I'm Feeling Lucky

by BrittWitt16

Emily Terrell is not a stranger to Google Headquarters. She's practically spent her whole life there. But growing up changes everything. This summer, the staff's decided that if Emily wants to stick around, she's going to have to make herself useful, co-mentoring one of the teams interning at the company. And she can't think of a worse way to spend her summer. Stuart/OC

1. Chapter 1

"So, do you come here often?"

You'd think that, in an office building full of certified geniuses and supposedly charismatic employees, someone would be able to come up with a better pick-up line to use on a girl. But no. It was probably the sixth time I'd heard it that summer, and about the twenty-eighth total time in my life. The problem was, of course, that everyone thought they were being clever, breaking out a dusty, old classic that was supposedly out of use. Really all they were doing was wearing the phrase out even more, turning it from bland and uncreative to downright repulsive.

Thankfully, it wasn't the only thing I'd ever heard. If I were being subjected to nothing but ancient pick-up lines every morning, I would have stopped drinking my coffee in the first floor lounge years ago. There were a handful of chemistry jokes, a couple tech puns, which were all to be expected when frequenting the headquarters of one of the most powerful web and technology companies in the world. The best I'd ever heard had been something along the lines of, "Wow, are you Google Search? Because I'm feeling lucky." Unfortunately, that gem had been the brainchild of a spunky blonde girl from the New York Institute of Technology, who was admittedly gorgeous, but not what I was looking for in a guy. I'd befriended her anyway, until her internship had ended without an offer of employment. Then it was wordlessly back to New York City for her, and back to summers suffering the seemingly ceaseless sea of desperate, hormonal, uncreative interns for me.

That led me right up to that moment. A bright morning in sunny California, where I was sitting alone at a small table in the café, attempting to enjoy a coffee and some online article about wine sales in some kind of peace and quiet. But of course, Intern Arrival Day was never peaceful or quiet in Google headquarters. The fresh victims were all buzzing around in brightly colored swarms, yapping to each other about their test grades and academic awards, and just why they felt they were qualified for the jobs they were so desperate to obtain. Everyone was looking to impress, to find a niche of useful people and dazzle their peers with their oh-so-original jokes or pick-up lines or talents or whatever the hell else they could come up with. They all wanted a foothold. And as someone who looked calm and collected, like they were at least confident if not already someone important, I seemed to be attracting a lot of attention.

I was exhausted, and had been trying to direct lost interns and answer their questions politely all morning. So by the time this hotshot intern sauntered up looking to win some kind of advantage? My patience was already running thin.

I slowly raised my eyes from my laptop, looking up into the boy's face as he shifted nervously on his feet next to the table. He was exceptionally average. Sandy blonde hair, dark brown eyes, a smattering of freckles across his slightly squashed nose. He won a few points for the sweet, awkward smile, but they were all decimated by the fact he felt the need to actually wear the company hat distributed to all interns—primary colors, propeller top and all. Probably a nice enough kid, but very clearly overeager, and most likely clingy. Besides, it was always the innocent looking ones you had to look out for.

"Yeah, actually," I said blandly, turning back to my laptop and propping an elbow up on the table. I chose to ignore the quiet, choked sound of surprise he made, thrown by my unexpected answer. I barely restrained myself from rolling my eyes, choosing instead to rest my head in my free hand and stare at my screen until his shadow receded from my table. But apparently, he was more determined than I'd given him credit for.

"Well, that's—that's cool," he chuckled nervously, hands wringing the strap of the book bag he had slung over his shoulder. "S-So you're like an employee?"

"Nope."

"Oh," he sighed, before revving up for a second attempt. "Then are you an intern, too?"

"Nope."

"Oh… Well, um…ahem…so are you…? I mean, uh…"

I waited for him to finish for a solid six seconds. When it was painfully obvious he had no clue how to save himself from the awkward, flustered pit he was sinking in, I looked up from my laptop once more. "Yeah, sweetheart, I'm gonna stop you right there." I snapped my laptop shut and turned to look up at him, giving him my full attention. "What's your name?"

"M-Me?" He paused, actually looking around as if looking for someone else. "Uh, yeah, sorry. Um, I'm Tate."

"Tate," I repeated with a slightly patronizing smile. "Look, you seem like a nice guy. And I'm sure that you've got some crazy IQ or a really nice car or something. If you're lucky, maybe even both. But I'm not really looking to get involved, or really interact at all with any of the company's interns."

I raised my eyebrows a fraction as the poor boy gaped like a fish. Mouth open, mouth closed, mouth open, looking desperately for something to say. "O…kay…" he managed, shoulders slumping forward slightly.

