Yes Boss (Billionaire Bosses #4) - Miley Maine Page 0,1

of arriving promptly. I move away from the main area and head down a long hallway. All the doors are closed at the moment, and only a few of the rooms have their lights on. I ignore all doors until I come to one that has a sign reading “Room 307, Sandra Lawrence.”

I allow myself one last deep intake of air, and then I rap smartly on the door.

“Come in,” I hear.

The sound of the door clicking open as I turn the doorknob is extremely loud in the otherwise quiet area, and the door squeaks on its hinges in a way that makes me cringe slightly. The woman sitting at the desk looks up at me over the top of her rectangle glasses, a severe look on her face.

“You are?” she asks.

“Opal Kincaid,” I say, lifting my chin a little higher; I refuse to be intimidated by anything here. I hitch a smile onto my face and stride forward, holding my hand out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

“Likewise,” Sandra says, her tone indicating that that couldn’t be further from the truth.

However, she still shakes my hand quickly, her nose turned up as though she has eaten something sour. I feel some of my determination falter. I hadn’t expected to be met with such blatant dislike from the get-go. I haven’t even done anything!

“You’re early,” the woman continues, somehow making me feel like arriving early was the worst thing in the world. “We’re not due to begin for another half hour.”

“I… Yes, I know,” I say, feeling flustered. “I had to catch a taxi, and it was early.”

Sandra gives me an unimpressed look. I shut my mouth.

“Take a seat,” she says, gesturing dismissively at some chairs nearby.

I count the chairs. There are seven chairs here. Only seven interns. Despite Sandra’s attitude, I'm here for a damn good reason. I just need to show her what I can do. There’s going to be plenty of time for that.

However, some of my determination fades a little as time drags on. I find myself flicking through the news on my phone, bored out of my mind while Sandra steadily ignores me. The elephant in the room says that neither Sandra nor I have made a good impression on each other but, for the life of me, I can’t understand what I’ve done wrong.

Finally, other interns start trickling through the door. I watch as they come in, one at a time, and Sandra gestures for them to sit, barely glancing at them. I end up sitting next to a tall young man who sits with his back ramrod straight, obviously nervous.

Then a tall, dark-haired woman steps into the room. Her hair falls in silken waves down her back and she has an easy smile on her red lips, her head held high. Suddenly, in my neatly-pressed blouse with my shoulder-length, curly brown hair only teased gently onto a bun, I feel diminished before this woman. Despite not being the biggest fan of makeup, I wish that I had put on more than a light layer this morning.

Noticeably, Sandra perks up the moment she sees her, all but beaming at the newcomer. I watch as Sandra stands to hug the woman and pull back, her eyes sparkling. I feel something like dread forming in the pit of my stomach.

It seems Sandra knows the new arrival quite well. It doesn’t take a genius to know what will happen next.

After a moment of excited chatting, the new woman takes the only available seat and Sandra eyes us all. I remind myself to hold my tongue. No matter how unfair it is that Sandra will be giving preference to her friends, there are other jobs on offer. I just need to aim for one job, after all.

“Hello, everyone,” Sandra says with a small smile, looking around at us. “Thank you for joining our three-month intern program. As you can see, there aren’t that many of you.”

Yes, I did find that odd since the original application form said that they would be looking at employing at least twenty interns.

“Unfortunately, due to some recent budget cuts, we no longer have all the funding we need,” Sandra continues. My stomach sinks, already knowing what she’s about to say next. “As such, we have decided that only one among you will get the job offer at the end of this program.”

I stare, barely able to think. I know what that means. And I’m not the only one, judging by the self-satisfied