The Billionaire's Intern - Part 1

She was wearing a white skirt that tapered to fit her shape, ending just below her knee, a matching, fitted jacket conforming to her curves.

And on her feet, adding, he had no doubt, to the shapeliness of her legs, were a pair of black high heels that added nearly four inches to her height and likely pushed her feet into a near-impossible position.

He’d never given much thought to women’s shoes prior to his experience on the island. But now that he resented his own footwear so damn much, he couldn’t help wondering just how contorted Addison’s feet would be in something like that.

Though the wonderment in no way detracted from her legs.

Every part of Addison Treffen was exquisite. Photos of her in the news didn’t do her justice.

“Mr. Black,” she said, his eyes level with his. “I’m Addison Treffen. My brother arranged this meeting and—”

“I’m fully aware of the details of the arrangement.”

She blinked, her expression remaining neutral. “Well, I had thought it possible my brother spoke with someone you worked for.”

“One thing you will learn about me, Ms. Treffen—nothing happens here without my approval. And no one would be permitted in my office, on my floor, in my hotel, without my arranging it.”

The hardness in his tone didn’t ruffle her. The petite, small-framed woman with her smooth hair, skin and clothes, staring him down with an expression that bordered on serenity, was not at all what he’d expected. “Was the hotel room on offer for anyone who took up the spot?” she asked, her fingers shifting on her handbag, the only slight tell of nerves he’d seen since she walked in.

“Yes,” he said. “I understand that an internship, an unpaid one, is not the easiest thing to negotiate, so it seemed a nice offer.” And in addition to that, he rarely left the hotel. Which meant any assistant of his had to be here.

“Technically, that makes it paid in a way,” she said.

“If you like.”

She smiled and for a moment he was at a loss as to the appropriate social response. Smile back, obviously.

Yes. Obviously.

He smiled, but had a feeling it looked more like a grimace. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chair that was situated across from his desk.

She crossed the room and complied, her gold bag held tight against her stomach, her hands wrapped around it like claws.

Still, her overall demeanor was calm and when she sat, some of the tension eased from her hands.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “it’s been a strange couple of weeks. To say the least.”

“I heard about your father,” he said, watching her expression. Something kicked over in him, reminding him that he had skipped something important. Something appropriate. “I’m sorry.” The words came too late to seem genuine.

She remained utterly still in her chair, stiff, unmoving. “I’m sorry I had to see it.”

The thought of this soft creature witnessing the death of her own father twisted something deep inside him and left behind an emotion that held a vague echo of sympathy. He knew what that was like. To be jolted out of your privilege and headfirst into every ugly thing the world held.

She didn’t deserve it. It could be argued that he had.

“So,” he said, changing the subject, “what is it you want to get out of this time at Black Properties?”

“I’m here to learn. I’d like to open a hotel someday, a small one. So I think anything I can learn from you would be valuable.”

“And what about school?”

“I’m going to school. I’m a senior at Columbia and should be graduating at the end of the year. Majoring in business, minoring in hospitality. I would love to finish on campus, but at the moment that is…difficult. I’m making arrangements with my professors.”

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