I beamed, tucking my laptop under one arm and precariously placing my cup in the same hand. I rose from the chair, straightening my skirt and purse strap before patting Tate bracingly on the shoulder. "Nice meeting you though. Seriously, good luck."

And without another word, I stalked out of the room, avoiding eye contact with anyone and everyone around me. I'd already gotten four bad pick-up lines in the last twenty four hours. I did not want to go for five.

My retreat from the first floor lobby meant that I was about a half an hour ahead of the schedule I had planned for myself, but I kept moving anyway. There was only one place on campus where I would be safe from engaging in any sort of social interaction, and that was a spacious office up on the sixth floor.

I tried to keep my face emotionless as I passed through the first few floors. That was where most of the interns were being kept, along with the younger, new employees. I'd made it a general rule not to talk to anyone around my age at the company. They were still skittish, too anxious to climb the corporate ladder and willing to do anything they had to in order to do it. I'd had enough of being around that kind of desperation, so I kept my distance. But despite my efforts, they all seemed to know who I was. I guess they felt like they had to, on some level. At least, they did if they wanted to get anywhere.

I only felt safe when I passed up into upper management. I smiled politely and waved at everyone I knew. Considering that I'd developed the habit of spending the summer at Google, and had just about every year since I was four years old, that was basically everyone—people who, for better or for worse, were like extended family to me. A few just grinned or gave a curt nod of acknowledgement. Others actually stopped me with hugs, gushing about how long it had been since I'd seen them.

But even though I was much more comfortable upstairs, it wasn't the same as the previous summers. There was an underlying tension in all of my interactions. I was more closed off than I'd been in years, and even though I'd been attempting to hide it, everyone seemed to notice. Thankfully, no one asked about it outright. I think they knew enough that they didn't have to. And I was not in the mood to discuss all the things that had changed since my last summer at Google.

I picked up my pace when the office I was looking for was in sight, traditional glass door covered by a flat, white curtain, blocking the inside of the room from view. I strode up without hesitation and tapped a practiced rhythm against the glass before a familiar, deep voice granted me entrance.

"Hey, Dad." I closed the door behind me and dropped my purse unceremoniously on the floor next to one of the couches. Why his office needed two of the huge, green sofas was beyond me. Even as the director of Google Translate, he almost never had meetings in his office. That's what the dozens of conference rooms were for. If it was a short meeting with one or two other employees, he had the matching armchairs on the opposite side of his desk. And it's not like he was using it for corporate naptime. Even if he wanted to take a nap, there was a whole corner of the main building dedicated to freaking nap-pods. And yet here I was, in the middle of an entire living room setup, complete with two couches, a glass coffee table, colorful area rug, a minifridge, and a plasma TV. Not that I was complaining. Dad might never use any of his company-granted amenities, but I certainly got good use out of them.

"Morning, Emily," he replied cheerfully enough, though he didn't bother to raise his head from his work. "I wasn't sure I was going to see you in the office today."

"Why?" I asked, momentarily placing my laptop on the couch.

He made a noncommittal noise in his throat and straightened his glasses, eyes still fixed on his work. "Well you went out last night, and you still weren't home when I got back from work."

I shrugged. "I got back late."

"Hm, is that why you still weren't in your bed when I came in to check on you before I left this morning?"

I winced, but quickly composed my face into a minorly sheepish grin. "Okay, so I got back a little later than I thought…"

"You're old enough to make your own decisions," he said, though his tone made it sound as if he were trying to remind himself more than me. "If you don't come home every night, that's fine. I just want to make sure you're being safe…"

"Oh my God, Dad."

"Fine, fine. I'm just saying that I didn't expect you to be up so early."

"I've been sitting in the café for an hour," I said smugly.

He raised an eyebrow at his computer screen. "You usually spend hours down there. Why the early departure?"

"Escaping sexual harassment," I informed him, taking a long sip of my regrettably cold coffee before discarding it.

I heard the telltale sound of my father trying to suppress a snort. "Did you at least handle it politely?"

"Politely?" I glared at him and threw my hands out to the side. "Why should I be expected to hand sexual harassment politely?"

"Because I know your definition of sexual harassment," he sighed, shaking his head at the pile of papers he was sifting through, "and it's usually on par with the generally accepted definition of friendliness."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I scoffed plopping down onto the couch and swinging my feet up.

"Feet off the upholstery."

I pouted, but grudgingly slid down in my seat so that my shoes were clear of the fabric, my ankles and head resting on opposite arms of the couch. "You try being an attractive girl with a famous dad in a sea full of nerds," I said as if he hadn't interrupted me. "Survive that and maybe I'll consider taking your advice."

"At least tell me you haven't gotten me in any trouble with my colleagues," he begged, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

I rolled my eyes, restoring my computer to its rightful place on my lap. "Come on, gimme some credit, Dad. No employees, just a few presumptuous interns."

