Boomerang Read online

  Immediately, I think she’s talking about my clothing, which, while not precisely appropriate, wouldn’t seem to merit a Teutonic hissy fit. But her eyes bounce away from me again, and she presses her hand to her ear. “If this guy doesn’t work out, I will have no problem jamming an ice pick up your skinny ass, Paolo,” she says, and I finally notice the Bluetooth device tucked up next to a chignon tight enough to give her cat eyes.

  She clips away, leaving flowers to shrivel and birds to drop from the sky in her wake.

  “Jesus,” Ethan mutters, and I realize I’ve actually grabbed onto his arm in terror. “Here’s hoping she’s not the HR rep.”

  I allow myself a moment’s enjoyment before releasing him. “Here’s hoping she doesn’t even work here.”

  He smiles. “Here’s hoping she’s leaving on a ten-year cruise.”

  “To Antarctica.”

  “To reunite with her clan, the snow beasts.”

  I laugh. And my eyes find his again. Maybe I’ve lucked into more than just an internship here.

  “Sorry to break up the party,” says a voice behind us.

  I turn to find Beth standing near a doorway marked with a pink heart made of two boomerangs. She wears a stick-straight black wig over her kinky hair and rocks a ridiculous blue gingham romper. Like some kind of vampire farm girl—from Harlem.

  Rattling a plastic bag at me, she says, “Chop, chop, girl. Let’s jump in here and get you fixed up. I have another go-see at noon, and it’s way the hell up in Burbank.”

  “Thank God you made it.” I rush to her side, calling out a quick intro as I push open the door to the ladies room.

  Her shrewd black eyes take in every inch of Ethan, and she reaches out a perfect set of purple acrylics to shake his hand.

  “I like your . . .” Ethan makes a sweeping gesture that manages to encompass pretty much all of Beth.

  “Yeah, I like yours too.” She slaps my butt, moving me through the door. “If you’re a good boy, maybe Mia will share sometime.”

  “Beth!”

  The door swings shut on his gape-mouthed expression, and she lets out a big, open-throated laugh. “That boy did not know what hit him.”

  Before I have a chance to respond that I know the feeling, she has my dress off over my head and has replaced it with a violet silk blouse. Beth comes from a long line of dressers and stage managers, so this is a feat I’ve witnessed several times before, though it’s my first time on the receiving end.

  “Where’d this come from?” I ask.

  “It was on my body when I left the house this morning,” she tells me. “Or did you think I walked around looking like some broke-down Dorothy from Oz?”

  She drops to the floor and pulls a heather-gray skirt from the bag.

  “Step in,” she orders, holding the garment open for me, and I do.

  She stands, spins me around, tugs down the bottom of the blouse, zips up the skirt, and then reaches her hands beneath my clothes to do some adjusting.

  The outfit is, not surprisingly, absolute perfection.

  I plant a hand on Beth’s shoulder as I zip on her pair of soft leather boots, which she trades for my strappy sandals. “You really are so good to me.”

  “As good as Ethan?”

  I straighten and look in the mirror. My skin looks sallow in the fluorescent lighting, and half my hair has escaped its bonds, making me look like the spawn of an anemone. But still, it’s an improvement. “You’re going to kill me, but I barely remember.”

  She tsks. “What a shame. And also why I don’t drink.” Then she grabs my hair like reins. In a flurry of purple nails and chunky silver rings, she wrestles it into order, smoothing it into a neater version of the low bun I’d attempted.

  It seems a pinch ungrateful to remind her that she actually stopped drinking after accidentally making out with her cousin.

  “I’m glad you had yourself a little fun, though, Mia. You deserve it after that tool Kyle.”

  “Thanks, gorgeous.” I give her a quick hug, and then I turn last night’s dress and shoes over to her. I think of returning Ethan’s shirt to him, but some impulse makes me hand it to her too. “And thanks so much for this. You’re a lifesaver.”

  She drops them into the shopping bags and then considers me for a moment. “Looking good, but you could use a little lipstick.”

  “What have you got with you?”

  “You like this?” she asks, pointing to the bright poppy stain on her full lips.

