Mr. Anders leaned down and picked up a framed certificate hanging in the corner, below eye level. “This is an award given to him by the ICTTE for his research for pedestrian safety or whatever he did at UCLA to get that PhD, and look at where he keeps it. It’s almost face down.” Mr. Anders placed it back with care. “They’ve invited him back this year, and do you know how I found out? His name was in the mailer sent out by the conference. You’d think he’d tell his boss.”
“Wow” was all I’d managed. “I didn’t know he had a PhD.”
Should I be calling him Dr. Carden?
Mr. Anders walked back to the doorway and turned to face me. “Gordon-Bettencourt, that’s what you’re up against. Engineers who want nothing more than to solve the problems I give them. Do you have that or are we wasting our time here?”
“I…” I started, self-doubt flooding my bloodstream. Still, I managed to say, “Yes, I do. I can. I will.”
He looked back at Mr. Carden’s desk. “Granted, if Carden could have an ounce of your charm, that would certainly make things easier.” He chuckled to himself as if there was something I didn’t know.
Before he left, he turned around. “By the way, I hear your father’s bought shares in a new social media platform.”
“Seems to be the talk of the town.”
I’d seen it on the news like he did. If he was looking for an exclusive, I didn’t have it.
“Do you see him regularly?” he asked.
“He’s a busy man,” I bit out as politely as possible, hoping my pale cheeks weren’t reddening with guilt, shame, anger, and all the other awful feelings turning up with the thought of him. Instead, I offered Mr. Anders the smile that earned me many favors. “But when he’s in town, I’ll tell him to come around to the office.”
“I’d love to meet him. Let him know I’d be honored to take him out for dinner and drinks.” Mr. Anders narrowed his eyes, his head tilting. It was as though he was trying to calculate exactly how much I was worth.
Not that his guess would be anywhere near the truth. I resisted the urge to squirm.
One of the other interns came rushing into the office, and Mr. Anders stepped back, saluting me before going to bother the next person, I presume.
Cedric, the number one on the intern list, rested his hands on my desk. “Can I see your latest design for the Groveport interchange? I’ve been working on the bridges, but I need to make sure we’re on the same page before that technocrat of yours gets back here and tears me a new one.”
“You mean Mr. Carden?”
He nodded, his nostrils flaring. “The man’s insane. No one cares for that much detail, and I shouldn’t be forced to design to the nthdegree. My designs were fine. Mr. Fischer approved it, but Carden took one look and found like fifty problems.”
“His attention to detail is pretty phenomenal.” I don’t know why, but there was an urge to defend him and each of the interns seemed to feel that way about the heads of their chosen departments. It was as though we needed to prove we’d made the right choice and somehow their credibility reflected our own.
That and Mr. Carden’s attention to detail was more than phenomenal.
Cedric huffed. “Yeah, whatever. Well, I don’t want him to do it again. It was embarrassing enough the first time.”
I opened our latest design and emailed it to him. “Just sent it.”
“Thanks,” he said, and spun around.
“Hey, before you leave,” I called, “could you show me how to import your design?”
An eyebrow popped up. “You don’t know how? That was like the first thing I learned.”
Blood rushed to the tips of my ears, and I imagined they went as red as my hair. “Well, I wouldn’t be asking if I knew.”
A laugh squeezed through his smug grin. “Well, good luck figuring it out, Seven.”
And with that, he turned around and left.
I swallowed the growl threatening and shut my eyes. He was right about one thing, though: now I would figure it out. Without his or anyone else’s help.
10
LINCOLN
