The Virgin Intern (A Romance Novella) Read Free Page A

out of bed and into the shower, mentally ticking off the things I need to do before I leave. Today I’m moving…well, temporarily. My uncle’s current—and biggest—case is the Sterling murder. Timothy Sterling, a self-made software millionaire is accused of killing his wife. She was found dead in their home. There were no witnesses and he can’t provide a credible alibi. My uncle and the firm are defending Mr. Sterling. He was released on bail, but given the high profile nature of the case, the court commanded that he remain on his estate. That makes it hard to meet with him as his estate is two hours outside of the city.
    So, as of today, my uncle is moving into Mr. Sterling’s guest house for the duration of the defense. This is so that Uncle Roger can have immediate access to his client, but also to make sure that Sterling doesn’t do anything stupid. And also as of today, I’m going there too. My uncle needs a go-between for the office and he can’t ask his assistant to stay at the guest house. That leaves me, the niece. Go figure. Nepotism for the win.
    I need to pack my clothes and toiletries, and then go to the office and pick up a truly impressive number of file boxes to bring with me to the guest house.
    While I’m packing my clothes I turn on the bare track of a song I’ve been working on in my spare time. It has a pretty melody, even though I don’t have words yet. But there’s a little counter melody in my head, just a few chords. I grab a piece of paper and quickly write the progression down. Actually, I have a couple of minutes and would really like to know what that sounds like.
    I sit down at my computer’s keyboard and open up my music making software. When I input the chords, it sounds good. But not perfect. I think I should add this here, and an E chord there. It feels so natural to be making music that I don’t even notice the time. When I next look at the clock an hour has passed, and I’m still not finished packing. Shit.
    It’s a good thing that I don’t have to see my uncle until tonight, because he would kill me for being late. I throw the rest of my clothes into my suitcase and grab my make-up and toiletries. It’s not neat, but it will have to do. It’s a guest house, right? If I forgot anything they should have it, and if not then I’ll be coming back to the city soon. It’ll be fine.
    It’s hot. I mean, this is Florida, so that’s not really surprising. But I’m still used to Los Angeles weather. When you live with seventy degrees and low humidity year round, Florida’s climate feels like living in a sauna full time. Especially in July. Even wearing short sleeves and a skirt it’s nearly unbearable, and by the time I reach the office I’m once again covered in sweat and I haven’t even started lugging the boxes yet.
    There are twenty-one file boxes. Twenty-one . If my uncle weren’t endlessly practical I’d swear he was making me haul these as some sort of punishment or else a test of my ability to do this job. Well…I guess it could be that last one. But it’s probably better not to dwell on it for too long…
    I get all the boxes into the car—it takes forever because they’re bulky and heavy, and I can really only carry one at a time. A couple of times I managed two, but I have to unload all of these, and I need to save my hands. The only bright side is that I don’t see Andrew. Even if it’s never going to happen, I’m glad that he doesn’t have to see me sweaty and exhausted from the humidity and manual labor.
    The air conditioning in my car has never felt this good, and I’ve used it a lot. I love road trips, and I drove both ways when I moved from coast to coast, so my car has become a mini-sanctuary for me over the years. Today is no exception. I turn on some music—not mine this time—and enjoy the ride.
    That is, until I pull up to the Sterling estate. Holy crap. I knew this guy was loaded, but whoa. I’m greeted with tall black iron gates and