The Intern Serials: Complete Box Set Read online

  While I was researching Leighton Enterprises, I came across many pictures of Mr. Leighton himself. He’s gorgeous on screen, but in person, he’s trip-over-yourself-just-to-lick-him gorgeous. His hair is a shade of light brown—golden, almost—but purposely messy. I could tell his suit fit him just perfect. I imagine his body is rock hard, chiseled to muscular perfection. It was hard to tell with him sitting down, but from his pictures he looked tall—well over six feet. The thing that tripped me up was his age. He’s certainly successful and extremely smart for only being twenty-six.

  After doing more research, I learned it’s a family owned company. After the interview, I can successfully assume he’s just getting started, and his family is now forcing him to be a part of the bigger decisions like interviewing and being involved in the mechanical aspects of the corporation. He certainly acts as if he belongs there, yet he acts completely bored and irritated for having to waste an afternoon.

  My mother pays little to no attention to my antics anymore. After dad died, and the insurance money drained from expenses, she started working full-time to keep up with Casey’s tuition. And with three kids, she has a lot to balance.

  She used to take me to therapy after the incident, but after thousands of dollars and no results, she was finally convinced I wasn’t going to participate anyway. Best decision she ever made. All I did was sit and stare at the wall anyway. I didn’t want to talk. It didn’t help. It didn’t bring my dad back. And it sure as hell didn’t take the memories away.

  “Why are you dressed like that?” my younger brother, Nathan, asks as soon as I walk into the kitchen.

  “None of your damn business.” I open the fridge and grab a can of soda.

  “Cecilia,” my mother warns, “be nice.”

  She only calls me by my full name when I’m in trouble, which is actually, most of the time.

  I slam the fridge shut. “That was me being nice.”

  I turn to walk away before remembering I need her to sign that form. I spin back around and grab it out of my purse. “Here, sign this.”

  She eyes me suspiciously. “What did you do this time?”

  “It was an accident,” I defend. “No one got hurt.”

  “Oh, my god! Hurt? What the hell, Ceci?” She unfolds the note and reads the note Mr. Jamison typed out. “Jesus, Cecilia.” She shakes her head in disapproval before scribbling her signature on the line. “I don’t work forty plus hours a week to save up for your bail money,” she scowls. She assumes I’m going to get in enough trouble some day, or that I’ll smart off to the wrong person, and end up behind bars.

  I wasn’t worried about it.

  “You’re not invincible, Cecilia,” she warns after I roll my eyes at her lame lecture.

  “I don’t know why I need your damn signature anyway. I’m eighteen.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You’re still living under my roof. Mr. Jamison and I have a deal.”

  I snatch the letter from her hand. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” I turn on my heel and head back upstairs to my room.

  I watch my phone like a hawk wishing they’d call me today and just tell me I got the internship. I know they said a few days, but that’s going to be torture waiting.

  I grab my lock box from under my bed and place it on top. I have the key in my bedside dresser underneath My Little Ponies and Barbie’s I used to play with when I was a child. The only reason I keep them is that they are the last thing I could find that was from my dad. Mom went crazy and started throwing all of his shit out that would remind us of him. She said it would help us ‘heal’ and ‘move on’.

  I didn’t want to heal. And I sure as fuck didn’t want to move on.

  I couldn’t.

  Not until that bastard was caught and sentenced to death.

  * * *

  “Oh, my god, that was brutal!” Cora giggles as she slams her body into the locker next to mine.

  Cora’s been my best friend since we were in elementary school. She’s the only one who knows all the gory details of that day.

  “You’re a drama queen,” Simon spits out who’s standing on the other side of me. Those two are always fighting for my attention and never getting along.

  “Go away, Big Brother,” she spat back, waving her hand back at him.

  “Okay, you two…just go hump in the closet already. Your pretending to hate each other is driving me insane.”

  “Oh, it’s not pretend, babe. It’s as real as Montana Greyson’s nose job,” Simon snorts.

  I laugh at his remark.

  “Okay, well I have class. See ya guys at lunch,” I holler over my shoulder. I know those two are secretly crazy for each other. I’m just waiting for both of them to figure it out.

  I check my phone every five minutes for a missed call or voicemail. Nothing. I know I’m impatient, but I can’t help it. I’m fidgety as hell.

  My whole life is weighing on this internship, and although, it’s technically not counting for anything, I just need to get into their system long enough to find what I’m looking for.

  The position wasn’t a typical college internship. Most students that needed internship credits didn’t take any college classes during the semester because they worked at least forty hours a week. However, Leighton Enterprises was looking for a weekend intern—someone they could train and mold into a future employee.

  It was a rare occasion that they held internship interviews since most were found from within—someone’s son or daughter, niece or nephew—but not this time. And this time, it would be mine.

  It’s spring semester for college students, meaning many are getting ready for graduation soon. And although I’m preparing for mine as well, mine’s a high school graduation. And this would be my one and only chance to get into this company.

