Page 2 of Selfish Suit

“Tire Toes,” I correct him. “I’ll send them an apology email. Happy?”

“No.” He smiles. “But I will be if you promise to pay full attention to who’s coming next.”

“What’s the product?”

“Promise me first.”

Hell no.“What’s the product?”

“Straw protectors.”

I give him a blank stare.

I wait for him to tell me he’s joking—that this is just him dishing out sarcasm—but he walks to the door to usher in the next group.

Their oversized pink and green straws tell me all I need to know.

“Tell you what,” he says, “I’ll treat you to dinner to make up for this.”

“My chef’s out of town, and I don’t feel like making a reservation anywhere.”

“That’s not a problem.” He shrugs, pulling out his wallet. He takes out four hundred-dollar bills and hands them to me. “Just use UberEats.”

“Uberwhat?”

“Eats.” He blinks. “UberEats. You know, food delivery for places that don’t have their own delivery drivers…”

“Is this you leading up to another marketing pitch I’m about to sit through?”

“Oh, wow.” He laughs. “Becoming a billionaire has truly left you out of touch with the real world these past few years, hasn’t it?”

“I’m still stuck on this company’s name,” I say. “Uber and then Eats? As one word?”

He rolls his eyes and takes my phone, downloading the app without my permission. He doesn’t need to ask for my email or ideal password—it’s alwaysIfuckingrunthiscitywith my birth year.

I watch as he refines my preferences, and then my favorite restaurant appears, with their complete menu.

“There,” he says. “Select everything you want, pick a delivery time, and voilà. Oh, and I put your address as the secondary office since that’s where we’ll be working tonight.”

I blink. “Is this company for sale?”

“No.” He looks amused. “Focus on the food, and try to be nice.”

Impressed, I scroll the menu. I select the squid ink tagliatelle with black truffle cream and lobster, a warm bread basket with rosemary sea salt butter, and a burrata and fig appetizer drizzled with aged balsamic. I add two glasses of whiskey for good measure.

“Prepare to be amazed by the best straws on the planet!” one of the presenters shouts. “Your mouth will never want to touch anything except our brand again!”

I hold back a groan and add two more glasses of whiskey to the order.

“Your lips will never be the same!”

Okay, fine. One bottle of wine, too.

I tap “Complete Order,” and a bright pop-up appears on the screen:

Success! Your driver IVY will deliver your order at exactly 7:00!

THE INTERN

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