"Interns?" he repeated, actually pausing in his scribbling on important documents.

"Yeah. It's arrival day. Yippee."

Dad apparently found that important enough to look up from his work at long last. "Oh that is today, isn't it?" He peered at me over the top of his gold-rimmed glasses, looking more like some eager professor than a father. He leaned forward on his desk, and clasped his hands in front of him. "Think you'll go down and mingle? Maybe make a few friends?"

"Hm, let me think about that, no," I said in a single breath. I immediately turned back to the article so I wouldn't have to see the disappointed look on his face. Hearing that I-feel-like-I've-completely-failed-as-a-parent sigh was bad enough.

"Why not?" he asked.

I held my tongue for a moment, trying to breathe deeply through my nose. It felt like we had the same exact conversation at the beginning of every summer. I didn't know if he managed to purge all of his memories every year, or if he was just overly optimistic that one day I would wake up, shed my cocoon, and become the beautifully enthusiastic social butterfly he wanted me to be. I never bothered to ask. Either way, it meant having the same conversation every year.

"Dad." "Emily." "The interns are here." "Are you going to go make friends?" "No." "Why?" "Because every single goddamn 'friend' I've ever had seems to want to spend more time getting to know you and your fucking job instead of me, Dad."

I never actually said that.

"Because humans my own age repulse me, father," I said instead, one hand waving regally through the air to dismiss the notion. "You can't expect me to interact with such commoners and peasants! The audacity!"

It made him grin, but the expression was bordering on exhaustion. Maybe he was just as tired of having this conversation as I was. But he hadn't given up just yet. "You're not going to get along with everyone you meet, sweetheart. That doesn't mean there aren't people out there worth getting to know."

I gasped and laid a hand over my heart. "Wow, Dad. That—That was really profound. Can I quote you on that? I might embroider it on a lacy, decorative pillow for this stupid sofa."

Dad shook his head, rubbing a hand over his forehead in a way that made my stomach twinge with the tiniest bit of guilt. But I had to stay firm. I wasn't about to frolic off into a sea of humanoid piranhas just to get the mopey look off his face. He didn't actually have to deal with any of them.

"I just worry about you," he sighed. He folded his arms in front of him and looked at me in earnest. "I know that it can be stressful trying to figure out what it is that you want to do after college…"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"And I know things haven't been easy for you over the last year or so, what with…"

"Dad!" I snapped. "I don't want to talk about it."

He froze for a moment, but relented, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Okay, you're right. I'm sorry. I just… I hate seeing you like this, sweetheart. You hardly talk about school anymore, and when you're home you just stay locked up with me in my office. I mean, I love your company, Emmy, but I don't want you to be…lonely…"

I groaned internally, attitude dropping off my face. There he went with the nicknames. The overly emotional parent act. "I just want what's best for you," and all that bullshit. Well, not bullshit exactly. I knew that he did actually care, and that he'd always tried his best to make sure I'd grow up like any other normal kid. I guess I just wasn't meant to be normal, though. And he wasn't to blame for that.

"I'm fine, Dad," I assured him. "Really. I'll figure it out. I've got a few friends at school, and I've got you here. I don't want anyone else." He pursed his lips skeptically, but I cut him off before he could argue. "Honestly, Dad, I'm perfectly fine with what I have. I just don't see the point in frustrating myself out there when I have everything I need right here."

"You really expect me to believe that I'm everything my beautiful, twenty-one year old daughter needs?" he asked wryly.

I smirked. "Well, you and Vampire Diaries." That did the trick. Dad dropped the serious gaze, ducking his head and chuckling into his paperwork. I grinned triumphantly, fishing my headphones out of my purse. "Which is what I'm getting back to right now, if you don't mind." He looked up, as if he was about to say something else, but I held up a hand. "And you have work to do. Stop slacking! Mush!"

He simply shook his head with a grudging smile, replacing his glasses on his face and continuing his work. I let out a long, low breath, turning back to my laptop and plugging the headphones in. Crisis averted.

At least, it was for a while. I let my father get on with his filing or email writing or secret government hacking or whatever, and in return he left me alone to enjoy my show, and pretended he couldn't hear my gasps or muttered curses to the characters on my laptop screen. But that was all normal. Consuming copious amounts of fiction was generally the way I passed every summer—whether it be books, movies, television shows or anything in between. I'd repeatedly thrown myself into fictional world after fictional world. At least then it didn't feel like I was locking myself in an office at a tech company's headquarters. I usually let myself get pretty wrapped up in it, which was probably why I didn't even notice my father had gotten up until he was pulling the headphones off my head.

"Emily!"

I jumped in surprise, my head jerking up to discover my dad's exasperated expression. "Dad!" I replied, mimicking his scolding tone.