  I’ll need to learn a lot about their software system, and how to crack into the private and restricted information—for my own personal research—but Simon is a computer genius. He teaches me anything I want or need to know. He doesn’t know the extreme measures I’m about to go through, but I know he’ll help me if I ask him.

  I don’t pretend to be an expert, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to find out information and piece them together. Given the right tools and details, I know I can find out more about my dad, and at least with that, I can have closure.

  To distract me from checking my phone, I decide to search Bentley Leighton during computer time. Okay, so it’s not the best distraction, but it doesn’t hurt to know more about my potential boss.

  The second I click on images my entire body heats. Apparently, he was into modeling before he started working at Leighton Enterprises. There are professional shoots and magazine spreads of him shirtless…though, I am definitely not complaining about them.

  He’s completely ripped and lined with tattoos on one arm and his chest. That, I wasn’t expecting to see under his suit and tie, but the more I dig into his past, the more sense it makes. He wanted to be a model. He was getting his career off the ground, booking shoots and ads, when his parents told him it was time to become involved in the family enterprise.

  Explains his damn attitude.

  My entire body tightens and butterflies reappear in my stomach. It’s a foreign feeling—it’s nothing I’ve ever felt before. There was no denying I was attracted to Mr. Leighton’s looks, but his attitude sure could use an adjustment.

  Interestingly enough, he majored in English with a minor in criminal justice. So he has the background to be a reporter or journalist. And from the reports that I found online, he’s damn good, too.

  * * *

  I grab my lock box that I left on my bed and open it. I have numerous files, pictures, and ‘evidence’ from my dad’s death. I wish I could put the memories in there as well, lock them up, so I don’t have to be constantly reminded of them.

  I look through the newspaper clippings that are all headed with Murder on Maple Heights and Man Shot Down in Front of House. Let’s not forget about his three inn
ocent children standing in the front yard.

  Who fucking does that?

  I rub my scar as I close my eyes and remember. It’s hazy, and I wish I could remember more. I wish I could remember the man who was driving the old ‘79 Cadillac. It was like slow motion—his car slows right in front of our house, he pulls out his gun and aims for my dad. As soon as my dad falls to the ground, the car speeds off.

  And then nothing. All I remember are sounds. Screaming. Crying. Sirens. That’s it. My memory is literally useless.

  Perhaps it was because a bullet nicked me in the shoulder, and I blacked out, waking up a day later in the hospital.

  We had cops and detectives flooding the house for days after. They checked into my dad’s background trying to link anything to a gang or a business deal gone wrong. It made no sense. My dad wasn’t a bad guy.

  * * *

  “What book are we reading tonight, Princess?” my dad asked as he tucked me into bed.

  “Hm…” I pretended to think aloud, but he knew which one. My favorite one. “Sleeping Beauty.” I smiled.

  He smiled and shook his head. “Of course.”

  He grabbed it from my bookshelf and sat next to me in bed. I leaned against my pillow as his arm wrapped around me.

  He was the best at reading stories, always making the voices match the characters. I giggled every time he read it.

  “The End,” he said as he turned the last page and shut the book.

  “One more time?” I pleaded. “Please, Daddy?”

  “Not tonight, Princess.”

  “Will I ever find my Prince Charming?” I asked stalling, not wanting him to leave just yet.

  “Yes, of course. And when you do…you’ll know he’s the one. You’ll know.”

  I crinkled my nose. “I’m too young to be rescued just yet. I don’t need a hero.” I giggled.

  He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “Be your own hero, Princess. Worry about finding the one that makes you happy. That’s all that matters, anyway.”

  “You’ll always be my hero, Dad.”

  * * *

  The few memories I have left of my dad are priceless. He was a great dad, and I feel lost without him. I owe him this—not just for me, but for my family, too.

  After six months, the detectives called to say it was a cold case. They had no leads, no evidence, and without a full license number to track the vehicle down, they had nothing.

  My sister had limited information. She remembered the license plate vaguely. She remembered a QL on the plates, but it wasn’t enough. And although she explained what the car looked like, and they had narrowed it down, nothing in the system matched. It was probably stolen and sold for parts.

  Even after asking the neighbors and finding a couple maybe witnesses, it never led to anything. Nothing did.

  The only thing I can do now is find some information out on my father. That’s my ticket. Find out whom he was associated with, his past, his job—basically anything my eleven year old self didn’t know.

  My mother wouldn’t tell me anything more about him. She said he was an insurance broker—simple nine to five job. However, she hadn’t worked since before Casey was born, so I found it very unlikely that we could afford to live in one of the most expensive parts of town. I was a kid, but I wasn’t stupid.

  Chapter Three

  Bentley

  Week One

  “CAN SOMEONE PLEASE explain to me why the fuck I’m wasting my afternoon looking at intern applications?” I pace my office overlooking the floor to ceiling windows. “This is why I have Paul and Logan,” I scream into my earpiece.

  “You need to learn all aspects of the job, Bentley,” my father replies calmly. “If you wish to take over some day, this is all part of the training process.”

  “I don’t want to take over. You fucking know that!” I spat back. I rock back and forth on my heels, trying to contain my temper. “I told you I’d go along with this damn charade if I got to do what I wanted.”

