Doing Business, Part 1 (Patreon)

One

We are delighted to have you as a member of our internship team! Many of our current employees, from a vast array of departments, got their start with internship programs just like the one you’re enrolled in now.

Are you ready to apply yourself to actual workplace problems that need to be solved? As important as your time spent in the classroom has been, the hands-on experience you’re about to get here may serve as your greatest learning aid yet.

We hope you’re ready, because this is going to be both fun and educational.

—

An intern wasn’t an employee. An intern barely qualified as a human being. An intern was just a body–a hollow husk–that was only acknowledged when a task had been found that absolutely nobody else on the payroll would want to do.

I imagined that the arrangement was good for both the company and my school. Both would consider me an example of their institutions aiding and growing students with “real world experience.” And being young and naive, I believed it to be a privilege. An honor.

Thus, I was spending my daylight hours wearing a shirt and tie, discarded in a small office that was likely a supply closet before interns were brought in. It was just Lyndie and I. Watching YouTube and complaining about how warm or how cold our office was on that particular day.

Lyndie was over it not long after we started. She was cynical to start with, but all it took was 10 minutes of being in an office building where men, older than her by 40+ years, stared at her chest to realize that she no longer wanted to be whatever it was she was studying for.

I, on the other hand, had an eagerness that couldn’t be as easily squashed. The company was just waiting for someone stupid like me to show up so that it could devour me whole.

It was a Friday afternoon in The Closet–the name we had given to our makeshift cupboard of an office–when the door opened and Anderson waltzed in. We didn’t know his real name–this was just what we called him.

“I’ve got some work for you,” he said. “A little project. You got some time?”

Lyndie and I looked at each other, stifling laughter. We had all the time in the world.

“I’m actually heading out for the weekend,” Lyndie said, grabbing her coat from off the back of her chair. I didn’t know a lot about her, but the move seemed like Classic Lyndie - complain about the lack of things to do, but bounce when a purpose arose.

“Of course,” I said, stepping up. “What can I do for you?”

“Walk with me.”

We walked. I had very little knowledge of the office’s layout. Lyndie and I know the path we took to The Closet and that was about it. We were quickly out of familiar territory, and the deeper we got into the abyss of cubicles and offices, the more concerned I was that I might never find my way back to the exit again. This is it for me. Tell my mother I love her.

“We were awarded the Richard Kahn Performance Award last month,” Anderson said. “Did you hear that?”

I have no clue what this award was. I have no idea who Richard Kahn is, nor what sort of performance his name is connected to. I’m not even sure where I am or who Anderson actually is. How did we come up with the name Anderson? Was that a Matrix reference?

“It’s very prestigious,” I said, hoping that this suffices as an answer to his question.

“Yeah it is. Damn right. We worked our asses off for that, you know? We got shafted last year, but we weren’t going to let that happen again.”

“Of course,” I said.

“Anyways, here we are.”

We were in a hallway; a fancier one, if such a thing is possible. He picked something off a table and stuck it into my hands.

“Oh...is this…”

“That’s the award,” he said.

It didn’t look as prestigious as his excitement had painted it just moments ago. It looked like the sort of thing I would’ve been given at the end of a season of little league. It might as well have said: “Most Improved Player.”

Still, I wasn’t sure why he was giving it to me, or why he brought me all the way to this hallway.

“So you want me to...file this?”

“What? Kid, look at the wall. I need you to hang it up. With the others.”

I turned around, taking in the assortment of plaques, awards and other framed certificates that had almost completely covered it.

My heart sank a little. My first task and it was doing the same thing that I imagined the office maintenance man was for. I tried to imagine what I’d tell Lyndie about this on Monday. There was no doubt that she’d get a kick out of this.

“Do you have, like, a hammer or some nails?” I asked. Mind you, I wouldn’t have known what to do with either.

Anderson shrugged. “Look, I’m not the maintenance guy.”

Neither am I.

I foolishly believed that he was walking away so that he could help me find the tools I’d need. But when he didn’t come back after five minutes, I took that as a sign that he wouldn’t be coming back at all. Left to my own devices, I had to improvise. I considered ramming a bent paperclip into the wall with a stapler–both of which were tools within my range of vision–but the last thing I wanted was for someone to ask who put the plaque up when it fell down and clobbered someone on the head. Anderson would rat me out too, I just knew it.

