The Intern Volume One

By: Brooke Cumberland

“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


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.


And then another.


And another.


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.

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