Read Online The Intern's Handbook: A Thriller by Shane Kuhn - Free Book Online
Authors: Shane Kuhn
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Yalie douche. Now she’ll have infinitely more access than she did as an intern.
“Damn right you do. But we’ll have plenty of time for that, now that we’re working together.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s right. Evidently you’ve raised more than a few eyebrows around here with your hard work and new revenue stream.”
“And you’re here to make sure I don’t fuck it up.”
“No. I’m just here to help you turn over more volume. Greed is an insatiable mistress. Plus, I’ve been working for Bendini for most of my internship, and he thinks we’d make a great team.”
“Is that so?”
“Of course, you’ll still have to work in this Roach Motel, and I’ll have a cool junior associate’s office. Oh, and I’ll kind of be your boss slash slave driver. Technically.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Good answer.”
This is working out better than I expected.
As we begin work going through a fresh batch of files, I can’t believe my luck. I need intel and access, and Alice is my golden ticket. She is one of Bendini’s favorites, so I can use her to move closer to the center of his circle and eventually get a closer look at all of the partners. The only problem is, it’s all I can do to keep from constantly looking at her . This is dangerous territory. Alice is pretty, but pretty I can handle. It’s the raw sexuality that, like some exotic oil, seeps out of the invisible cracks in her conventionally beautiful facade that worries me. Oh, and let’s not forget that she is brilliant, interesting, and has the kind of dark, twisted sense of humor I like. I just have to work through it. Sleeping with office colleagues tends to make you a D-list watercooler celebrity. Suddenly all of your coworkers become that hair-plugged creep and his merry band of star fuckers on TMZ, making cracks about your office love affair over caramel macchiatos.
----
Rule #5: Don’t shit where you eat.
Bob has a saying about office romances: “If you fuck their brains out, you might as well blow their brains out.” To this day, I can’t prove it, but I’m sure Bob whacked a girl I was seeing on Job #17—“Eva.” She had nothing whatsoever to do with my assignment. She did work in the same office, but in a separate division twenty-eight floors above where I was working. And we never even saw each other at work, so it wasn’t like our little tryst was an egregious security breach. I met her at a coffee shop down the street—a rare gem that served real Turkish coffee. It wasn’t until after our second date that we even realized we worked in the same building. But Bob found out about it because his mission in life is to crawl up your ass and watch yourevery move in an effort to, as he says, “minimize human error.” I think he does it to live vicariously through us, because he sold his youth to some cigar-chewing war dog on Parris Island.
Basically, like Bob, you are not allowed to be human. And dealing with Bob’s controlling bullshit is, without question, the most difficult part of this job. I would rather shoot my way out of a pitch-dark subbasement with one exit and a pellet gun than have to deal with that anymore. I remember the conversation we had about Eva. He said he was concerned that I was “distracted.” I reminded him of the sixteen flawless assignments preceding that one. He said I was getting cocky. I reminded him that I was twenty years old and needed something other than my AR-15 to cuddle at night. He said, “Get a pro, like everyone else.” And he handed me a slip of paper with a phone number.
That was the last time we spoke about Eva. He had not told me flat out to stop seeing her, so I did the stupid thing and ignored what I now understand was a warning. Two weeks later, after the assignment was finished, I tried to call her several times. Eventually I went to her apartment. The smell hit me when I walked up to her door. I know that smell. It’s sweet and sickening. A bottle
“Damn right you do. But we’ll have plenty of time for that, now that we’re working together.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s right. Evidently you’ve raised more than a few eyebrows around here with your hard work and new revenue stream.”
“And you’re here to make sure I don’t fuck it up.”
“No. I’m just here to help you turn over more volume. Greed is an insatiable mistress. Plus, I’ve been working for Bendini for most of my internship, and he thinks we’d make a great team.”
“Is that so?”
“Of course, you’ll still have to work in this Roach Motel, and I’ll have a cool junior associate’s office. Oh, and I’ll kind of be your boss slash slave driver. Technically.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Good answer.”
This is working out better than I expected.
As we begin work going through a fresh batch of files, I can’t believe my luck. I need intel and access, and Alice is my golden ticket. She is one of Bendini’s favorites, so I can use her to move closer to the center of his circle and eventually get a closer look at all of the partners. The only problem is, it’s all I can do to keep from constantly looking at her . This is dangerous territory. Alice is pretty, but pretty I can handle. It’s the raw sexuality that, like some exotic oil, seeps out of the invisible cracks in her conventionally beautiful facade that worries me. Oh, and let’s not forget that she is brilliant, interesting, and has the kind of dark, twisted sense of humor I like. I just have to work through it. Sleeping with office colleagues tends to make you a D-list watercooler celebrity. Suddenly all of your coworkers become that hair-plugged creep and his merry band of star fuckers on TMZ, making cracks about your office love affair over caramel macchiatos.
----
Rule #5: Don’t shit where you eat.
Bob has a saying about office romances: “If you fuck their brains out, you might as well blow their brains out.” To this day, I can’t prove it, but I’m sure Bob whacked a girl I was seeing on Job #17—“Eva.” She had nothing whatsoever to do with my assignment. She did work in the same office, but in a separate division twenty-eight floors above where I was working. And we never even saw each other at work, so it wasn’t like our little tryst was an egregious security breach. I met her at a coffee shop down the street—a rare gem that served real Turkish coffee. It wasn’t until after our second date that we even realized we worked in the same building. But Bob found out about it because his mission in life is to crawl up your ass and watch yourevery move in an effort to, as he says, “minimize human error.” I think he does it to live vicariously through us, because he sold his youth to some cigar-chewing war dog on Parris Island.
Basically, like Bob, you are not allowed to be human. And dealing with Bob’s controlling bullshit is, without question, the most difficult part of this job. I would rather shoot my way out of a pitch-dark subbasement with one exit and a pellet gun than have to deal with that anymore. I remember the conversation we had about Eva. He said he was concerned that I was “distracted.” I reminded him of the sixteen flawless assignments preceding that one. He said I was getting cocky. I reminded him that I was twenty years old and needed something other than my AR-15 to cuddle at night. He said, “Get a pro, like everyone else.” And he handed me a slip of paper with a phone number.
That was the last time we spoke about Eva. He had not told me flat out to stop seeing her, so I did the stupid thing and ignored what I now understand was a warning. Two weeks later, after the assignment was finished, I tried to call her several times. Eventually I went to her apartment. The smell hit me when I walked up to her door. I know that smell. It’s sweet and sickening. A bottle
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