He gave me a pointed look, thrusting a pile of papers between my face and the still-running show. "I need you to run these down to Mr. Chetty for me. It's a copy of the translate itinerary for the intern track, so he needs it in the main atrium as soon as possible." Without any more explanation, he turned his back, returning to his desk. He seemed completely at ease with the situation, but his explanation made my jaw drop.

I tossed the folder onto the glass table, swinging my legs off the couch and jumping up so abruptly I almost felt dizzy. "I'm sorry. What part of 'I'm not going down there' did you not understand, Dad?"

"You never said that," he countered, clearly getting far too much enjoyment out of distressing me.

I narrowed my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. "I thought I made it pretty clear," I snapped. "I'm not socializing with the interns."

He sighed, but turned to face his computer instead of me, maintaining his resolve. "You don't need to make friends, Emily. I'm asking you to deliver paperwork to my colleague. That requires little to no social interaction."

"Yeah, but you're still dropping me into the Cornucopia of the internship Hunger Games," I pointed out. He ignored me, clacking away on his keyboard so quickly that I suspected he might just be moving his fingers in an attempt to look busy. "I'm not an intern, you know?" I reminded him with a glare. "You can't just send me out to do your bidding like some little henchman."

"But I am your father," he said without looking away from the screen. "So either you deliver those papers to Mr. Chetty, or I'll be forced to confiscate your laptop so I can actually enjoy some peace and quiet."

"You wouldn't," I challenged, taking a step in front of the computer.

"I can and I will."

I pursed my lips, fidgeting but holding my ground for a few solid seconds. Finally, I caved, snatching the folder up from the table and stomping to the door. "I hate you," I grumbled, wrenching the door open.

"Love you too!" my father called from behind me, just before I slammed the door shut.

I took a moment to shake off my irritation. Storming through the building in an angry tirade would only draw more attention, and if there was one thing I'd had enough of for the day from overeager kids in my age bracket, it was attention.

I'd been hoping it was late enough in the morning for the first floor to be relatively clear. The interns would be in their collective orientation meeting, and I could quickly and quietly hand off the paperwork without passing any curious faces. But of course, when is life ever that easy?

Instead, my father had managed to kick me out of his office at the most inconvenient time possible—rush hour traffic. The meeting must have been starting in a few minutes, because the hallway leading to the main atrium was blocked solid with energetic, unfamiliar faces. I groaned as my eyes landed on the swarm. Not only was I going to have to be near the fresh meat, but now I had to be packed in alongside them like a can of sardines. Fun.

Resigned to my dismal fate, I tightened my arms around the file, hugging it to my chest and tilting my chin up as high as it would go without looking ridiculous. It might have been impossible to avoid human contact, but I was going to try my best. If I was going to be thrown into the mix, I was at least going to try to look intimidating. Not just confident or comfortable with myself, God forbid I actually look friendly, but completely uninviting. And that strategy seemed to work for the most part. I got a few glances, but people seemed to be able to tell I was one of the few people who weren't in the mood for conversation.

It was torturous, moving inch by inch until suddenly we weren't moving at all. Complete roadblock. My hands tightened around the file, stopping just short of leaving finger-shaped creases in the documents inside. For a moment, I contemplated holding my ID badge over my head and pretending to pull rank to push my way through. But a quick look around debunked that plan immediately. All of the interns got pass badges upon checking in, almost identical to mine. No one in the crowd was going to believe I was anyone but an intern myself.

I craned my neck, trying to look ahead to see what was causing the hold up, before I was nearly knocked off my feet by someone colliding with my back.

"Watch it!" I spat, glaring over my shoulder.

The guilty boy hardly flinched, his eyes glued to his phone. "Yeah, could you move now?" he asked, thumbs flying across his touch screen.

I pursed my lips, far too irritated already to deal with some rude, clumsy techie and his crap. I turned on the spot so I could glare at him full on. "And where would you like me to go? In case you haven't noticed, it's a fucking madhouse."

I'm not sure whether it was the actual words or the tone of my voice, but something had finally caught his attention. His eyes flicked up to mine through black-rimmed glasses before panning around the area. He straightened up slightly as he looked around, assessing the total fire hazard we were caught in the middle of. He huffed slightly, obviously annoyed that I'd been right, before turning back to me. He kept his phone up, but his eyes scanned up and down my body. I tensed, right hand clenching into a fist just in case the douchebag decided to be the fifth guy to ask if I came here often. I needn't have worried though. Instead, his eyebrows rose expectantly, edging up his pale forehead towards a mess of tousled brown hair. I noted briefly that, for the moment, he had his corny company cap crushed between the fingers of his left hand.

"So? Are you gonna apologize?" he asked.