My solution to this problem was to scan the awards on the wall, find the one that looked the least important, replace it with the new award, and then hide the old one. This plan was going pretty well until I had an old award in hand and I was looking for a place to stash it.

“Are you the one making all the racket out here?” Her voice was firm and commanding, but there was a melody to it. I spun around to see who it belonged to.

She was gorgeous. I’d never seen her before, nor had I even seen anyone quite like her. She was tall. Sturdy. Her dark hair cascaded over shoulders and her strong arms were folded in front of her.

“Oh...was I being loud? I didn’t mean to…”

“What is that? In your hands?”

I nervously held up the old award I had planned to find a dark hiding place for. I suddenly felt like a little boy holding some shameful mistake up to my mother for inspection.

“The Carmichael Award from 1998?”

“I was...putting up a new award,” I said, pointing to the plaque I had put up in its place.

She shrugged. As it turned out, she probably didn’t know what a Carmichael Award or a Richard Kahn Award was either, and she most certainly did not care.

“Are you new here?”

“I’m an intern.”

“We have those?”

“Apparently.”

She looked me over very carefully. She was judging me. Scanning me for flaws. Picking me apart with her eyes.

“Do you have any other obligations for today?” she asked.

“I...well, I guess that’s all I have for today. Just got to find a place for this award here and…”

“May I see that?”

I handed her the plaque, and without any hesitation at all, she dropped it into a nearby trash can.

“There. You’re caught up. Join me in my office, won’t you?”

For the first time, I was looking at the name placards on the wall for the offices in this hallway. Richard Donovan; CCO. Emily Sutch-Wilson; VP of Marketing. Darren Yang; CFO. I had been in the executive hallway this whole time. I was now nervous to see who this woman was.

I followed her into her office as she had asked me to, glancing at her placard: Gabrielle Heller; CEO.

She closed the door behind me and took a seat at her desk. It was a large office, understandably so, though it felt so alien after seeing the endless ocean of cramped workstations the rest of the company endured. There was a fridge, a fireplace. An additional table with chairs. An exercise bike. A door to what I suspected was a personal restroom.

“What did you say your name was?”

I wasn’t sure that I had told her. “Clark. Clark Ashburn?” I wasn’t sure why I phrased it like a question. Surely I knew that better than she did.

“What are your aspirations here, Mr. Ashburn?”

“Aspirations… Well, uhm, jeez. I hadn’t really thought of it like that, you know? My program at school requires so many hours of internship and your company brought me on, so…”

“And what is the end to these means? School. Internships. When it's said and done, what are you looking to do with yourself?”

I hated this question, but mostly because I never had an especially good answer for it. “Business?”

“Was that a question, Mr. Ashburn?”

“I’m hoping that my experience with your company helps to guide me towards the best career choices and…”

She was laughing and shaking her head. “Oh, come now, you don’t believe that, do you? I was an intern once. It was a requirement to meet and nothing more. How long have you been interning here?”

“Two weeks?”

“And what have you accomplished here so far?”

“I...put up that award a few minutes ago.”

“Mr. Clark Ashburn, you’re in an interesting position right now.”

“A-am I?”

“You’re an intern with a company that clearly has little idea of what to do with an intern. You’re bored, yes?”

“Maybe…” Should I be admitting such things to someone like her?

She bit her lip for a moment and then smiled. “Care to make things interesting?”

“I...I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“I’m going to make you a proposition. You can think it over and get back to me, if you’d like. It’s going to sound like...a lot. But I have confidence that you’ll keep this conversation to yourself, regardless of what you choose. Do you know why?”

I shook my head.

“Because nobody would believe you if you tried to tell them.”

My heart was racing. What the hell was she about to spring on me?

“I had an assistant a few years ago. Her name was Hillary. The sweetest little thing you’ve ever seen. She waited on me hand and foot. I felt a little guilty about testing her limits at first, but...that was her position, and I’ve got enough power and clout that I can do things like that. So I’d try pushing her a little. I’d ask her to pull her pants down for me so that I could inspect her panties. I’d make her crawl around my office for me on her hands and knees. I’d make her do...well...lots of things.”

