, that he could chip away at me until I fell back into his arms. It wasn’t happening.
Even if I desperately wanted to fall back into his arms.
“I’ll give this one week,” I said. My eyes were dry now. I recklessly tried to be the one in charge. “I’ll be your intern for one week, but if it’s not working out, if you’re not being professional the way you promised, I’ll go back to Norton and have my placement changed. And if they won’t change it, then I’ll drop out. I won’t graduate.”
I knew he’d never let that happen. I couldn’t understand a lot of things about Price, especially as they related to me, but one thing I understood very clearly was that, somewhere along the line, he’d become invested in my decision to change my life and go back to school. He’d given me a place to live, and apparently paid my way through Norton with his made-up scholarship. If I didn’t graduate, all of it was for nothing.
He gave a low, regretful laugh. “You and your threats.”
We glared at each other across the resonating space between us. There was so much emotion in that space, so much history and frustration, and unspoken desires. There was need and sadness and complication that seemed insurmountably fucked.
“Okay. One week,” he finally agreed. “One hundred percent professional, I swear.”
I always intended to give Chere a legitimate internship, and her refusal to play games with me—really fun games—didn’t change that. Instead of fucking, I decided I’d use the time to get to know her better, to analyze her skills and talents and refine them to a razor point. If she wanted a design internship, I would give her a design internship. I was P.T. Eriksen, for fuck’s sake. They’d begged me to mentor Norton students for years, and now that I had one I was interested in, I planned to mentor the fuck out of her on a daily basis.
As for physically fucking her, there was time to work on that. I had all the time in the world now, an entire semester, if I could convince her to stay beyond the first week. The second day, I took her to lunch with a friend who worked at Chopard. The fourth day, I set up a meeting with a friend at Bulgari. By the end of the first week, she didn’t talk anymore about having her placement changed.