This time it was my eyebrows that shot upward. "A-Apologize?" I said dumbly.

The boy smirked slightly, tilting his head with an arrogant expression. "For stopping short with literally no warning. I mean, it's the least you can do. You should pay more attention."

"Pay more a…?" I echoed, a bubble of rage slowly welling in my chest. "Well excuse me. I didn't realize that I needed to announce that there was a fucking mob of people in case some oblivious asshole decided not to look up from his phone."

"Uh huh."

"Besides, you hit me, so it's your fault."

"Oh yeah, right, of course." He nodded mockingly, rocking back on his heels and waving his hat around airily.

I forced myself to take a moment to regain control. I was not going to let some fucking intern wind me up. I let out a long breath through my nose before composing my face into my signature, patronizing smile. "You tail end someone in traffic, it's the second car that's at fault."

The boy squinted dramatically, as if he were considering the argument. "Wow, well, thank you for that completely unnecessary road test," he said, eyes flicking down to his phone and then over my shoulder. "But the uh, 'lane' is clear now, so I'm just gonna go ahead and pass on the left?" I quickly looked around, noticing that the horde around us was in fact in motion once more. I opened my mouth to reply, but the boy was already one step ahead. "Try not to crash into too many other people, kay hot stuff? Great."

Before I could even process what had been said, he side stepped me and pushed forward in the crowd. My mouth was still open as I watched him go, waiting for some snarky reply to come out on its own so I could have the last word. I always had the last word. But the infuriating phone boy didn't seem to care. He tugged his hat onto his head, effectively blending in to the rest of the intern drones and disappearing from my sight. I finally snapped my mouth shut with a huff, my fingers tightening on the file until the paper inside emitted an audible crinkle from the pressure.

"Douchebag," I grumbled, before finally moving along with the flow of traffic.

Needless to say, the encounter had me thoroughly disgruntled. I elbowed my way through most of the crowd, trying to peel off toward the small group of actual Google employees that were congregated at the front of the hall. I took a moment to shake myself off once I was clear of the mob, tugging at my skirt and brushing off the feelings left over from being repeatedly bumped into. Then I marched over to semi-familiar group of executives.

"Excuse me, Mr. Chetty?" I internally rolled my eyes at my voice, which seemed to automatically become softer and higher when talking to authority figures. It was a pretty serious contrast from the voice I'd used cursing out Touch Screen Boy.

Mr. Chetty glanced around at the mention of his name, and quickly dismissed the few managers he'd been conferencing with. I waved at a few of them as they dispersed. The man turned to face me directly and crossed his arms over his tacky sweater vest. "Miss Terrell," he greeted in his clipped Indian accent. I winced at the indiscreet use of my last name, reflexively looking around to check that we hadn't caught anyone's attention. "Good to have you back at headquarters."

"Well, good to be home," I replied politely, my smile much more strained than his own. Eager to escape, I quickly handed over the file. "I was asked to deliver these to you."

"Ah yes. Thank you very much, Emily."

I stood there for a moment as he flipped the folder open, scanning the first few pages in silence. I bounced on the balls of my feet, glancing around awkwardly. It was a few solid seconds before I remembered that I didn't exactly need to wait to be dismissed, because I wasn't even an employee. "Well, I'm just gonna…"

"You know," Mr. Chetty said abruptly, foiling my exit plan, "I was disappointed to see that your name was yet again absent from the list of applying interns this summer."

"Are you surprised?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Chetty shook his head slightly, eyes remaining on the file. "No. But I suppose I have always held out hope. You're remarkably intelligent, Miss Terrell. We'd be glad to have you."

"Am I not already part of the team?" I gasped, pretending to be offended.

The man glanced up, sending me one of his rare smirks. "We'd be glad to have you officially," he corrected himself.

I sighed. "Well, uh, thanks Chet, but I'm gonna pass. Can't imagine growing up and still being stuck here for the rest of my life, you know?"

He raised his eyebrows skeptically, but nodded in consent. "Well, if you were to change your mind I'm sure something could be arranged. You have incredible potential, and there is an exception to every…"

"I'd rather not be an exception, actually," I cut him off firmly.

Chetty trailed off, closing his mouth and giving me a hard, probing look. Luckily, I didn't need to endure it for long, as one of senior employees approached.

"Hey, Mr. Chetty?" he interrupted. "It's about time to get started. Oh, heya Emmy."

"Hey, Sid," I replied with a bright smile. "I'm heading back anyway. Have fun with your victims." I gave the pair a thumbs-up and spun on my heel, scampering from the room before Chetty could attempt to talk about my future anymore. We both had better things to do. He had a room full of interns to train, and I had a room full of interns to avoid.

