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Hayley
Jenny, my best friend, groans into a cushion. “How do we make them see you as more than an intern?”
In all honesty? I have no clue. I’ve managed to snag the internship of my dreams. At twenty-six, with a college debt up to my pits, I’ve dropped everything and moved across the pond from Cali to Cambridge, UK. Sounds like a bad reality TV show, doesn’t it? But when I applied for the internship with the best cancer research hospital in Europe, I didn’t think I’d get it. And when I actually did, there was no chance I’d ever say no.
So… to Cambridge I went. It helped that my best friend had moved to London with her husband a few years before, so I wasn’t all alone in a new country.
“You need to stay here forever!” she’d insisted. “I need my bestie with me, or I’ll die. You wouldn’t believe the amount of asshattery I deal with on a daily basis, most of it from Aiden, mind you. I need someone to moan to!”
I’d smirked. Jenny does not moan. She takes everything on the chin—she is the most British American I have ever met.
I snag the pillow from Jenny’s hands and fluff some life back into it. “Well, hopefully they’ll realize my brilliance and offer me a permanent position soon. Right now, though, my main prerogative is for the head of the department to notice me. I swear he thinks I’m a cleaning lady.”
“What? Why would he?”
“Oh, you know me and my OCD. I’m always picking stuff up off the floor or straightening things that lie askew...”
“Only you…” Jenny laughs. “Only you’d get a prestigious internship and make the people who pull the strings believe you’re a cleaning lady.”
“Miss Scott at your service.” I do a little bow.
“So how do we get them to notice that you exist and are brilliant?”
“I don’t know,” I sigh. If only my manager would let me be more involved.
“Can you sneak into a meeting? Break into Mr. Salisbury’s house and tell him all about your research and theories? Fly an airplane with a sign that you’re worth investing in?”
“You’re absolutely mental. I’m not breaking or sneaking in anywhere!”
“Airplane it is then.”
“Jenny…”
“Fine, fine,” my bestie grumbles. “But we do need to get you in front of the big wigs somehow. I’m sure if they just hear you talk, they’ll know you’re worth their time.”
“Maybe.” I end the conversation, but the idea’s been planted. It’s like little sprouts digging roots into my subconscious.
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