Page 2 of Her Juicy Cherry (Sweet Treats 2)

Plus, I was assigned the task of managing our new intern, Kara, this summer. It’s supposed to be a way for me to “develop” management skills, but let’s be honest: Kara has peas for brains. She waltzed in here the first day with her resume in hand. I asked her what it was for, and she looked puzzled. Didn’t I need to see it?

I explained to her that she’d already been hired, and that her resume was already in Praxel Puffin’s internal systems somewhere. Kara looked puzzled because she didn’t understand what an internal system was. She didn’t understand that computers can be networked together, and that Praxel Puffin employees are able to browse a central database of information, which currently includes her resume.

Kara merely handed the piece of paper to me silently, and instead of fighting it, I took the resume. My heart sank, but it was fine. We were going to be fine.

But as a result, I’ve been really demoralized at my job recently. Instead of filing papers or pretending to look busy, I’ve been doing almost no work whatsoever, and I haven’t been very discreet about it either. I memorized my credit card number so that I can shop on-line, and spend hours doing that each day now. My favorite sites are Bad Girl Basics and Smith’s. Smith’s is an especially great place to shop because they have my credit card number saved, and all I have to do is enter the verification code on the back when I’m ready to make a purchase.

But even I can’t spend eight hours a day shopping on-line, so I also read the news and browse travel websites. It seems like it would be heaven to go to Bora Bora or some other far flung location where there’s no internet access. I could put away my phone and ignore all my emails for a long while. I might even be able to hear myself think without the incessant buzzes and pings that constantly interrupt my thought processes. That would be wonderful for a change.

But right now, Kara is leaning around the cubicle wall again, her cheeks flushed.

“Courtney,” she whispers. “Have you heard anything about douching?”

Good. My campaign to corrupt our new intern is going well. By my estimation, Kara’s going to be fully educated by the end of her three months here.

I scrunch my brow at her.

“Kara, why are we talking about this?” I ask, pretending to be angry.

Our innocent little intern turns red.

“Well, I was just wondering. If you’re doing that with your boyfriend, don’t you need to get yourself clean back there first?”

Her cute round cheeks practically look like tomatoes as she stammers the word “clean.” I chuckle to myself silently. Poor little Kara. She’s probably a virgin. I’ve already spent a month telling her about my escapades, but she hasn’t shared anything about her love life yet. More likely, she doesn’t have one and is living vicariously through me.

“Kara, first of all, Bert’s not my boyfriend. He’s just a guy I’m seeing. It’s different in a major way.”

Kara goes a deep shade of eggplant and nods furiously.

“Yes of course. Totally get it. Sorry.”

I sigh as if I’m truly exasperated.

“Yeah, I thought you Millennials would be more in tune with non-traditional relationships. But it’s fine. I’m not pissed. But yeah, Bert’s not my boyfriend. Secondly, you don’t have to douche back there in preparation. I just clean myself really thoroughly in the shower with the spray from a high-powered nozzle before the action begins. It works just fine.”

At this point, Kara literally falls off her chair, landing in a heap on the floor with a soft grunt. The carpet is soft, so she’s not injured, but I giggle to myself because our intern is so freaking naïve. I don’t have a high powered shower nozzle at home, although it’s a great idea come to think of it. I just love teasing our little intern by planting the dirtiest, most devious seeds in her mind. Maybe this summer won’t be so bad anymore.

But then, Kara’s big blue eyes go wide and she looks up before letting out a surprised gasp. I spin in my chair, and my heart sinks. Oh shit. It’s Stuart Farmer, my boss. His big belly protrudes over his belt, and he hitches his brown polyester pants up with a thick thumb. His bald pate is shiny under the fluorescent lights, and for some inexplicable reason, he’s sweating and flushed. They keep the A/C on high at Praxel Puffin, so there’s no reason for him to get heat stroke, but he’s always clammy and uncomfortable-looking regardless.

Sure enough, Mr. Farmer pulls out a white hanky and mops at his brow.

“What are you girls doing and Kara, why are you on the floor? HR would not approve of this.”

Kara scrambles up, her blonde curls bouncing as she smooths her skirt down.

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