Ashlei
Here’s what I know about our precious little shining star of an intern, Sophie Miller.
She’s a junior at Palm South University, majoring in Public Relations with a particular interest in working as a publicist for high-profile executives.
She’s not in a sorority, but seems to be very in with the Greek crowd, thanks to dating the president of Zeta Rho Kappa her sophomore year and becoming affectionately known as “one of the guys” in that circle.
She’s a self-proclaimed country girl from Central Florida, and her favorite party trick is shotgunning a tall boy faster than any guy who tries to compete against her.
Of course, this was all learned at the Halloween party last weekend, when I casually found my way over to her group and infiltrated enemy territory.
I shamelessly admit that I was looking for dirt, because Sophie Miller has been too damn perfect at work, and I wanted something to have even a small leg up on her.
Instead, I came to the conclusion that not only is she a stand-out intern, but she’s also pretty fun to party with.
Currently, she’s at the biggest Okay, Cool event of the year — our relatively small and intimate after-party for the Southeastern Advertising Conference held in Miami.
It’s invite only, costs a thousand dollars a head, with all proceeds benefitting a local charity, and it’s reserved for the agencies my beloved boyfriend sees as leaders in the industry.
Getting an invite as an agency is like finding Willy Wonka’s golden ticket, and being asked to attend as an Okay, Cool employee is arguably better than a ten-thousand-dollar bonus.
I know why I’m here.
I landed one of our biggest clients to this date while I was an intern.
I completely dismantled and rebuilt our current project management team from the ground up, revamping old and outdated systems and ushering us back into our top spot in the industry.
I am already building a reputation as one of the most competent and creative account managers and creative directors in Florida, and I haven’t even graduated yet.
I’ve earned my spot in this bougie mansion, standing in my brand new, rose gold and crystal-covered Jimmy Choo heels next to a giant pool that no one at this party will enter.
What I can’t figure out is why Sophie Goddamn Miller is here.
The party is in full swing, even though the conference just ended an hour ago.
And though Florida may be immune to the rest of our country’s quickly declining temperatures during the holiday season, we’re still a victim to the days being shorter, so the sun has already set, and the party’s up-lighting and pool-lighting and candles littering every table make for an elegant, sophisticated feel.
A jazz trio plays music from the corner of the pool balcony, a pleasant background to the soft buzz of chatter and laughter coming from each little pod of people.
It’s the networking event of the year, and that’s what I should be doing — networking.
I should be rubbing elbows with other creative directors, making proposals for how we could work together to bag large, out-of-our-league clients, or steal the most coveted ones from other agencies who are lacking what we have.
I should not be staring death lasers with my eyeballs into the intern, but it’s all I can manage to do.
Presently, we’re both in a small gathering of executives — including the CEO of Atlanta’s hottest agency, Ball & Pen, the director of the conference, who also hands out the most sought-after agency awards each year, our CFO, and of course, Brandon.
He’s who stands between me and Sophie, one hand tucked into his pocket, and the other wrapped confidently around a glass tumbler of scotch.
He and the others are laughing at something, which I miss, because I’m too busy wondering how the hell Sophie weaseled her way into this event and, even more so, how she’s standing here in this particular circle.
To make matters even more peachy, Brandon is bragging on her to the group. It’s not over the top, just noting a few of her accolades as an intern, but it’s enough to make me have to actively keep myself from tapping my heel in annoyance.
I’m debating ways I could make it look like an accident and shove her into the pool, when Brandon puts his hand at the small of my back and smiles down at me, flashing his dazzling smile that somehow looks even more charming in the low lighting and pulling me back to the moment.
“And this one,” he says, shaking his head. “Not only did she secure the Bare·ly account as an intern, but she is also the lead on our top-performing campaign.” He pauses, arching a brow at Mrs. Lambert, the CEO of the Atlanta agency. “And she hasn’t even graduated yet.”
Mrs. Lambert whistles through her teeth as the rest of the group smiles and nods their approval. “That’s pretty impressive, Ms. Daniels. You ever get tired of working for this chump, you make sure you find me in Atlanta, okay?”
“Does Atlanta have a beach?”
The group chuckles at that, but Mrs. Lambert tips her glass toward me. “No beach, but if you ever thought about coming to work for me, I’d build one for you right in the middle of the city, if that’s what you wanted.”
“I’m flattered, Mrs. Lambert,” I say, laying a palm over my chest. “But my home is Okay, Cool.” I look up at Brandon then. “As long as this one will keep me around, anyway.”
Brandon pulls me into his side possessively. “Like I’d ever be stupid enough to let you slip out of my hands.”
My heart blooms in my chest as he stares down at me, and then — in front of our little group and for everyone else to see, too — he plants a gentle, adoring kiss on my lips.
Fucking swoon.
