Free Summer Intern by Carrie Karasyov

unfair.”
    â€œWhat are you, standing up for her now?” Daphne sneered. I could almost picture her angry face, nostrils aflare. I bet people rarely challenged her.
    â€œShe’s really cool, Daphne. She’s not a thief.”
    â€œHow the hell do you know?”
    â€œI know. She’s not the type to steal. She’s one of the good guys,” he said, almost quietly.
    Daphne sounded incensed. “Well listen, James, you can take your good feelings and kiss off. I don’t need this bullshit. I’ll have you know I met Ralph Lauren’s middle son’s best friend at a party last night and he was dying to hook up with me.”
    â€œWell, that’s great news,” James said, almost laughing. “Happy polo playing.” I heard him walk out, and then there was a pin-drop silence.
    â€œOh my God, total craziness,” Jane said nervously.
    â€œWhatever,” Daphne said defensively. “His stepdad is, like, so over anyway. I mean he hasn’t shot a cover for us in, like, months . C’mon, let’s go hit Remi for lunch.”
    With that, the trio, including a seemingly unwounded Daphne, took off in their five-inchers. I still had chills from the emotional arrows shot through me but was healed at the thought of James’s valiant protestations. It was all very Sir Galahad. What I had overheard, though, made it very clear that Daphne had it in for me after yesterday’s lunch. I wasn’t looking forward to being an enemy of the head Trumpette.

Chapter Thirteen
    I t was time.
    All of the interns were gathered around the conference room table over which Alida presided. Everyone sat nervously as other announcements were made. (“Please, guys, do not flush tampons!”)
    â€œAnd now, the moment some of you have been waiting for these past two weeks—”
    The door opened and in walked the elusive Genevieve West. We had never seen her before; she was either at the couturecollections in Paris or at shoots or Valentino’s yacht or Karl’s house in Biarritz, so seeing her in person for the first time was like having one of the characters in your favorite book come alive. She was smaller than I had imagined, but of course that was silly—everyone at Skirt was tiny, and she should be no different. But she was only like five foot two and had not one extra ounce of fat on her. She had the straightest black hair I had ever seen, which fell to her shoulders and was cut off in a perfect line, with bangs cut just above her smallish dark eyes. Her lips were painted very red, and it appeared as if a smudge wouldn’t dare happen on her face. Her nose was a little pointy, and actually, truth be told, she looked kind of like a witch, but she was so stylishly dressed in a perfect Chanel suit with delicate Manolo Blahnik heels, accessorized with a delicate diamond bracelet and earrings, that you didn’t really notice her individual features and instead focused on the entire package, which spelled out success and power.
    â€œHello” was all she said as she looked us over. As her eyes hit mine, I looked down, suddenly bashful. She seemed remote and cool but not as scary as some had made her out to be.
    â€œSo interns, Genevieve—” Alida said. “After consulting with all the editors about the work done in the last two weeks, we have decided upon a girl who has gone above and beyond the call of duty—”
    At that moment, James walked in carrying materials that Alida needed to sign off on. He quietly stood off to the side.
    â€œâ€¦she has an exemplary work ethic, style, and, most of all,she is not afraid to be proactive and seek work,” Alida continued in a measured, sober meter as Genevieve, James, and the whole office looked on. “In other words, she aims to please and succeeds. And that is why our head intern this summer, chosen by our editor in chief, will be—”
    I felt heat rise in my cheeks as