The Intern Serials: Complete Box Set (4 page)

Cecilia

Week Two

I FINALLY FEEL as if I’m doing something for my dad’s injustice. It may not be much, but getting into those transcripts is a step closer. Even being around the software and learning about the files gives me an advantage to dig around and find the information I need.

Although I’m only eighteen years old, my soul has far surpassed that. My whole life altered in one split-second, leaving with me no choice. Leaving me with the harsh reality.

I know I can do this job. Minus the professional experience, I have the passion. I have the drive and desire more than anyone else I know. Most girls my age are only worried about fashion, prom, who’s dating who, and reality television—and I could care less about any of that.

I nearly screamed when I got the call that I had been picked for the internship. I begged to come in to finish the paperwork that day, so I could start right away. I didn’t even care that I wasn’t
dressed up or anything, I wanted to start right away.

Bumping into Mr. Leighton—
literally
—was an unexpected surprise. The way my heart raced at the sudden contact of our bodies being slammed together was something that had me shaking the entire drive back home. I knew the way my body responded to him was unusual, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me from doing what I had to do.

*   *   *

“Hey, we hanging out this weekend?” Simon asks as we walk to lunch together.

“Sure, um, Sunday?” I suggest.

“What about Saturday? We could catch a movie,” he says hopeful. Simon and I usually hang out on the weekends, except the times I’m with Cora. Those two refuse to spend any time outside of school together.

As I said, they secretly love each other.

“I can’t Saturday. I have something going on already.” I try to sound vague, so I don’t give myself away.

He opens the door for me and lets me walk in before speaking again. “Well, fine. Sunday. But tell that bitch she’s not to beg you to sleep over or something so I can’t see you.”

I laugh at his assumption. “Yes, Dad,” I scowl. “You two really need to get along. I don’t even understand why you hate each other. It’s childish.”

I grab a tray and begin walking down the lunch line.

“Humph. Childish? She’s the one that acts like a child.”

“Ooh…good defense.” I roll my eyes. “I think you guys hate each other so much because you secretly want each other, and until one of you fesses up, all your sexual tension is just going to continue burning until one of you finally combusts,” I say matter-of-factly. “That I’m certain of.”

“Okay, Veronica Mars,” he scowls. “You couldn’t be more wrong.”

We both pay for our lunch and walk to our table. “Okay, well then spell it out for me.” Before he can answer, Cora plops her ass next to me. I turn and look at her. “Why are you smiling like that?”

She tries to hide the overwhelming grin on her face, but fails miserably. “Lance Kingston just asked me to prom.” I can tell she’s trying to act calm, but the constant tapping of her foot tells me just how giddy she really is.

“Prom?” Simon shrieks. I notice he instantly tenses up, and the burning stare he’s giving Cora right now reassures me I’m right—he’s jealous.

“Yeah…isn’t that like four months away?” I ask taking a bite of my food.

“Mm hmm…” She grins, shuffling her food around on her tray.

It’s all I need to hear to know just what that means.

They hooked up.

I can’t even concentrate on her right now. Bentley is flooding my mind, and it’s all I’ve been able to think about since Saturday. And I get to see him again in two days.

When I was there, I felt like a different person. I was playing a role. Acting. And I was damn good at it.

But operation
charm and seduce
is in full blown mode. I’m doing what I have to do to get the
information necessary. I need to know as much as possible about my dad’s case. Otherwise, I know I’ll never be able to move on.

I’m not faking my attraction to him. He’s definitely a guy I’ll break my rules for, even if just for one night. But from the way he was responding to me, I could tell he’d take that one night and demand more.

He has no idea what he’s getting himself into.

*   *   *

I wake up feeling anxious and excited Saturday morning. I have two things to look forward to—seeing Bentley again and to get one step closer to finding my dad’s murderer.

I arrive promptly at seven-forty-five a.m. with Mr. Leighton’s coffee and for good measure, a plain bagel. He looks like a plain bagel type of guy. I have to kiss his ass as much as I can without making it too obvious.

Although, I’m sure I’m going to fail miserably.

“Good morning, Mr. Leighton,” I say politely as I place his beverage and food on his desk.

“Good morning, Ceci. You are bright and cheerful today,” he says with amusement. He grabs the hot cup of coffee and brings it to his mouth. I get lost in his lips for a split-second before I remind myself I have to speak.

I knew going into this I’d have to tell him to call me something else besides Casey. I was worried I wouldn’t respond on instinct if he said Casey instead of Miss West—I couldn’t risk him thinking anything was unusual. And although Ceci is a nickname for Cecilia, he completely bought it.

“Of course, sir. It’s a pleasure to be here. What’s not to be cheerful about?”

He studies me carefully, letting his eyes wander up and down my body, paying close attention to the tight fabric I’m wearing today. I borrowed Casey’s clothes since I don’t have anything ‘work’ appropriate. I’m sure the ripped-up jeans and band-tees would be a dead giveaway.

“I guess that’s an honest trait.” He studies me carefully, and I know my plan is working.

“I sure hope so,” I reply quickly. He doesn’t need to know how easy it is for me to lie, especially when it’s something that I desperately want. “Where would you like me today?”

He cracks his jaw slightly, and I notice how uncomfortable he easily gets when I say things like that.

“Where I would like you and where you should be are too very different questions, but ironically, they hold the same answers.”

I shift from one foot to the other as his come-on’s become stronger, more tangible in what he’s after.