He jumps right back into the conversation, steering them toward the conference and how they could improve upon it, but I’m still floating on a cloud with that kiss reverberating through my body.
Ever since the end of last semester when the truth about us came out, we haven’t had to hide our relationship — and being able to stand next to this man and proudly claim him, to have him claim me?
It’s the most powerful drug in the world.
I’m still trying to contain the butterflies in my ribcage when my gaze shifts to Sophie, and I’m a little surprised to find her staring back at me, a small smile curved on her ballerina-pink lips.
She tilts her glass toward me in a nod of acknowledgement, and I do my best not to frown, offering her my this-isn’t-a-fake-smile-I-swear smile before I turn my attention to the current speaker in the group.
But Sophie keeps watching me, and when Brandon’s assistant comes up to usher him away from our group and to another anxiously waiting to speak with him, the rest of the executives disband, and Sophie stands closer to me, sipping from her champagne glass as we both survey the crowd.
“This event is wild, isn’t it?” she says after a moment, shaking her head as her bright eyes scan the crowd.
I hate those eyes, because they remind me so much of my own that I want to gouge them out of her head and claim copyright infringement.
It pisses me off that her hair is the same platinum blonde as mine, that she has the same taste in high heels, and the same love for high fashion.
Hell, we even look like we planned our similarities tonight, both of us dressed in sleek, form-fitting and short white dresses with heels that steal the show — mine being the dazzly Jimmy Choos, and hers the same Louboutins she was wearing the first day I saw her in Brandon’s office.
She looks incredible, sexy but professional.
And I loathe her for it.
“I can’t believe Brandon invited me to come,” she continues, a longing sigh leaving her chest. “I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.”
I growl low in my throat, though I’m praying it’s not loud enough that Sophie heard me. “Yes. Mr. Church is lovely in that respect,” I correct her subtly, reminding her that no one at work calls him Brandon — except for me. “He has such a big heart for charity.”
It’s a thinly veiled dig, but if Sophie notices it, she doesn’t let me know it.
Instead, she leans in closer, lowering her voice. “I know I won’t have much time alone with you tonight, since I’m sure you have so many people to see and talk to, but while I have you, I just have to say…”
And then, that conniving, sneaky little bitch wraps her silky palm around the inside of my elbow.
“The work you’ve done on the Bare·ly account?
” She shakes her head in earnest, leveling her gaze with mine.
“It is the most inspiring work I’ve seen done in any agency in the years I’ve been studying.
I was wondering… I have this project I have to do for my cornerstone class on big moves in the industry, and I’d really love to spotlight you and that account in particular.
It wouldn’t require much, just an interview and maybe some behind-the-scenes brainstorm notes, if you’d be willing to give me access.
Just enough for me to put together a ten-minute presentation. ”
Sophie pauses then, her hand slides down my arm, slowly, each fingernail making contact with my skin. Her eyes follow the gesture, her plump, smooth lips parted slightly, and when she glances back at me, there’s something hidden in her lash-covered gaze.
Chills and confusion wash over me in equal measure, and I’m suddenly shocked still, throat tightening with how intimate the touch is. We’re in a crowd full of people, but the way she’s looking at me, it feels like we’re miles and miles away.
“You’re just such an inspiration to me,” she explains, wrapping her hand around mine until our palms touch.
She’s not holding my hand, but rather sliding her skin over mine, and she holds my fingertips with her own for just the briefest moment before withdrawing entirely.
“It’d truly be an honor to work under you, to get an inside look of what makes you tick. ”
If anyone were to ask me, I would never admit to my suspicion — but I swear her eyes flick to my lips, that there’s heat in her gaze when it finds me again, that the curl of her lips is alluding to more than just her desire to use me for a school project.
I clear my throat, inhaling a breath that burns too much for my liking and taking a marginal step back from Sophie. Her grin intensifies, as if she’s won some competition I hadn’t realized we’d entered into, but I hold my chin high to let her know she hasn’t won shit in my eyes.
“Thank you,” I say first. “And I would be happy to help you with your project. Why don’t you swing by my desk on Monday and we can discuss further?”
Sophie’s manicured eyebrow inches up, that smile still cemented on her lips. “I’ll do that.” Her eyes wash over me suggestively, tongue sliding along the inside of her cheek as she does, and now I know I’m not imagining things.
This bitch is checking me out.
Is she… is she hitting on me?
“Have a good evening, Ms. Daniels,” she says, tipping her almost-empty glass with a wink.
Then, she plucks the toothpick with an olive at the end of it and pops it into her mouth, sucking on it in a way that makes her lips big and pouty before she turns and leaves me standing at the edge of the pool so shaken up that I’m in danger of falling into it.
And I keep standing there, completely alone, with a shocked face I can’t even pretend to hide.
What in the ever loving fuck was that?