Chapter 2
Chapter Two
By the time I reach the double glass doors of the museum offices entry, thankfully far away from the main museum entry, I’m fuming.
I should have turned around and gone home to change, but it’d be worse to be late to my dream internship.
My vision for the morning had me arriving all relaxed and breezy and well dressed.
And dry.
Maybe it’s not as bad as I think.
I open the glass door and walk in, standing tall like I’m in one of my old dance classes. They say make an entrance—and pre-splash, I looked entirely fabulous—but showing up half-drowned isn’t the look I’m going for.
The receptionist stares at me as the clock behind her ticks ominously to 9:00 a.m.
It’s got to be bad.
I self-consciously run a hand through my hair, now plastered against my forehead. Very aware I’m dripping, I stay on the rug in the small entry, trying to look inconspicuous. And dry.
“May I help you?” she asks at last with a slightly disapproving tone, after she’s had a long, awkward look at me. She’s probably not much older than I am, her dark hair up in a neat twist. She wears a flowery black-and-white dress with a yellow cardigan. And she’s remarkably dry.
“Er, maybe? I’m… Dylan Alexander, the new intern starting today. Some jerk just splashed me with his car. Is there a washroom where I can try to dry off?”
“Oh, you poor thing! We’ve been expecting you. Though how awful. Such bad luck.” Her eyes widen. “Yes, the WC is down the hall to your right. I’ll let Lily know you’ve arrived after you have a few minutes to freshen up.”
But before I have a chance to go attempt to dry off, the glass door opens. Someone behind me clears his throat.
“Excuse me,” says a man mildly in a posh voice.
I’m blocking the door. Quickly, I move off the rug and instead drip onto the tile in front of the floor-to-ceiling window looking out to the street.
An impeccably dressed young man breezes by me with easy confidence like I’m invisible, with the flipped-up collar of his pale designer trench coat and expensive leather shoes polished to a shine.
He’s traffic-stopping gorgeous, with his dark brown hair curated into a stylish mess.
Rain hasn’t even dared fall on him.
“I’m terribly sorry I’m late. I’m William Martin-Greene, the new intern starting this morning.
” And then, William Martin-Greene smiles a devastating smile, with a quick flash of perfect teeth.
Dimples have the audacity to appear. I’m trying not to stare, but frankly, he’s hot.
So I’m staring without shame since I’m conveniently invisible to him, and I’m totally into sightseeing like a tourist on holiday.
And nobody’s paying attention to me anyway.
“I’m Carine,” she says, beaming up at him, obviously also victim to his charisma. Her cheeks have a new flush as she leans in over the reception desk toward him.
Wait a minute. What did he say?
“I thought I’m the new intern. I’ve come all this way.
” I blink at Carine, a frown tugging down the corners of my mouth.
There’s got to be some sort of mistake. The posting for the job advertised one internship at the museum this summer.
A feeling of dread rises in the core of my stomach.
What if I’m not meant to be the intern after all?
What if there’s been some sort of admin mix-up?
As I start to spiral, Carine speaks again, still beaming openly at him. “You’re both the new interns. And—perfect timing. You’re not late at all, William. Did you find the parking stall?”
“Yes, I did. I have the red McLaren. Thank you.” At last, he turns slightly, looking at me, appraising.
Our gazes lock for a long moment, and I’m absorbed by the sight of him while I continue to drip on the tiles.
But I hold my ground despite the distracting gorgeous silver-blue of his eyes, his high cheekbones, his fine, straight nose.
This guy has underwear model written all over him.
Well, or regular fashion model, if he must wear clothes. Which, in my current fantasy—
Wait just a minute. The pieces click together.
A red McLaren equals red sports car literally making waves on my way in.
The only reason I know anything about McLarens at all is because my best friend back home once made me watch some late-night Formula 1 racing documentary with him—time, I argued, which we could be better spend dancing in a club.
“You—” I snap.
His jaw lifts ever so slightly. A very fine jaw too, clean-shaven—
I fume, stopping short of cursing him out in the first five minutes of my new job. What sort of intern has a parking spot in the center of London? From what I can tell, cars are barely allowed into this area. And—
“You soaked me!” I stare him down.
“I did?” He’s startled, his dark eyebrows lifting in an appealing way. Wide-eyed, he looks truly confused. “How? I’ve just arrived. Soaked you with what, exactly?”
“You—”
Carine looks from me to him to me again like we’re playing tennis.
“Car versus puddle, and I lost! You didn’t even try to avoid the lagoon in the street. You blazed through it without a thought to pedestrians.” I scowl at him. I’d better not start with the f-bombs out loud on my first day, no matter how upset I am. “And splashed me.”
Fired also starts with an F.
“The poor thing’s soaked to the bone,” Carine tells him, as if it’s not obvious enough, and she gives me a concerned look. “I’ll see if we have anything else here you can wear, Dylan. I’ll let you go freshen up, and I’ll ring Lily to tell her you’re both here. It’s perfect timing.”
I take it as my cue to swim down the hall and try to make myself look less ridiculous and hopefully drier before my—our—new boss comes down.
A few paper towels and minutes later, I re-emerge from the men’s washroom.
I’ve done my best to wipe down the dripping water running off me and attempted to dry my hair by sticking my head not quite in, but adjacent to, the Dyson hand dryer.
My face is flushed from the heat, but at least I look less drowned.
I’d been going for smart casual with a light jacket for June, figuring the umbrella would protect me from the elements, not counting on my own drenching storm cloud.
I didn’t bargain on having to walk all the way from London Bridge or how gusty it is along the Thames or the odds of some jerk splashing me.
