Noelle August - Boomerang

“Where was I?” he asks.

“Rules,” I say.

“Work of the highest quality,” Mia adds.

“Yes, thank you. I know you’ll produce good work—you wouldn’t be here otherwise—but the terms of the internship need to be clarified. You’ll help in marketing. I understand you both have different areas of interest, but the Boomerang brand can always use an injection of fresh, creative thinkers. And it’s the best place to learn about what we do. Only one of you—the one who contributes the most—will receive the offer of permanent employment in the fall. Prove your mettle, and you’ll earn your place in one of the fastest-growing media businesses in the world, but I want to be clear: there’s only one spot. Only one of you will stay on.”

He pauses, letting that sink in. And it does. Like ice water. I took this internship because of the promise of a job at the end of the summer. I did not sign up to work my ass off for free, only to end up with nothing.

I can’t afford that. I will starve if I don’t get this job.

I’m too close to it as it is.

I feel Mia’s eyes dart over to me. This girl showed up in my life less than twenty-four hours ago. I’ve slept with her. I’ve shared a cab with her and given her my dress shirt to wear. But this new situation is a game-changer.

Officially, Mia is now my competition.

“Is that understood?” Adam asks, his eyes narrowing on me and then shifting to Mia.

I nod.

Mia says, “Yes.”

“Good.” Adam folds his hands together. “Now for rules. There’s really only one. This business sets up people who want no-strings-attached company. That’s what I sell. Relationships for people on the rebound. People who want fun, without any emotional entanglement. But the office policy is no relationships, tangled or entangled, or in any form at all. Ever.” Once again, he looks from me to Mia, his blue eyes glinting. “Have I made myself clear?”

This time Mia nods, and I’m the one who answers.

“That won’t be a problem,” I say.

I need this job. And I always play to win.

Mia

Q: Do you forgive and forget, or hold a grudge?

T hat won’t be a problem.

Ethan’s words ricochet around in my already battered brain as we accompany Adam Blackwood down a long corridor.

I drop back, letting the two of them stride along in front of me. Beth’s boots pinch my toes, and I have to take about six steps for every two of theirs. I feel deflated, bruised, and not really sure what bothers me more—that this great opportunity turned into a cage match or that I just took a sucker punch to the ego from someone I don’t even know if I want.

That won’t be a problem.

Probably, if I’d woken in my own bed and wasn’t nursing the hangover of a million rock stars, I could shrug off those five words. But they keep twinging inside me, like muscles you forget are sore until you stretch the wrong way.

I’m here for the job, I remind myself. Not the guy. I couldn’t even remember his name an hour ago, and now I’m pouting because he wants to focus on his work? This is better. This makes it all that much easier to crush him.

Um, I mean earn this fantastic opportunity on the basis of my merits .

Bits of their conversation waft back to me as we move in and out of halos of LED lights: market penetration, abandonment rate . Ethan’s already grabbed the baton, and here I am moping along in the background. Is that the Mia Galliano who’s going to take on this mother-flippin’ world? No, it is not.

So I need a plan. One that includes leaving Ethan in the dust.

I steel myself and take a few healthy strides to catch up to them. Wedging myself next to Adam, I force Ethan to shoulder-bump the wall.

“I’ve already got a hundred great ideas,” I tell Adam Blackwood. “How about a more cinematic approach to your promotions? Like a visual narrative we can carry out along all kinds of transmedia platforms. What do you think?”

“I like the sound of that,” he says and gives me a wink that would relax Medusa’s hair.

I keep him chatting until we reach an alcove with a massive partner desk in Plexiglas and chrome. Tablet computers rest on each side, with additional wireless keyboards and fancy tri-fold monitors spread across the desktop. The geek girl in me salivates—classily, of course.

On a long concrete countertop nearby, a towering espresso machine alternately hisses and gurgles, its four nozzles caked with foam. Beneath it, cabinet doors gape open, and a profusion of cleaning supplies and paper cups spills out onto the floor.

Adam glances at the kitchen area, his expression darkening, and then gestures us to the sleek white leather captain’s chairs flanking the desk. We both go for the same one, smacking inelegantly into one another. Ethan puts a hand on my shoulder to keep me from tottering, and that delicious beach-smoke scent of his hollows my insides.

Focus, Mia.

I ease away and flop into the oversized seat, the wheels of which promptly roll me about six feet across the space.

“What’s first on the agenda?” asks Ethan. He settles into his chair like he was born to it, though his legs are so long that his burnished Oxfords end up under my side. I roll back up to the desk, feeling overly conscious of every bit of him—his feet right near my own. His toned legs and broad shoulders perfectly encased in his suit. His ink-blue eyes, inquisitive and friendly, focused on Adam. Not aggressive. Not overeager. Just deep and thoughtful, alive with his desire to dive into a challenge.

“Today, I want you to get signed up on Boomerang. You need to have the client experience to know how to sell it, right? And everything we do—this dating site, our film and TV properties—it’s about tapping into a certain zeitgeist. Really understand how to speak to our audience, and you can write your own ticket. So, take a look around the site, fill out member profiles, get familiar with it all.”

Brushing imaginary lint from his sleeve, he says, “In fact, I want you two to fill out bios for one another. Get to know your competition.” His shrewd eyes move back and forth between us, and a knowing smirk makes a fleeting appearance. “All right?”

Ethan nods and fires up his tablet. “Great.”

I sit back but hook a toe around my desk leg so I don’t roll away again.

“Sure,” I say, glancing at Ethan. “That won’t be a problem.”

Ethan

Q: Tell us a little about yourself.

Adam walks away, leaving us at our new desks.

For a few seconds, Mia and I just stare at each other. I wonder if she’s as tired as I am. Whatever we did together last night, sleep didn’t figure into it much. I don’t drink coffee, but I’m tempted to fire up the massive coffee machine on the counter and mainline some espresso.

“Should we get started?” she asks, her tone a little too bright. She’s not happy about competing for something that was supposed to be a sure thing either.

I have a wild urge to bow out of the running and let her have the damn internship. Then I remember the box crate in my closet filled with utility bills, student loans, and law school applications. Bowing out would be really fucking dumb. I barely know this girl.

But apparently that’s about to change.

Mia taps on the keyboard in front of her. “Do you want to take turns or go at the same time?”

“Let’s go at the same time. That’s usually more fun.”

Her eyes snap up to me. Guess I’m not the only one with a dirty mind.

“I’ll start.” I open the laptop in front of me and find the Boomerang Profile icon, clicking it open. “Last name?”