Page 11 of Selfish Suit

I say nothing.

“Mr. Sutton wants to see you in his office for a meeting on the executive floor. Now.”

The room falls silent for several seconds, then a sea of whispers follows.

“Is it okay if I finish my spreadsheet first?” I ask.

The look on her face answers my question.

There’s no use pretending this is a “meeting,” and there’s no use leaving anything behind.

Standing to my feet, I grab a cardboard box from the Nice Knowing You stack parked near the printers—a cheerful little tower reserved for interns who vanish midweek—and start clearing my desk.

I feel every set of eyes burning into my back as I cross the floor, one click of my heels at a time.

Please at least give me a severance check.

THE INTERN

IVY

The elevator opens with a soft chime, revealing a floor that feels like an entirely different universe. Marble stretches out in every direction, and the skyline view is so stunning it’s hard to believe this is still the same building as my fluorescent-lit workspace.

“May I help you, Miss?” A blonde receptionist glances up from the desk. “This floor is by appointment only.”

“I’m Ivy Locke,” I say. “I received an email from?—”

“Mr. Sutton has been waiting for you,” she interrupts me, pointing to the massive glass double doors to the right. “You may see him now.”

“Can you um…” I lower my voice. “Like, maybe give me a heads-up about what he wants? Is this how he typically fires people this far down the chain?”

She stares at me.

“Come on,” I say. “Help a fellow employee out.”

She picks up her desk phone and holds it to her ear. “Miss Locke is here, Mr. Sutton. She may need assistance getting into your office.”

I suck in a gasp.Traitor…

Turning away from her, I head to the office doors, and they’re already opening.

“Hello, Miss Locke.” Mr. Sutton greets me with a slow smile that catches me off guard. Walking perfection, he’s wearing a black button-down shirt and slacks today, and the diamond watch I last saw is replaced with a golden one.

“It’s good to see you again,” he says, looking me up and down. Then he eyes my box. “My birthday isn’t for another month and a half.”

“You honestly think I would get you a present?”

“You did already.” He narrows his eyes at me. “I received a one-star rating with a ‘hostile customer’ review from you via UberEats. And now I can’t use the app for two weeks.”

My cheeks flush red.

I forgot I did that.

“I thought you said you didn’t plan to use it again anyway,” I say. “You rated me two stars for my delivery.”

“One more than you deserved.”

“Is that why you sent for me?” I ask. “To get me to revise my rating?”

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