  “It’s gorgeous. Can—”

  Beth grabs my face and plants a firm kiss on my lips.

  “Voilà!”

  She thumbs away the excess, spins me toward the door, and then gives me another slap on the butt. “Now? Go show this place who’s boss.”

  Chapter 6

  Ethan

  Q: Rule breaker, or rule maker?

  Mia rushes off with her friend, leaving me alone in the lobby. Between starting the internship and everything this morning, I’m beginning to feel like I stepped into someone else’s life—except this is the job I’m gunning for. The one that’s going to launch my professional career. At least that feels right.

  I’ve barely made it to the receptionist desk when I see Rhett Orland, the HR manager, striding down the hall.

  During my interview for the internship, I learned that Rhett is in his early thirties, divorced with no kids, and has recently gotten very into biking, swimming, weightlifting, and running. The guy is always amped up—probably because he’s an energy-powder distributor on the side. I’m almost positive I landed this gig because he wants me to give him some training tips, but hey, if it’s what got me in the door, I’m fine with it.

  “Ethan!” he booms as he pumps my hand. “I’ve been expecting you, man! Day one!” Rhett’s face actually looks like he works out constantly, sort of skeletal and muscled, like a pit bull. “You’re looking good. Been logging some extra time in the gym?”

  “Nah. Just doing some cycling lately.” Because I can’t afford a car.

  “Nice! I knew it. Come on, let’s get you saddled up!” Rhett loops an arm over my neck and tugs me down the hall. It’s awkward because I’m taller. And because it’s really fucking awkward.

  As we leave the lobby, I glance behind me, but I don’t see her.

  “Forget something?” Rhett says.

  Yes, I’m tempted to say. Maybe the greatest night of my life. But I shake my head. “No, I’m good, man. So, how’s the training going? You ready for the triathlon?”

  For the next half hour, I sign some paperwork in his office as he updates me on his progress. By the time he walks me back out, I know his current weight, BMI, resting heart rate, daily caloric input and output. By my guess, we’re about five minutes away from a full detail on his bowel movements.

  It’s not that I don’t care or that I’m not interested in the guy. It’s just that for me, being fit isn’t about numbers. It’s about the game. The beautiful game, as soccer’s called in Brazil. Playing allowed me to push my physical limits—which was a big draw—but soccer is also about being part of a team. Belonging to something greater than yourself. Rhett’s angle on sports couldn’t be more different than mine. He’s basically a one-man team.

  I stop at his door. “Hey, Rhett. I don’t mean to cut you off, but I thought there was only one internship position.”

  His eyes go wide. “Oh!” He leans in like we’re sharing a secret. “You met Mia, huh? What’d you think? Sweet piece of—”

  “Yeah, I met her,” I interrupt. After one hazy night with her, I shouldn’t care, but I feel like I might punch him if he finishes that thought. “So, what’s the deal? Did they create another position?”

  “No, no.” Rhett’s hand thumps down on my shoulder, and we’re moving through the halls again. What kind of HR guy doesn’t understand personal space? “Boss man wants to be the one to give you the details, or you know I’d tell you everything.”

  He gives me a look, like he and I are tight.


  “Got it,” I say. But I don’t. I didn’t expect this.

  This being Mia.

  I’m already wondering—no, I’m already sure she’s going to be a distraction. Or a temptation.

  Shit. She’ll definitely be both.

  Rhett takes me into a glass-walled office. The furniture is modern, but not fragile or stark. This space looks like it belongs to someone organized, stylish, and rich. Sleek chairs made of wood, accented with glossy black leather. A desk that’s a single thick piece of glass, with nothing but a laptop, a cell phone, and a small bronze tiger resting on its gleaming surface.

  Adam Blackwood looks up from his laptop when Rhett and I walk in. Behind him, Los Angeles stretches out, sun-bathed and bustling. It’s an unusually clear day, and you can see all the way to Santa Monica.

  He stands and comes around the desk, silver cuff links flashing as he offers his hand. “Ethan. Good to see you again. Welcome to Boomerang.”