When I go back to the foyer, with my jacket over my arm and my pink shirt only sort of wet, my new nemesis, William Martin-Greene—Mr. McLaren—and Carine stand together talking like old pals. A blond woman joins them, coming from the lift in the opposite direction.
Carine turns to me. “Oh, Dylan. We can give you an extra T-shirt from one of our recent exhibitions, if you would like?”
“Thanks, that’s very kind of you.” I offer as cheerful a smile as I can.
She goes back to her desk. “I’ll make a call.”
The woman turns to us and smiles—after a long moment where she does her best not to stare at me and my bedraggled look, which is anything but high fashion.
She recovers quickly after giving me the once-over.
“Hello. I’m Lily, and you must be Will and Dylan.
It’s such good luck that you’re both starting today. Are you quite alright, Dylan?”
“Never better.” Which is only a part fib, because I’m thrilled to bits to be in London and the museum on day one of my internship. I’m way less thrilled about Mr. McLaren literally making waves.
I’m not convinced luck is involved in this situation one bit.
Mr. McLaren and I look at each other.
“I didn’t realize you are taking on two interns.” He’s unable to keep the disdain from his voice.
I open my mouth and shut it. To be fair, I’m having the same thought. Also, the fact that she called him Will hasn’t escaped me, like they know each other. He must have had an interview with her to get the job. But I’m surprised they’re on a nickname basis. This isn’t a good sign.
“You’ll be in different departments after the orientation this morning,” Lily explains. “Dylan, you’ll be with me in Curatorial. Will, I understand you have a meeting after lunch with the director, and then you will join the Development team later.”
My eyebrows lift at the mention of his private meeting with the director. Not that I particularly want to meet the director. It sounds odd. And obviously, it’s not an even playing field. But thank God he’s going to be in a different department. That’s a win.
“Let’s go to the galleries,” Lily says after we pick up our guest security badges from Carine, set aside for us. “I think that’s the best place to start. You can leave your things here if you wish.”
I hang my jacket on a nearby hook. Carine comes back with a black T-shirt for me featuring a small logo on the chest with the museum’s branding and the exhibition name in large, stylized lettering on the back, Modern Structures.
I put it on over my pink shirt, which conveniently covers up the large wet patch over my front. Without further delay, we’re off.
Lily takes us to the gallery, with spot-lit fashion and fashion photographs since the new millennium began.
My earlier excitement returns as Lily tours us around the museum, and it all starts to sink in.
The building brims with cool exhibits, from the avant-garde to historical objects, fashion to product design in both temporary and permanent exhibitions. And I’m smiling again.
At lunchtime, I head out on a mission. I have an hour, and I backtrack to the train station.
I’m not headed home—I’m off to the florist’s I saw that morning to give thanks to Carine for helping me.
I buy a modest bouquet, along with a cheese and tomato sandwich for myself from the nearby Marks and Spencer.
After lunch, when I present the flowers to Carine, she’s shocked but delighted.
I’m soon at my very own desk and assigned a new laptop computer. I’m also given a work phone. I spend the afternoon mostly doing HR paperwork. In the tearoom, I run into Dee, an assistant curator I was introduced to earlier when Lily showed Will and me around.
Dee smiles as she enters. I’m standing waiting for the kettle to boil.
“Want some tea?” I ask, gesturing at the kettle. There’s a cupboard full of tea options for us to choose from, which I’ve gone through.
“That’d be lovely, thanks.”
“I figure I could at least make myself useful with tea since I feel so behind on everything else,” I admit, gesturing at the tea box now on the counter with its buffet of offerings, from black tea to herbal and beyond. “There’s so much to learn.”
She chuckles and then finds a mug for herself, setting it down next to mine with a clink.
The kettle rumbles as it heats. “Don’t worry, you’re not even a day into the job.
You’ll get used to everything soon enough.
And everyone’s dead impressed with the flowers you brought in.
Carine’s raving about you and how terrible it was earlier when you washed up at the museum. ”
I give a wry grin, touching my hair, now sculpted into something salvageable.
“Yeah. I’m dried off now, don’t worry.” I gesture at my exhibition T-shirt.
I’ve changed out of my actual shirt, left to dry on a hanger, along with my blazer by the radiator behind Carine’s desk.
My trousers, at least, are black and half-dry by now.
“You hardly looked like a drowned rat!”
“That’s a relief. Hopefully, I don’t look like any kind of rodent.”
She laughs again. “Not at all. Where are you from, anyway? I know you’re Canadian and our new Curatorial intern, but that’s about all I know.”
“I’m from Vancouver. I’ve recently graduated from my undergrad at UBC in museum studies.
I volunteered at the UBC Museum of Anthropology, and for a professor with her research project too.
Maybe one day, I’ll go for my master’s degree, but I’m really excited to be here and learn.
It’s such a dream to come to London. Even if it’s only for three months.
” I look wistful. At least it’s three months.
“There are so many museums here. And so much to do.”
“Maybe you’ll get to stay on,” she says encouragingly while she chooses her tea. I pour hot water into our mugs. “There’s talk of getting budget for a new permanent curatorial position at the end of the summer. But we’ll see.”
My stomach knots with excitement at the idea. “I can only hope.”
“Don’t worry, you’re off to a fab start. And you’re already a great help,” Lily says.
I grin, warmth radiating from my face. The earlier splashdown is behind me, and there’s so much to look forward to. Like this amazing museum. And exploring the city and going on dates in a whole new scene. “That’s such a relief. I want to be useful.”
I’m in London. At my very first paid museum job. And nobody can take that from me.
Yet.