Part of me knows it’s wrong, but I’m eighteen—I’m legal. And I do find him intriguing. He’s attractive, and I’m willing to play along in this little game—whatever it takes to stay in this building for as long as possible.

“That sounds like motive.” I smirk back. “Which one would you like to answer?”

I’m throwing him a bone, because it’s obvious he’s struggling just as much as I am. Part Angel says it’s morally and ethically wrong and Part Devil says to go for it…
he’s fuckable.

I agree with Part Devil.

Being here…with him…I don’t feel like a naïve adolescent. Rather, he makes me feel grown, as if my thoughts actually matter. However, making him beg for it and practically coming in his pants is just as amusing.

He shifts in his chair as if he’s shocked by my response and needs a minute to think. “Miss West,” he pauses, but doesn’t correct himself. “Go do your job. Please.”

His voice sounds pained, as if he’s pleading with himself. He’s fighting between what his body wants and what he knows is wrong. And, although I’m having the exact same battle…

His body will win eventually.

*   *   *

I walk past a couple of open offices. I glance inside as I slowly tread by, getting a good look at the other journalists working there. I need to make sure I keep a healthy distance, but still be aware in case I ever have to sneak around for something later.

I begin digging through the transcripts, skimming over them as I scan them in for anything that could possibly resemble my dad’s case. Perhaps the shooter had done this before and gotten away with it, or perhaps he’s been caught for a crime long after. I would never know, but I was willing to try to find out.

It’s hard to concentrate on scanning when my body is trembling at the thought of him. Bentley’s mouth keeps popping into my mind. His face. His hands. His eyes. Everything about him. I realize I’m falling deeper in the trap, the sexual tension that is so obviously between us.

After four hours of continuous scanning, I stand up and stretch. My legs are cramping, and my neck is getting sore from staring at the same thing.

I let out a moan as I stretch my arms over my head. “Ah, god,” I moan again as my body completely melts into the stretch, feeding my muscles the relief they need.

“Jesus. Christ.” I hear a growl from behind me. I quickly spin around and see him standing casually in the doorway, his arms and legs are crossed as he studies me. “I never knew a moan could sound so fucking hot.”

I grin as I move the chair out of my way. I imagine his coming at me like a wild tiger filled with hunger and need, as he grabs me and then places me on top of the desk. I get lost in the thought of him running his hands up my legs, and soon up my skirt. The thought makes me forget reality, and soon I’m just standing there staring at him as I clench my legs tighter together.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, changing courses from the very dirty fantasy I was having.

“Um, yes. Sure,” I stumble. I mentally kick myself for sounding weak in front of him. I need to stay in control, keep my ground if I I’m going to continue doing this.

“Why don’t you take a break and I’ll order us in some food.”

“Sounds great. Thanks.” I continue smiling up at him like a fool. I really need to keep my cool.

“What are you in the mood for?” His voice is low, almost a whisper.

On top. Doggy style. Bent over the office desk. Reverse Cowgirl. Basically, anything that involves him…

“Um…” I clear my throat, feeling uneasy. “Anything is fine with me.” I nervously shuffle some documents around, pretending to organize them.

“Sounds good.” His face is expressionless as he turns and walks out.

Ten minutes later, I walk into his office, unsure if I should be there or not. He welcomes me in, and motions for me to take a seat across from him, as he sits behind his desk.

“So what made you interested in journalism and criminology?” he asks suddenly. He’s staring intently at me as if he can see right through me, as if all my secrets are transparent.

“I’ve always been fascinated with them both, but for different reasons,” I begin, sinking lower into the chair as I make myself comfortable. “Writing is something that comes natural to me, something that has been very therapeutic in the journey my childhood has played out. And criminology, well, what’s not to love?” I smirk, crossing my legs to expose the bare flesh. I want to get off this topic as soon as possible.

“So what are your plans for after graduation?” He eyes me curiously. I tense up at his question, knowing I need to be convincing in my lies.

“I hope to get a full-time job in something that merges both of my majors and interests together,” I say vaguely hoping he stops grilling me.

“Hm…and what’s that exactly?” He tilts his head up, and I know he’s not going to quit anytime soon.

“Why don’t you tell me how you got here, Mr. Leighton? I know you’re only twenty-six and fresh out of grad school with a master’s in English. Is this what you planned for after graduation?” I speak with a lace of seduction, hoping it keeps him from asking about me anymore. And it works as I watch his eyes stare at my lips, as if he’s thinking hard about them.

“You’re sure a little investigator,” he muses, licking his own lips. “My guess is you already know the answers to that.”

I laugh aloud at his cockiness. “No, the only thing that comes up when I researched you was chicks in bikinis on your arm and information on Senior Mr. Leighton. Anything personal about you was zipped tight.”

That comes out much harsher than I mean for it to, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he laughs.

He fucking laughs at me.

“If that’s all you found, then I guess I have nothing to worry about.”

Now I’m curious what secrets he’s possibly hiding. It’s not easy for someone in the spotlight to keep personal demons unknown, but apparently, he’s managed to somehow.

“So what’s your story? You have a Google page I can snoop through?” he asks with a cocky grin as he leans back in his chair and folds his arms. “Any stalker ex-boyfriends I need to be aware of?”

I raise my eyebrows at him. “I’m pretty certain that breaks about a hundred employment codes asking about my relationship status.”

He smirks. “This is hardly a job—I mean you come in on Saturdays.” He laughs before adding, “for free.”

“So?” I quickly defend. “Not all of us have a trust fund for financial security for the rest of our lives. Some of us have to work the hard way, and in most cases, work for free to learn and work our way up.”