The Virgin Intern

By: Penny Wylder

“Hello?” I can’t see over the boxes, but I’m almost there. But as I turn the corner I collide with something and I hear a grunt of pain. I stumble back, keeping my grip on the boxes even as I blurt out an apology. “I am so sorry! I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”

The mystery person grabs the top box off my pile and suddenly the other two boxes go crashing to the floor, because standing in front of me is Andrew Finch. And he’s smiling.

Chapter 3

I think that my mouth is on the floor along with the boxes. “What are you doing here?”

“The same thing that you’re doing here.” He takes the box he rescued into the dining room and adds, “I’m living here for the next couple of months. Roger didn’t tell you?”

“No,” I say, picking up a sheaf of papers that spilled from one of my boxes. “My uncle forgot to mention that detail.”

“I’m not surprised.” I pile my two boxes on top of the rest. “Did you get all these into your car by yourself?”


He scoffs, “I’m sure there are plenty of guys at the office that could have been persuaded to help you.”

I feel myself bristle. “I’m not made of glass, it’s just boxes.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, mouth sliding into a smile. “You’re perfectly capable of carrying boxes. But in case you haven’t noticed, it’s hot as hell outside, and you didn’t need to do it all yourself.”

“It was really fine.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure it was. Why don’t you get some water and then grab your suitcase? I’ll take care of the rest of the boxes.”

“Mr. Finch, you really don’t have to—”

He cuts me off. “First, please don’t ever call me Mr. Finch. It makes me feel like a fossil. Second, you already carried all those file boxes once. I can take it from here.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he gives me a look and I change my mind about finishing the thought. Instead I say, “What should I call you, then?”

“Andrew is fine.” He takes off his suit jacket and hangs it over one of the dining room chairs.

I wander into the kitchen and poke around in the cupboards looking for a glass. I find one and get some ice and water, and then I go back and get another glass for when Andrew is finished with the unloading. It’s the least I can do.

He’s already back with another box, and I try not to stare. It’s not like he’s naked, but that shirt fits really well and he definitely fills it out. He doesn’t even hesitate before going out for another box, and I follow him. I grab my stuff from the back seat of my car, and I hear his voice behind me. “There are a few empty rooms upstairs. You can choose whichever one you like.”

“Thanks,” I say, and I make a beeline for the stairs.

No, Naomi, you will not think about the fact that you’re alone in this gorgeous house with your current crush. You will think about that later. Alone. After dark. Under the covers.

I find a corner room that overlooks the garden, and immediately know it’s the one I want. A queen size bed with crisp blue linens dominates the room, with a desk and a reading chair tucked along one wall and an actual armoire and vanity on the other. I drop my suitcase by the armoire and head back downstairs.

The pile of boxes in the dining room is growing, and Andrew walks by with another as I come down. “Are you sure that you don’t need any help?”

“Very sure,” he says, disappearing out the door again.

I take a sip of the water. It feels weird just letting him do all the work. I mean, he is technically my boss. But he also volunteered.

The more I watch him go in and out, the more I’m glad I’m standing in the kitchen. Mostly because it’s cool and not at all because Andrew is sweating through his shirt and making it easier to see even more of him.

Finally, he comes through the door and says, “This is the last.” He puts the box down with a sigh.

I push his glass of water across the counter toward him. “Here.”

He grins, tugging at the open collar of his button down shirt and exposing just a flash of that smooth, perfect chest. “Thank you. Did I mention it’s hot as hell outside?”

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