Page 43 of The Toy Collector

“As I was saying,” Maria continues. “Your seat is at the end. Go ahead and check it out. You’ll notice your company-provided laptop, which is yours for the duration of your internship. Your orientation isn’t for another twenty minutes, and the other interns haven’t arrived yet.”

The small, square space assigned to me somehow manages to feel both exposed and claustrophobic. The chrome desktop gleams, untouched. Files are stacked with military precision, each one perfectly aligned like they’re waiting for inspection.

A slim nameplate perches at the edge of the desk:Piper Harrington, Intern.

My smile is so wide it hurts my cheeks. I’m here… officially an intern.

“The orientation is just around the corner and then the third door to the left. I trust you can find your way,” Maria says, her tone crisp.

Without waiting for my reply, she takes off, which suits me just fine. I need a couple of minutes to myself, to fully absorb where I am. I sink into the ergonomic chair, my legs suddenly weak and I’m beyond overwhelmed.

Twenty minutes to gather myself, I can do that. Spinning in my chair, I look around, taking in everything I can see from here. And it’s almost as though the walls are humming with energy. Just watching people going about their day is inspiring.

Right now, I can’t bring myself to feel shame for using my body to help seal the deal. I’m not even sure I regret the spanking. Not just because it was all sorts of hot, but because it brought me here.

As soon as I close my eyes, he’s there. But since I haven’t seen him, my mind’s making him a shadowed figure. Not that his looks matter. Not with the way he made me feel things I can’t even name.

I can still feel the heat of his palm against my skin, the sting of the slap, the rush of shameful, unwanted arousal. I press my thighs together beneath the desk as I get wet from the memory. This is wrong. It’s twisted and dark.

Despite my best efforts, I can’t stop thinking about him. About the way he touched me, with a kind of ruthless control that made me want to surrender everything.

The minutes tick by, each one an eternity. I stare at the blank screen of my computer, at the neat stacks of files, trying to will myself into the focused calm I know I’ll need to survive this place.

When my phone tells me that thirteen minutes have passed, I get up and make my way toward orientation. Luckily for me, I don’t have any issues getting there.

The conference room is all dark wood and sleek lines, the kind of space that feels designed for power plays and hidden agendas. I take a seat at the long table, the leather cool against my bare legs.

I barely manage to sit down before three people enter; two women and one guy. Two of them sit down next to me. The third, the HR person, stands at the front of the room. Her expression is unreadable. She’s the kind of woman who seems to have been born in heels, her every movement precise and purposeful.

“Welcome to Blackwood Strategic Advisory,” she begins, her voice cool and clipped. “You are here because you are the best of the best, hand-selected for your intelligence, your drive, and your potential.”

Her words wash over me, making me sit straighter.

The woman introduces herself as Gabriella Finch, Director of Human Resources. Her tone is clipped, but practiced, like she’s said this same speech a hundred times and no longer needs to think about it.

“Let’s begin with introductions,” Gabriella says, her eyes sweeping acrossus.

The girl beside me straightens in her chair, eagerly getting the ball rolling. Her voice is soft but clear as she introduces herself as Alice Brown. “I study Communication and Public Ethics in Boston.” Her hands are folded tightly in her lap.

Even though it’s only a two-hour flight, that’s still quite a journey. Definitely not one I envy her.

Next’s the guy, Ben, he introduces himself as. He’s confident, and has an easy charm that’s hard to ignore. Even though he’s from Georgetown, I don’t think I’ve seen him before. Then again, I don’t think I could pick many out from any of my lectures. That’s how big the classes are.

“I clearly hate sleep since I’m going for a double major in International Affairs and Behavioral Analysis,” he jokes. He hasn’t stopped smiling since he walked into the room, and it’s so infectious I feel myself beaming back at him.

I go last. “Hi,” I chuckle, awkwardly. “I’m also from Georgetown.”

After mentioning my majors, I add a few more details. Nothing of substance. I hate these things where you have to make yourself sound interesting in just a few sentences.

Gabriella gives a single nod. “Welcome. The next two weeks will be about observation and precision. You’ll rotate through key departments, support select staff on low-risk projects, and be evaluated daily—on both performance and discretion.”

She doesn’t need to say what happens if we don’t measure up. The air already says it for her.

Alice offers me a warm smile as we stand. “That wasn’t too terrifying.”

“Speak for yourself,” I quip, my lips curling into a smile.

Ben chuckles behind us. “It’s Blackwood, ladies. Everything’s a little terrifying here.”

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