Thankfully, Dad had kept his word about not confiscating my laptop, so I had an endless supply of television when I returned to his office. It kept me occupied until I started getting hungry, since the only thing I'd had so far was my coffee and a doughnut. So I'd suggested that we grab some lunch together, which Dad had agreed to. Twenty minutes, and my stomach started rumbling. He was just going to finish up the report he was working on. Thirty minutes more. My stomach felt like it was digesting itself from the inside out. Well, maybe it'd best if I just went downstairs and grabbed some food for myself without him, huh sweetheart? Yeah. Thanks, Dad.

And that is the story of how I was forced into wandering back into the first floor café. It wasn't as bad as it could have been though. The kiddies were all being herded into business meetings, getting briefed on the basic inner workings of the company, from workplace behavior to building layouts. That meant, for the most part, they were all confined to the second and third floors. For the most part. But there are always stragglers, and my horrible luck meant that I had to go ahead and attract them.

A long shadow was cast over my table, blocking out the afternoon light that had been washing over my forearms as I played on my phone. I clenched my teeth, refusing to look up.

"If you're about to use some lame ass line like 'you come here often' I swear to God I'm going to punch you in the throat."

The response was a light chuckle, but the figure didn't move. "How about, 'Is this seat taken?'" inquired a deep, British accent.

I snorted and narrowed my eyes at my phone. "I was kind of hoping to occupy the entire table by myself, so it might as well be, yeah. Bye."

Another chuckle, grating at my nerves. "Don't you think that's a bit harsh, Emily?"

My head immediately snapped up. Unsettlingly, the boy standing in front of me was not someone I knew. He didn't seem all that exceptional. Average height, average build, maybe a slightly above average face with dark, "smoldering" eyes to go with his olive skin. Eyebrows too thick, mouth too small. He was probably banking on the accent to get him anything he wanted. But the only thing that really stood out to me at that moment was the overwhelming sense of confidence. He was completely unfazed by my biting attitude, actually laughed instead of flinching. He stood tall with his shoulders back, actually managing to look borderline impressive despite his button down and plaid blazer. Of course, all of this was overshadowed by my apprehension that he knew my name. He knew more about me than I knew about him, and that left me at a disadvantage. I did not like being at a disadvantage.

"Excuse me?"

"Ha, sorry," he apologized, looking as sheepish as he could without actually being sorry. He was far too sure of himself to admit that he'd made a mistake. "That probably wasn't the best first impression."

"Bad pick up lines and creepiness? Yeah, not really."

He smirked, resting his hand on the back of the chair opposite me. "Mind if I sit?"

"Yes."

"Ah." He nodded, but instead of backing off, his smirk grew and he narrowed his eyes at me in an annoying, calculating way. "But you won't leave if I do. You seem like you're far too determined to run away, aren't you?" I opened my mouth to reply, but for the second time that day, I didn't seem to have anything to say. He saw the weakness, and took advantage of it. Slowly, he pulled the chair out and sat down, eyes never leaving mine. When I made no move to leave, he relaxed slightly, offering me his hand. "Graham Hawtrey. It's a pleasure."

I glanced back and forth between his face and hand for a few seconds. But the evidence thus far only proved that he probably wouldn't go away until I gave in. Reluctantly, I shook his hand. "Emily," I said shortly, and snatched my hand back. "Most likely a displeasure."

"Well, thank you for humoring me," he offered with a wide smile. I sneered, and turned my attention back to my phone.

He let the silence sit for a few moments, lounging back in his chair as if he'd been working there for years. I could feel him watching me, but I stubbornly ignored him. I willed him to just get bored and go away. But the pure power of imagination didn't seem to be working. Instead, he waited until I'd gotten used to the silence before smashing it to bits.

"So, Emily Terrell, yeah?" My head flew up instinctively, eyes wide with terror. Graham's smirk grew, knowing that he had my full attention at last. "Chetty doesn't exactly have the quietest voice," he explained in answer to my unasked question. "And I promise, not consistently eavesdropping, but well… A gorgeous girl like you walks into the room, it's a bit hard to ignore, you know?"

"I'm sure," I growled, glaring at what would otherwise have been a smoothly delivered compliment.

"Sorry," he lied again. "You must get that all the time."

My lips tightened into a straight line. "Honestly? Yeah. I do."

"Well, if the pretty face doesn't catch them your upright honesty must." I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest in response to the unimpressive joke. "No? Well then maybe it's the dry humor," he suggested. "Determination? Astounding intelligence?"

"You know, in comparison to this uninventive list of positive attributes, you might have been better off with 'do you come here often'," I mused, rolling my eyes and mirroring his relaxed, careless position in the chair.