  Adam is twenty-two, only a year older than me, and already president of a multimillion-dollar enterprise. Of course, it helps when you start your first company at fifteen. He went to Princeton, evidenced by the tiger on his desk, and Boomerang is the third company he’s founded.

  Last night at Duke’s when we met for a drink, it felt like every woman in the place orbited our table. I get checked out here and there myself, but nothing compared to what I experienced being in his company.

  The thing about Adam is that he’s always ten steps ahead of everyone. That’s why he’s so successful. I know I’ll learn a lot from him.

  “Thanks, Adam. It’s good to be here.”

  Adam dismisses Rhett, who leaves with a disappointed pit bull look on his face, then gestures to a chair in a seating area away from his desk. “Have a seat, Ethan.”

  “Thanks.” I sink into a soft leather chair. A series of huge modern paintings of ocean waves line one of the walls. I make a mental note of that. Blackwood might be Ivy League, but he’s also a surfer—or an art collector.

  He pushes his suit tail back in a movement that’s as unconscious as the way I juggle a soccer ball. “How’d it go last night after I left?”

  I smile, because part of me wants to tell him the truth. Well, Adam, I met the other intern, did some body shots with her, took her back to my place and probably spent the duration between her thighs. So, pretty good night, all in all.

  I go with the safer answer, though. “Great. I met up with my roommate. We did a little celebrating.”

  “Good. That’s what I like to hear.” Adam’s eyes move past me, and we both stand again as Mia enters with the blond woman we saw in the hall earlier.

  “Morning, Cookie,” Adam says.

  “Adam, intern. Intern, Adam.” She gives Mia a little push and then swivels on a stiletto and leaves.

  The glass door is on one of those slow-closing hinges, so we hear and see her retreat for what feels like forever. “I need that presentation, Paolo,” she says, pressing a headset that appears to be implanted in her ear. “Get them to me in an hour or I’ll have your Puerto Rican ass deported, and no, I don’t care if that’s impossible. I could find a way and don’t you doubt it for one goddamn . . .”

  The door closes, and we settle back into our seats, sharing a moment of tense silence. From the corner of my eye, I can tell that Mia’s wearing new clothes. I want to see how she looks, but checking her out is not an option right now. Besides, I already know she’d look good in anything. She looks really good in nothing.

  Adam smiles and crosses his legs. “I’m very fond of talented, hard-working people, and Cookie happens to be both, as do both of you. You’ll notice that among my staff, I’ll forgive eccentricities as long as the work that’s produced is on time and of the highest quality—but I do have a few rules.” He stiffens slightly and shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I’m forgetting my manners. You two haven’t met yet.”

  He introduces Mia and me, and we shake hands, pretending to be strangers who did not, in any way, see each other naked one hour and ten minutes ago. I can’t tell if we sell it well enough. Adam watches us with a curious expression, like he knows something that we don’t know. Or like he knows the something that we do know and are trying to hide.

  “Where was I?” he asks.

  “Rules,” I say.

  “Work of the highest quality,” Mia adds.

  “Yes, thank you. I know you’ll produce good work—you wouldn’t be here otherwise—but the terms of the internship need to be clarified. You’ll help in marketing. I understand you both have different areas of interest, but the Boomerang brand can always use an injection of fresh, creative thinkers. And it’s the best place to learn about what we do. Only one of you—the one who contributes the most—will receive the offer of permanent employment in the fall. Prove your mettle, and you’ll earn your place in one of the fastest-growing media businesses in the world, but I want to be clear: there’s only one spot. Only one of you will stay on.”

  He pauses, letting that sink in. And it does. Like ice water. I took this internship because of the promise of a job at the end of the summer. I did not sign up to work my ass off for free, only to end up with nothing.

  I can’t afford that. I will starve if I don’t get this job.

  I’m too close to it as it is.

  I feel Mia’s eyes dart over to me. This girl showed up in my life less than twenty-four hours ago. I’ve slept with her. I’ve shared a cab with her and given her my dress shirt to wear. But this new situation is a game-changer.

  Officially, Mia is now my competition.

