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Chapter 2

"Do you see this fucking stapler here?" Malcolm yelled at Eliot, who had his back pressed against a wall and seemed to shrink with every passing second he was being shouted at. Eliot Johnson nodded. "Good, cause I will take that stapler and fucking staple your arse cheeks shut. I will staple them shut so thoroughly, you will never be able to take another shit in your life!"

"Malcolm-"

"No, this isn't your time to talk! This is the time where you find someone for that intern that is not me! Is that clear?!"

"But-," Eliot tried, whimpering, but Malcolm threatened him with the sound of the stapler right in front of his face and the man twitched and shut up instantly.

"I don't want an intern. I don't have time for a fucking intern. And I most certainly don't want her staying at my fucking home! Settle that, Eliot!"

"But Malc-"

Eliot Johnson was interrupted again when there was a knock on his office door and a few moments later Tom stepped inside, wearing a wide smile on his face.

"Ah, I thought it was Malcolm I heard shouting in here. Is everything alright? Has the intern arrived yet?" the Prime Minister asked.

Malcolm let out a tired groan as soon as he realized what exactly was going on. Apparently everyone had known about Miss Oswald, except for him. But before he could say anything the Prime Minister already continued.

"Let me just say, Malcolm, thank you for taking her on. I know you're swamped with work but I think it is so important that you agreed to do this. You're irreplaceable here and you know that, right?"

Malcolm snorted. "Of course I know that. This party is like a fucking flock of sheep, bleating their madness all over the news."

"And we need more of your kind. We need more Malcolms. So I really appreciate you teaching her. I haven't met her personally but from what Eliot here tells me she has a lot of potential."

Malcolm took a long, deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts about the matter at hand. His intern, Miss Oswald, was a way for Eliot to get back at him and she had also been approved of by the Prime Minister. He racked his brain for a way he could make it plain to these two dimwits that he simply didn't have the time and patience to deal with their fuck ups.

"Tom," he began, smiling as nicely as he could, "I know you think what you're doing is right, but it's not. This intern is not going to be of any help. She will most likely end up in asylum for the mentally unstable by the end of the week and that's going to be your fucking fault. Give her to someone else. Give her to Eliot!"

"I have an intern already," Eliot argued and Malcolm rolled his eyes. Their limited minds simply didn't understand what a bad idea it was.

"Please," Tom almost begged him, "Give her a chance. Just a week or two. If you still think she's of no use we will find someone else for her, but I really, really need more people with your skills, especially now as the election is drawing closer."

The election card. Fuck it! The Prime Minister wasn't entirely wrong for once. They did need more of him with all those party bunglecunts fucking up the simple task of not being a complete dobber on the news. However Malcolm sincerely doubted that Miss Oswald was the right person for the job, the right person for this internship. What he needed was someone fierce, a quick thinker who could give those twits a good bollocking when it was needed.

Malcolm groaned and raised his index finger in a threatening manner. "I'll try, okay? I'll fucking try. I'll give her a chance but if this blows up in your face, you don't come crying to me about it!"

He turned around on his heels and stormed out of Eliot's office, slamming the door shut behind him. This whole intern business was going to end badly, probably by the end of her first week. Malcolm knew it. He just knew.

Clara sighed into phone. "You said I could call you if I was having a bad day. Well, I'm having a bad day."

"Already?" Amy asked on the other end of the line, "Your internship started when? An hour ago?"

That seemed about right. After Malcolm Tucker had left her alone in his house Clara had paced the kitchen for almost an hour, considering her options while throwing the hamper holding his shirts a disdainful glance every now and then. She wasn't here to play his housemaid, she was his intern.

"I think he didn't even really know about this internship," Clara tried to explain to her friend, "He was surprised when I showed up with my suitcase and he was a real jerk about it. He told me to iron his shirts! And he called me sweetheart."

"Oh Clara," Amy sounded pitiful, "I wish I could say something other than I told you so. Malcolm Tucker is a prick and everyone knows it. You knew what you were getting into."

"I know," Clara replied defeatedly, "But he can't really do that, can he? Use me as his own personal maid? He can't expect me to iron his clothes?"

If he could, that would seem really, really wrong. Clara was here because she was the best political science student in her year and she was here to learn things, not manage his household.

"I don't know, Clara, and I'm sorry but I've got a client coming in any minute now. Hang in there, okay? Maybe it'll get better," Amy tried to reassure her but she did so very badly.

"Thanks," Clara replied half-heartedly and hung up before sliding the phone back into her pocket.

Once more she glanced at the pile of shirts and came to a decision: she wouldn't play Malcolm Tucker's maid. Instead she drew out her tablet and started browsing the internet to pass the time.

It was late when the front door opened and her boss returned from work. Clara wasn't only annoyed and bored out of her mind by that time, she was also very hungry. Luckily for her Malcolm Tucker entered the kitchen and dropped a plastic bag on the table that smelled a lot like Chinese takeout. She rose from her chair to be a littler closer to eye level with him even though he still much taller.

"You can stay," he said harshly, raising his index finger at her, "But there are a few ground rules. If you fuck up, you go. If you're in the way, you go. If you become a fucking nuisance, you go."

Clara swallowed hard but remained looking at him. She could do this. And she would.

"You will do as I tell you and-," Malcolm broke off, pointing at the laundry basket, "Why didn't you iron the shirts?"

She straightened her shoulders, trying her best to appear taller. "Because I'm not a maid. Ironing clothes was not part of the job description when I applied for this internship," Clara replied determinedly.

Malcolm sneered at her. "We will get to the fucking job description once you've proven yourself. Now let's eat. I'm fucking starving."

He plopped down on one of the chairs and started unwrapping the Chinese food while Clara remained staring at him. It took him a moment to notice.

"Is there anything else?" his voice was heavy with annoyance.

She folded her arms in front of her chest. "Do you have to swear so much?"

"Why? Do you have a fucking problem with my fucking swearing?" Malcolm glared at her.

"No," she replied simply and sank back into her chair as he pushed one of the boxes in her direction. Those three months couldn't be over soon enough.