"Duly noted," he said, nodding with that self-assured smile. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind for all of our future interactions." It was obvious he was trying to provoke another reaction from me, so I forced myself to simply shrug and look disinterested. Unfortunately, instead of making him less interested, Graham seemed to beam, intrigued that I'd caught onto the game so quickly. "No?" he laughed. "Okay then. You've just become my personal mission for the summer."

"Shouldn't you be more concerned about landing a job than some stupid conquest?" I said with a glare.

He waved me off. "Oh, I'm not worried about the job. I feel my position's already well secured. Besides, I didn't just come here to win. I came to learn."

"Oh really?" I asked, feigning interest.

"And who better to learn from than the daughter of Robert Terrell himself?"

The fake excitement melted off my face in an instant, morphing into a bitter smile I was all too comfortable wearing. "And there it is," I grumbled, dropping my gaze to the table edge.

"That is why you're here, isn't it?" Graham pressed. "Daddy's little girl, darling child of Google headquarters? I mean, you must know this place inside and out."

"Right. Must." I kept my eyes down as I started to collect my things. I didn't want to run, but my stubbornness to not talk about my dad was rapidly overriding that initial instinct.

"Oh, come on now, love," he chuckled, laying his hands over my own in an attempt to still them.

I wrenched my hands back and jumped up from the table, glaring at him for all I was worth. "Keep your hands to yourself, keep your stupid pet names to yourself and get the fuck away from me, okay? I don't work for Google. I'm not helping anyone, especially a dickhead like you."

"Ouch!" It was infuriating, watching that stupid smirk grow with every jab I made. "Alright, maybe not now, Emily, but by the end of the summer. You want to put your money on the right horse, make sure the right people are here to keep you company."

"Oh yeah?" I growled. "Well why don't you take your money and shove it up your…!"

"Yo, hey! There a problem over here?"

Graham and I both looked up at the new voice, turning towards the entrance of the café. Striding toward us was a pale, weedy boy with an untidy mop of curly, dark brown hair. He straightened out his glasses as he rushed over, attempting to keep a pleasant, if awkward smile on his face.

"We're fine, hobbit," Graham shot just as a wide smile split over my face.

"Lyle!" I rushed forward, snatching him up into a hug. He staggered for a moment, taken by surprise by the frankly unusual display of affection, but I was too happy to have an excuse to stop talking to Graham to care.

Lyle Spaulding was arguably one of the only employees at Google Headquarters that I really considered a friend. He'd rolled in as an intern just a few years ago, and had rapidly been promoted to first year manager. Usually I avoided interns at all costs, and admittedly I had put Lyle through hell, but he was a special case. I had run into him repeatedly during his first summer, to the point where it'd almost turned into a game. Lyle was fun to toy with because he was just so damn awkward. He wasn't trying to pick me up as a resource like most of the guys our age. If anything, most of the time he seemed to be avoiding me out of straight up fear. And that's why Lyle was safe. So by the time he'd gotten the job, I decided to put my general attitude and hostility aside. Just this once.

"Hey hey!" he finally said, pulling back and regaining his composure. "Em-dawg! What's up, my girl?" I rolled my eyes, ruffling his hair instead of giving a legitimate answer.

"Wait," Graham choked out, raising his eyebrows. "You two know each other?"

"Obviously." I smirked, narrowing my eyes at him. "Didn't you just say I must know this place inside and out? Come on, Lyle."

"What? Oh, um, okay?"

He bounced nervously as I snatched up my belongings and turned to march away. But I only made it a few steps before I turned back. "Oh, and by the way Graham," I spat, mimicking his accent. "I might not be friendly with everyone in this building, but I guarantee you that most of them have bullshit detectors that can tell that you're full of crap from a hundred miles away. So you might want to keep that in mind when you're revising your kissass speech."

I threw up my middle finger and spun on the spot, avoiding having to look at the amused expression spread on his face. Instead, I wrapped my hand around Lyle's forearm, yanking him away and dragging him out into the hallway.

"God, I am so done with interns for the day," I said as I stormed away from the café. "Actually, you know what? Forever. I am done with interns for forever."

"W-Wait, so what happened?" Lyle asked, struggling to keep up with my long strides.

"What do you think happened?! Flirt, flirt, flirt, 'hi I'd like to meet your dad.' As usual."

I heard Lyle sigh next to me and he grabbed my arm, forcing me to slow my pace down to a leisurely walk. "Hey, I'm sorry," he said, nudging me slightly with his elbow.

"Oh, shut up," I groaned, but I pushed back gently. "It's not your fault."

"Well, hey!" he said brightly. "You wanna come hang at mah work crib? My projies are about done for the afta-noon and Lyle could use some R and R."

I grinned, unable to stop myself from shaking my head at him. "Yeah, actually. Sounds good."

"Alright!" he cheered, clapping his hands. "Time for a little G to the O to the T, baby!"

