The Intern's Latin Dance

I was seated at the head of the room when she barged in with that air of indignant entitlement, snapping at the doorman.

"I have an invitation. Can't I bring one guest with me?"

I'd made it clear from the start—no unrelated parties allowed. The doorman was simply following orders.

As for Sandra, maybe she'd been riding on my coattails for so long she forgot her own weight.

A cold smile tugged at my lips as I stood and walked over.

The moment she saw me, her expression changed—surprise, then an awkward, eager smile.

"Randy! You're back? When did you return? Why didn't you tell me ahead of time?"

My gaze flicked meaningfully to Brian, and I replied as casually as one might remark on the weather, "I thought you were busy."

Sandra's face stiffened instantly.

"Randy…" she started, but all eyes in the room had already turned toward us.

Seeing this, Brian stepped forward, his face flushed with shame, trying to shield her from the growing attention.

"Mr. Laurent, it's all my fault. I just wanted to gain a little insight, so I begged Ms. Kinsey to bring me here. If you're going to blame someone, blame me. Please don't hold it against her."

His voice was sincere, and his head was lowered in apology. In that moment, he neatly drew a line between us—me on one side, Sandra on the other.

Well then.

"If you know you were wrong," I said without hesitation, "what are you still doing here? Or do you want Ms. Kinsey to keep standing here and be embarrassed because of you?"

Brian's face flushed a deeper red. He turned to Sandra with humiliated eyes.

I had no interest in being part of a spectacle, so I turned and left.

But Sandra's calls came one after another.

I finally answered.

Her voice was sharp with irritation. "Randy, what's the meaning of this? You're back, and this is how you treat me?"

"You gave me a nice surprise first," I replied dryly and hung up.

She never showed up at the business conference after that.

I assumed she left with Brian.

So devoted. How touching.

I laughed to myself without a sound.

The next morning, Dennis came to me with news: Brian had turned in his resignation letter—eyes red, apparently on the verge of tears.

He'd even made a point to say goodbye to Sandra.

He told her he was grateful for her recognition, but he didn't want to come between her and her husband, so he was giving up his future—regretfully, of course.

Cheap tactic. But for someone like Sandra, a privileged girl with ordinary dreams, it worked.

She flew into a rage and rejected his resignation.

Then, as if to spite me, she made a show of promoting him to her personal assistant.

That night, she came home and brought it up.

"Randy, I want Brian to move into the house…"

I paused what I was doing.

She rushed to explain. "I don't mean anything by it! It's just that his place is too far. As a personal assistant, it's inconvenient."

Everyone knew "personal assistant" was a front. And yet she clung to it like gospel.

I let out a low laugh and said with a tinge of sarcasm, "You don't seriously think 'personal' means literally, do you?"

Her face flushed, then drained of color, then flushed again. Her voice shook with fury. "How can you see people in such a filthy light? Before I came back, Brian warned me again and again not to get upset with you! Why must you always think the worst of people? Are you that incapable of decency, Randy? You've got less grace than a common man!"

Her words came fast, breathless, escalating without her even realizing how unhinged she sounded.

I closed the file in my hands and looked up at her.

"If you want him to move in, let him. Just make sure you're clear on what you're choosing."

Beyond affection, our marriage was a network of tangled interests. The rest was up to her.

The next night, Brian came in behind her, just as expected.

He bowed the moment he saw me, voice trembling with practiced regret. "Mr. Laurent, I was wrong about the conference. I truly understand that now. Please don't hold it against me. I promise to follow all the rules from now on. No more overstepping."

If he hadn't put on that same pitiful expression again, maybe I would've believed him.

But now...

Looking at Sandra's strained, pained expression beside him, my voice turned cold. "I hope you can really stay true to yourself."

Then I turned to him. "And Brian, I hope you truly understand your place, and stop coveting what was never yours."

With that, I left them standing there and returned to my room.

But Sandra didn't stay away for long.

Not even an hour passed before she slipped into my bed, dressed in sheer lingerie, her voice coaxing and sweet.

"Randy, everything I've done—it's all for work. You don't have to say things that sound so serious and scary."

She leaned in to kiss me.

But the bedroom door flew open, crashing against the wall.

And Brian's voice came through, cautious and quiet.