Page 14 of Bratva's Intern

“Oh god, that’s good.” The first bite of my meatball sandwich left me in awe. Jess was a doll for making me lunch from last night’s leftover meatballs. I wiped my hands on my apron and pulled my phone from my pocket. The screen lit up with a barrage of missed notifications. I swiped away the spam calls and was left with a voice mail from an unknown number and several messages from Jess asking me to choose what she should wear on her date tonight with her Hugh.

I quickly sent a text to Jessica.

Wren

Shoot. I was gonna bring dinner. The black dress if you want to be demure but sexy. The red one if you want to give him a heart attack.

Joking.

Definitely the red.

Satisfied, I tapped on the voice mail icon, bracing myself for whatever scam call had slipped through my filters.

“Hi, Wren. It’s Archie Mayfair from Morozov Property Holdings. I hope you’re doing well.”

Oh shit. What did he want?

“I’m calling to let you know that you’ve been selected for the internship position. Congratulations! We think you’d be a great asset to our company.”

Asset?

Did I hear right, or did he say asshat? That I believed. If they wanted someone to make a complete ass of themselves, I was the man for the job.

“I’ve sent the details to your email address, including your formal offer letter. Please don’t hesitate to reach out if youhave any questions. We look forward to having you on board.”

I stared at my phone, the message replaying in my head like a broken record.

I got the job?

Scrambling, I opened my email app and scanned my inbox. Sure enough, there it was: a message from Morozov Property Holdings with the subject line, “Internship Offer.” My heart pounded as I opened the attachment and read the details.

They wanted me to start the following Wednesday. The stipend was… I blinked at the number, rereading it to make sure I hadn’t imagined it. It was more than I made in a month flipping burgers. A lot more. Enough to make rent without Jessica having to cover for me. Enough not to stress about every single penny.

How was this real? I’d messed up the interview. I’d stolen the boss’s coffee. Was this his way of getting back at me?

I should’ve been overjoyed, but instead, my stomach churned. How could I work for Morozov? I had no professional outfits beyond what I’d worn for my interview. I would stick out like somebody’s poor cousin. Everyone would take one look at me and know I didn’t belong.

But how could I pass up this kind of money? If this was what they paid an intern, what would the wage be if I worked there after I finished college?

A rapid, electric thrum pulsed through my veins, sending a jittery warmth to my fingertips. I bit my bottom lip. What if I worked at Morozov and actually made an effort at the job? So many interns ended up working at the same company after college. All I needed was to do my best, do whatever they wanted, and jump however high Mr. Morozov dictated.

Fuck, I’m going to do it. I’m going to take the internship.

The urge to smoke had fled, and in its place, the need tofling my arms around someone and hug them tight had arisen. But no one was around. With a laugh, I sprang to my feet and hugged the locker, which was cold and unyielding under my arms, but I didn’t care. Since there wasn’t anyone nearby to hug, the locker would have to do.

“Wren.”

Greg’s voice cut through the happy moment like a blade, but I didn’t let go of the locker. Not yet. If anything, I tightened my grip just to spite him.

“What the hell are you doing?” he snapped. “I didn’t authorize you to take a break. The second I turn my back, you slack off on the job. Is this what you always do?”

I turned slowly, still leaning against the metal. He looked as pissed as ever, his face turning red like it always did when he was gearing up for a rant.

God, I fucking hated him.

“I hadn’t taken my break yet. You didn’t?—”

“Don’t you have better things to do than stand around looking stupid?” He approached me, nostrils flaring. “I ought to fire you for this nonsense.”

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