"Okay, first of all," I laughed, linking my arm through one of his, "I want a full rewatch this summer, so we're starting at the beginning. Second, it's not Game to the of to the Thrones, so can you please talk like a normal person for like two seconds?"

"Hey, hey, no hate, Em-dawg!" he said with a shrug. "This is just the way I is!"

"Lyle, you are seriously the whitest, most awkward, most straight-edge person I know. It's just embarrassing."

"Well excuse me, but I can't control all this straight up G!"

I nodded, rolling my eyes. "Right. Well if you haven't noticed, I'm a little on edge today, so if you insist on talking like a 'straight up G' I'm going to straight up punch you in the face."

"Fine, fine," he conceded. "Lyle's gonna kick it down a notch."

"And no third person," I added with a smirk.

"Aw, come on!"

"Hey, I don't make the rules, L-dawg."

That was pretty much how I spent the rest of my day. Lyle and I picked at snacks and watched Game of Thrones in his tiny office on the fourth floor, quoting along and bickering about character development. Finally, Lyle had to get back to work, but he graciously let me curl up on a spinning chair and continue watching my own shows on my laptop, so long as I wore headphones and promised not to be too distracting.

He did eventually have to go home though, sooner rather than later. He was completely freaking out because he was starting as an intern mentor the next day, and felt like Chetty was just waiting on the edge of his seat to watch him fail. That was probably true, not that I said it out loud. I just told him to go home and go over his stuff there. There was no point staying at headquarters. He was only psyching himself out. Nothing I said made him feel any better, but ultimately he gave in, leaving me with nowhere to go but back to my dad's office.

Unsurprisingly, my father had barely noticed my absence. Any comments for me were delivered to his computer screen or keyboard, and I received minimal responses to anything I asked. I futzed around on the computer for another few hours, until it was finally getting dark outside. But Dad still showed no sign of stopping. That wasn't exactly unusual—it was normal for him to be completely immersed in his work, especially by the end of the day—but it was hard to suppress the hope every year that this summer would be different.

"Hey, Dad, I'm gonna head home," I announced when I was tired of waiting. I swung my bag up onto my shoulder and paused at his desk to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Already?" he asked, looking up from his work for the first time in hours.

"Yeah. Already."

He glanced out the window behind him at the dark sky, then down at his watch to check the time. He let out a frustrated sigh. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I know I said something about dinner, but Jared just dropped this report on my desk and…"

"I know, I know. Work first." Dad shot me a guilty look, and I waved him off. "Seriously, Dad. I'll be fine."

"I promise I will be right behind you."

"Yeah, right. And I'm the Duke of Buckingham."

"Well then, good sir, I will see you at home." I rolled my eyes and walked to the door, swinging my car keys around my finger. "Oh, and Emily?" I paused, my hand on the door handle, but he was already looking back at his computer screen. "Try and get here early tomorrow, okay? There are a few things I'd like your help with."

I groaned, leaning my shoulder against the open door. "Dad. Not an employee. Not an intern. Not associating with interns," I reminded him shortly.

But he was back in the zone, and his eyes never left his paperwork. "Uh-huh," he agreed distractedly. "So bright and early tomorrow, sweetie!"

I clenched my mouth shut and slammed the door behind me. I stood in the hallway for a few seconds, waiting quietly for a response—a reprimand, an apology, anything. But there was nothing. He probably hadn't even realized that I'd left yet.

I stomped my foot childishly before whirling around and heading to the parking lot. There wasn't anything to worry about though. Sure, he could hold dad-punishments over my head as long as he wanted, but he couldn't actually make me do anything. I was an adult. I was a mature, responsible adult who wasn't actually employed by Google. If I didn't want to interact with interns or employees or really do any socializing whatsoever at headquarters, I didn't have to. That was my prerogative. They couldn't make me do anything I didn't want to do.

---

A/N: Hey guys! So, when I first went to see the Internship, I wasn't expecting to like it half as much as I did. Now it's probably my favorite stand alone movie ever. I saw it in theaters like 5 times, I bought it on iTunes, and then got it on DVD just because I could. I just love it to pieces, the humor, the message, the characters. And as with everything that I'm obsessed with, I ended up coming up with a character of my own and decided to write about it.

Unfortunately, I do not own the Internship or Google Inc, obviously, and credit for those things go to their respective and incredible creators.

I hope you guys like the first chapter. It's certainly been through the mill, read and edited by about 20 different people in my Creative Writing class, so I hope that it's up to par and yet still me. I'm still waffling a little bit as to where I want this story to go, but I wanted to put the first chapter up to gauge everyone's interest. Please let me know what you think so I know if I should continue and what you might like to see. I love you all and thank you so much for reading!

-Brittney