  “And you will, son. But even bosses have to do the dirty work sometimes. It’s all part of the business. You’re a Leighton.”

  I scowl every time my father says that. You’re a Leighton. Yeah…not by fucking choice.

  “Fine,” I agree through clenched teeth. ‘This is the first and only time I do this.”

  “Well, do a good job and you won’t have to.” Before I could retaliate, he hung up.

  I whip my earpiece out and throw it on my desk. “Fucking interns.”

  I unhappily drag my feet into the boardroom where Paul and Logan are already seated. I take the chair next to them and open the folder of applicants in front of me.

  I hear them talking and wonder if I should say something, but before I can, the first applicant enters.

  Shit.

  And then another.

  Shit.

  And another.

  Shit.

  They’re all shit. Every single one of them. They can barely make eye contact with me, yet they want to work for me?

  I about give up and say to hell with it before Erika, my assistant, beeped in through the phone and announced there was one more.

  Fucking great.

  I grab the last applicant’s form and study it before she enters. Casey West. 21. University of Nebraska. Senior.

  I look over her letter of recommendations and see several from professors and assistants. Fast-learner, above average student, and dependability are all her glowing raves.

  Well, she better fucking be, since she’s basically my last hope.

  My jaw ticks the moment she walks in the room. I try to hold in a laugh as I take in her librarian-wannabe wardrobe. I know most girls don’t wear that. Hell, I was in college only four years ago. I know for a fact girls her age wear a lot less clothing.

  She smiles and takes a seat as she greets us. Her voice is filled with passion as she begins talking about the company. She has sure done her research and then some. She’s the only one to go into depth about our charitable foundations, and I’m hit with an immediate attraction to her capabilities.

  Her face is genuine and soft as she talks about herself and how she’ll make a good asset to the company. Her hair is light brown with blonde peeking through. Her skin looks silky and soft…and holy shit…I’m describing her looks as if it matters for the job. It doesn’t.

  But it sure as hell doesn’t hurt.

  She’s the most intriguing of all the applicants. Her self-confidence is obvious, but she’s also one of the smartest we’ve interviewed all day. The way her body shifts easily between the three of us to the way she passionately speaks about my father’s business has me feeling an uncanny attraction to her.

  Once the interview is over, I sneak a glance at her ass as she walks out. Bad habit, I suppose, but damn if I didn’t like what I saw. I shift uneasily in my chair as I watch her leave, needing to tame my cock before I can stand up and walk out of here.

  Truthfully, her application and her interview were by far the best I’ve seen all day, but I’ll need to dig into her background to double check she isn’t a fraud or a secret Russian spy.

  * * *

  “All right, I’m out for the day,” I announce to Erika.

  “Sir, you have a message here from a Professor Hennings.”

  “Oh, shit,” I groan. It’s Casey West’s guidance counselor. I had called to verify all the information she gave us was correct.

  “Do you want me to call back and schedule a time?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll just call back tomorrow.”

  I’m not in the mood to do anything else intern-related. I don’t even care for interns, yet it was ‘part of the business’ as my father said.

  We’re a teaching company, son.

  I didn’t need a damn intern, but since it’ll keep my dad off my back, I have to play nice.

  We’re a team.

  Be a team player.

  And yadda fucking yadda.

  If I have to deal with an intern every
Saturday for four months, she should at least be hot—give me something to look at.

  Before you go judging my character about noticing pretty girls, you should know I work in an office with seventy-five percent men. That’s a lot of sausage to be looking at. My college party days are way over, and even if I wanted to party, I wouldn’t have the time. The second I graduated, I was forced into working here and learning to ‘take over’ so my dad can eventually retire.

  It isn’t that I hate working here. I love what I do, but I’m not ready to give up my life yet. I would’ve eventually joined the family business but at my own pace. I hadn’t been given the chance to live my life my way or make decisions on my terms.

  The only thing that keeps me from jumping off a bridge is that I actually do love the job aspect of reporting and writing—case files are a close second—but reporting about the solved ones are the real highlights of this job. And my life. But now, there’s no intermission for girls in my life. The occasional hookup isn’t uncommon, but the last thing I wanted at my age was to be tied down.

  To anyone.

  I pour two fingers of whiskey before taking a seat on the couch. I grab the remote and flip through channels until something interests me. Nothing does, so I pour two more fingers of whiskey. I do this about two more times before I stumble into my room and pass out on my bed, fully clothed.

  * * *

  The week flies by, and I completely forget about calling all the interns references. It’s already Thursday, so I say fuck it and tell Paul just to pick one.

  “You can’t seriously just say pick one? She’ll be working mainly for you.”

  “Fine, the hot one.” I wave a hand in his direction as I continue typing away on my computer.

  “And that would be?” He stands eagerly in front of my desk.

  “I don’t know…Cathy, Corrine, Casey something. The last one,” I ramble.

  “Ah…Casey West,” he offers.

  “Yeah, she was the best one for it anyway.”