My father’s friend Richard Skyler is the CEO of Hill City Marketing & PR, one of Boston’s premier agencies. Dad considered his paternal duties fulfilled when he got me a spot in this program two years ago. After that, it was back to sporadic emails and missed birthdays. I’m not mad at him, though. My father is just a dick. He can’t be fixed.

Luckily, his buddy Richard isn’t an incurable phallus.

“Uhhh.” I scratch the back of my neck, stalling for time. “I actually interviewed for this internship two years ago and I was going to be working with Richard? The CEO? But...” I clear my throat. Sneak a peek at Mark. The sharp edge of his smile assures me that I will not explain the past two years of my life to this guy.

“But I had to defer it,” I say. “So, now I have to work with Corrine Blunt.” I can’t keep the dismay from my voice.

I’d met Richard Skyler when I was a kid and he’d remained friends with my parents until their divorce. When I interviewed for the program, Richard and I got along like old buds. And when I had to decline his offer of mentorship to take care of my mom, Richard promised me a spot when I was ready. And he kept in touch: emails, even the occasional phone call.

“Honestly, I’d assumed Richard would be my mentor again. But...it didn’t work out.”

I rock back on my heels, surprised by how disappointed I feel in this moment. The woman is a powerhouse, after all: graduated with an MBA from Boston College at twenty-four. At thirty years old, she’s one of the youngest executives at Hill City Marketing & PR and the only woman in the executive suites. She’s won countless awards for her marketing campaigns and was Richard’s protégé in the first Hill City mentorship program years ago.

Plus, I know I’m not supposed to think about my boss this way, but it’s not the worst thing that she’s pretty. In her picture on the website she sported a bouncy, dark bob and a bright smile. She seemed happy and welcoming and young, like whatever they mean when they say “bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.” I’d felt an affinity with her immediately. I shouldn’t complain about having to spend a whole year working with her. In truth, I’m excited, if not mildly intimidated.

I open my mouth to admit that but bite my tongue when Mark says, too loud in this small space, “Dude, your mentor is Corrine Blunt?”

I rub my hand over my closed mouth and wince through a nod.

“The lady boss?” Mark laughs, and the cruel sound sends a shiver up the back of my neck. I’ve been the subject of a laugh like that before.

“You know what they call her, right?”

I stifle a cough and avoid his gaze, staring at my fuzzy reflection in the chrome elevator doors, at the digital numbers counting our ascent. I look anywhere but at this asshole. My eyes finally come to rest on the back of the woman standing in front of me. She stares up at the numbers as well. Her neck is long and elegant. The red temples of her glasses hooked around her ears are the only pop of color on her otherwise crisp black outfit. The scent of coconut wafts from her long, dark hair, pulled up into an intricate, tight bun, not a single strand out of place. It looks painful, to be honest.