  “Is that understood?” Adam asks, his eyes narrowing on me and then shifting to Mia.

  I nod.

  Mia says, “Yes.”

  “Good.” Adam folds his hands together. “Now for rules. There’s really only one. This business sets up people who want no-strings-attached company. That’s what I sell. Relationships for people on the rebound. People who want fun, without any emotional entanglement. But the office policy is no relationships, tangled or entangled, or in any form at all. Ever.” Once again, he looks from me to Mia, his blue eyes glinting. “Have I made myself clear?”

  This time Mia nods, and I’m the one who answers.

  “That won’t be a problem,” I say.

  I need this job. And I always play to win.

  Chapter 7

  Mia

  Q: Do you forgive and forget, or hold a grudge?

  That won’t be a problem.

  Ethan’s words ricochet around in my already battered brain as we accompany Adam Blackwood down a long corridor.

  I drop back, letting the two of them stride along in front of me. Beth’s boots pinch my toes, and I have to take about six steps for every two of theirs. I feel deflated, bruised, and not really sure what bothers me more—that this great opportunity turned into a cage match or that I just took a sucker punch to the ego from someone I don’t even know if I want.

  That won’t be a problem.

  Probably, if I’d woken in my own bed and wasn’t nursing the hangover of a million rock stars, I could shrug off those five words. But they keep twinging inside me, like muscles you forget are sore until you stretch the wrong way.

  I’m here for the job, I remind myself. Not the guy. I couldn’t even remember his name an hour ago, and now I’m pouting because he wants to focus on his work? This is better. This makes it all that much easier to crush him.

  Um, I mean earn this fantastic opportunity on the basis of my merits.

  Bits of their conversation waft back to me as we move in and out of halos of LED lights: market penetration, abandonment rate. Ethan’s already grabbed the baton, and here I am moping along in the background. Is that the Mia Galliano who’s going to take on this mother-flippin’ world? No, it is not.

  So I need a plan. One that includes leaving Ethan in the dust.

  I steel myself and take a few healthy strides to catch up to them. Wedging myself next to Adam, I force Ethan to shoulder-bump the wal
l.

  “I’ve already got a hundred great ideas,” I tell Adam Blackwood. “How about a more cinematic approach to your promotions? Like a visual narrative we can carry out along all kinds of transmedia platforms. What do you think?”

  “I like the sound of that,” he says and gives me a wink that would relax Medusa’s hair.

  I keep him chatting until we reach an alcove with a massive partner desk in Plexiglas and chrome. Tablet computers rest on each side, with additional wireless keyboards and fancy tri-fold monitors spread across the desktop. The geek girl in me salivates—classily, of course.

  On a long concrete countertop nearby, a towering espresso machine alternately hisses and gurgles, its four nozzles caked with foam. Beneath it, cabinet doors gape open, and a profusion of cleaning supplies and paper cups spills out onto the floor.

  Adam glances at the kitchen area, his expression darkening, and then gestures us to the sleek white leather captain’s chairs flanking the desk. We both go for the same one, smacking inelegantly into one another. Ethan puts a hand on my shoulder to keep me from tottering, and that delicious beach-smoke scent of his hollows my insides.

  Focus, Mia.

  I ease away and flop into the oversized seat, the wheels of which promptly roll me about six feet across the space.

  “What’s first on the agenda?” asks Ethan. He settles into his chair like he was born to it, though his legs are so long that his burnished Oxfords end up under my side. I roll back up to the desk, feeling overly conscious of every bit of him—his feet right near my own. His toned legs and broad shoulders perfectly encased in his suit. His ink-blue eyes, inquisitive and friendly, focused on Adam. Not aggressive. Not overeager. Just deep and thoughtful, alive with his desire to dive into a challenge.

  “Today, I want you to get signed up on Boomerang. You need to have the client experience to know how to sell it, right? And everything we do—this dating site, our film and TV properties—it’s about tapping into a certain zeitgeist. Really understand how to speak to our audience, and you can write your own ticket. So, take a look around the site, fill out member profiles, get familiar with it all.”