Chapter 2 Elizabeth
ELIZABETH
@pancakesareelite:
What do you do when you’re not playing games with me?
@theanswerisno:
Play games with other people
@pancakesareelite:
Traitor!
@theanswerisno:
I’m an engineer
@pancakesareelite:
Well, duh. I assumed that much. This server was created by an SDSU engineering student for engineering students, wasn’t it?
@theanswerisno:
Yep
@pancakesareelite:
You’re not going to tell me anything else about yourself?
@theanswerisno:
I am also my mother’s handyman.
For free, I might add
@pancakesareelite:
A man of many talents
@theanswerisno:
What do you do?
@pancakesareelite:
I’m still trying to figure that out
Was there such a thing as too much makeup? Based on how everyone’s eyes widened upon meeting me, I must have rivaled the Joker.
Which was less than ideal on my first day of the most competitive engineering internship in California.
Any civil engineering graduate would kill to be in my position. Every year, Simucon would invite only six graduates from across the country to participate in their eight-week internship.
This year, they hired seven. I was the seventh intern, and I know this because they listed us in order of acceptance in their welcome email.
But still, they accepted me. They created an extra slot for me. Whether that was a good or bad thing, I couldn’t tell. But now was not the time for spiraling as one of the directors, Mr. Anders, walked me through the office.
He marched around with his chest puffed out. Raised with money, raised to be confident. In theory, so was I. But it never stuck. To avoid being scolded for it time and time again, I became good at faking it, and that took me far enough. Sometimes in the wrong direction.
Parties. Drugs. Men.
Mr. Anders pushed open the next office door, pulling me out of my reverie.
“Carden!” he yelled.
While the room was the same size as all the others, it was far more spacious because it only housed one person, rather than two or three.
The man who sat behind the desk scowled at his computer, unbothered by our arrival.
Mr. Anders tapped on his desk, but the man, who appeared to be younger than him—perhaps midthirties with a head of pitch-black hair, brown skin, and dark eyes hiding behind a pair of glasses—lifted a finger on his left hand, silencing the director while his right hand clicked furiously.
The fierce frown between his dark brows was noticeable from afar.
After a second, he sighed, tore off his headset, and looked up.
He was rather handsome.
Like everyone else, his eyes widened for a second as he did a quick take of my suit coat, fitted pencil skirt, and heels—which I would never wear to this office again.
His gaze traveled back up to meet mine. Wait. No. It settled about a quarter inch above my eyes.
Is he looking at my forehead? Do I have a zit?
I lifted my chin, summoning faux confidence, and wiped my clammy palms across my skirt.
Mr. Anders gestured toward me, a coy smile on his face I didn’t quite like.
“We have fresh blood! Meet Elizabeth.” For a moment, I thought he may not use my surname, that perhaps I’d be spared this one time, but it seemed he had only paused for effect.
As soon as the man stood, taller than I’d imagined he’d be, and reached out his hand, Mr. Anders added with a flourish, “Elizabeth Gordon-Bettencourt.”
If the man was surprised, impressed, or disgusted, he didn’t show it.
I took his hand, and it swallowed mine.
“Elizabeth,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, as if it wasn’t often used.
Before he could introduce himself, Mr. Anders spoke again. “Mr. Lincoln Carden. Acting manager of the Roads department.”
Mr. Lincoln Carden’s brown gaze dipped to meet mine for the briefest moment, and it knocked the air out of me. I’d never been perceived with such intensity.
My fingertips tingled with nerves. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Carden.”
“Likewise.” He glanced at Mr. Anders and raised a brow.
“Elizabeth is one of the new interns.”
Mr. Carden rested a hip on his desk and folded his arms across his wide chest. “Another intern? I counted six of them earlier.”
The two men shared a look I’d undoubtedly replay in my head and analyze later.
“Well, lucky number seven and all that.” Mr. Anders waved a hand around and then gestured toward me. “And uh… Elizabeth here is particularly interested in Roads.”
“Okay” was all Mr. Carden said.
Mr. Anders smiled but it came across as more of a grimace. “And with the current renovations, we’re tight on space and…”
“No.”
My mouth went dry at his quick and curt response. But Mr. Anders sighed deeply and shrugged. “You’ll be in charge of her development before the final test.”
The final test at the end of the internship was often referred to but never described in detail. The scraps of information I had were the driving force behind my application.
Mr. Carden frowned, falling back into the seat behind him before rubbing his face.
My stomach dropped. I resisted the urge to apologize for being an obvious inconvenience. I shifted on my feet, letting my gaze wander across his workstation. Nothing hinted at his personality. No photos. No trinkets. Not even a little plant.
“You know how I work.” Mr. Carden dropped his head.
“It’s a few weeks and she’ll have to do work for some of the other managers too. Wait, you have plenty of projects currently in construction, don’t you?”
Lincoln Carden whispered something that was likely a curse even though I couldn’t hear it. His sky-blue shirt stretched across his strong chest as he took a deep breath.
“You should probably take her with you,” Mr. Anders said with an almost impish grin. He seemed to be enjoying this.
Both men took in my outfit without looking at my face. I should not have worn these high-heeled boots, but I would not let these men judge me for wanting to look nice.
I tucked a tendril of copper hair behind my ear. “I can go on-site if that’s required.”
“I assume you don’t have the correct PPE with you today.” Mr. Carden pursed his lips to one side as his gaze dropped from my very interesting forehead to my shoes. “And I doubt anyone has a spare size six safety boot around here.”
“Six and a half,” I bit out, as if it mattered. But I was tired of being bullied. I was raised by the world’s biggest bully. I didn’t escape him just so I could be belittled elsewhere. “Just because I’m an intern doesn’t mean I’m a waste of time. You were wet behind the ears once.”
He sighed as if this hadn’t occurred to him. As if he’d been born a fully functional senior engineer. He took off his glasses and rubbed his temples.
This seemed to amuse Mr. Anders. “Don’t worry about it, Carden.
It’ll be over in no time. That being said, you should probably enjoy your last few hours of peace before this one joins you.
” He turned to me, stifling a chuckle. “Come on, I need to get you to the others. HR has a whole presentation setup. There’ll be little sandwiches and things too. ”
Mr. Carden slipped his glasses back on and turned to his computer. He didn’t say anything else.
All the other managers had greeted me with smiles. Mr. Carden didn’t even care enough to fake pleasantries.
He also happened to be in charge of the department I hoped to work in. The one who would determine if I was ready for the final test. The unknown factor standing between me and a future at Simucon.
Crap.