The moment of surprise was real. Contained. Irritation swiftly followed, muted but there. Then finally, the smile. Like a woman who’d already decided where the knife would go.
“Well,” Catherine said, approaching her desk. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Thought you’d be in Europe or something,” Bea said, trying to sound bored.
“No, I was at Gage’s for Christmas,” Catherine said pointedly. “I thought you were going to be in Toronto all summer.”
“I was. The plan changed.”
“Interning?”
“Mhm.”
“How enterprising,” Catherine mused. “I didn’t realize they were taking interns this quarter.”
Bea shrugged.
Catherine’s laugh was light, practiced. “Of course. Some paths do open more easily—when you’re connected.”
Bea’s spine straightened. “And you’d know all about easy paths,” she said. “You were born on one.”
The smile faltered. Just slightly.
Bea noticed how everyone around them had gone still. No one was even typing anymore.
Catherine’s eyes arced toward the conference room Bea had exited. “Client briefing?”
“I was presenting.”
“Oh.” Catherine tilted her head. “I suppose if I were in your position, I’d be just as eager to prove I belonged.”
Bea held her ground. “It seemed to go well.”
“I’m sure it did,” Catherine agreed. “Most interns just observe. But then again, most interns have something to lose.”
Bea didn’t answer.
“You’ve been here what, two weeks?”
“A little more.”
“I do admire that kind of confidence,” she said, smooth. “Jumping straight in. I spent years building the credibility to speak.” Then Catherine turned, passing two analysts by the corner as she left. “Be kind to her,” she murmured, sugar-rich. “She’s trying her best, I’m sure.”
Bea didn’t bother responding. She’d been at the pointy end of Catherine’s blade multiple times before. At galas, at the beach, at the Winter Regatta last year. But this was…different than usual.
Catherine wasrattled. Rattled meant threatened, which probably meant Bea had done something right. Maybe the one thing she wasn’t supposed to do—she’d come back. To Gage.
The screen blinked once, then filled with Claire in grainy Toronto light.
Claire was sitting cross-legged on her bed, hair in a messy bun, one AirPod in. “Tell me everything. Start with Gage, end with your breakdown. Go.”
Bea curled her legs under her on the couch. “There’s no breakdown.”
Claire squinted. “So you’re thriving? Killing it? Loving the internship?”
“I was.”
Claire gesticulated, encouraging her to continue.