My heart was beating even faster. My mouth was dry. Palms sweaty. Where was this going?

“Don’t worry,” she added. “She absolutely adored it. She’d eventually start begging me for it.”

“Where is she now?” I asked.

“Engaged,” she answered, rolling her eyes. “Happens to the best of us, I guess. Some dingus with a boat gave her a ring and they moved to Connecticut. Seriously? Fucking Conneticut?”

I offered the slightest of shrugs.

“My current assistant, Daniel. He’s fine. Nice enough, I suppose. But not really plaything material, if you know what I mean.”

“Plaything?”

“Plaything,” she said with a nod. “One that I can play with.”

“Oh…”

“Look, you’re not doing anything here anyways. You’re young and horny, right? Wouldn’t you like to have some powerful woman knock you around a little bit? There’s something about you. It’s hard to put my finger on what that something is, but I know it when I see it and I see it in you. Curiosity. A desire to please. You do want to please me, yes?”

There was a flutter in my stomach. I wondered if this was a talent that powerful people had - the ability to just look at someone and know how they’d be able to use them. I wouldn’t lie, this was almost, verbatim, out of my own fantasies.

It was the logistics that made me hesitant. My internship and my education would be on the line. My potential career path. My own reputation and dignity.

But...I suspected a woman like her didn’t get to be where she was if she hadn’t been careful.

“I’d like to think about it,” I said.

“So that’s not just an outright ‘no?’ Interesting.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “There’s a lot of unknowns. Can you...elaborate on what you’d be asking me to do?”

She laughed again. “Do you have any limits, Mr. Ashburn?”

“Limits?”

“Limits. Things–and it can be anything–that you just wouldn’t do. Regardless of the time, place, or company.”

“I mean...I don’t know… Like…”

“Would you crawl on the ground for me?”

“Yes.” I said the word before I had even thought about it. For as hesitant and careful as I wanted to be, she had been deadly accurate with her pinpointing of my still-blossoming horniness.

“Would you allow me to touch you?”

“Yes.” I winced immediately after, unsure if I’d regret this later. Was I committing to something?

“If I asked you to wear something for me, would you? Only you and I would know that you were wearing it, but it would be potentially humiliating for you.”

“Yes.” I was very, very, curious now. “I think.”

“Take the weekend and think it over,” she said. “Come back to me on Monday with an answer. I want you to think about limits, Mr. Ashburn. Make a list of the things you wouldn’t do, and come back to me with that. I’m a very imaginative woman, so I want you to think very hard about it.”

“Yes. Of course, Ms. Heller.”

I left her office, absolutely abuzz with confusion and disbelief. I looked at her name placard again, wondering if I had misread it. I imagined that I was in an episode of the Twilight Zone and closer examination would reveal that I had actually stumbled into a broom closet and had been talking to an old mop.

No. She was who I believed her to be.

It took me 25 minutes to find my way back to The Closet.

Details of our conversation fluttered about in my mind. These sorts of things–these conversations–didn’t actually happen in real life; and they absolutely did not happen to me. This was a joke. An extremely elaborate form of hazing, maybe.

I suspected that I’d arrive in her office on Monday with an answer, regardless of what it was, only to find a completely different woman in the office. Then, I’d learn that the woman I met was just an actress. Part of a cruel prank from someone like Anderson.

Could I at least have the actress’s phone number?

It didn’t take an entire weekend to figure out what I wanted to do about this. I was pretty sure by the end of my train ride that Friday afternoon that I would go back to her on Monday with a cautious acceptance of her offer. I would spend the weekend trying only to justify this answer to myself.

It was her position that would ultimately be the factor that I clung to most tightly. What high-powered and visible company executive would jeopardize their career over such strange games? Unless they were sure that they could get away with it. And she had, right? Hillary. But then there was Daniel, who was apparently not cut from the same cloth.

I wondered what it was she saw in me that she didn’t see in Daniel.

As if there had been any doubt about what potential my mind saw in this arrangement, I had a similar dream three nights in a row - growing in detail each time.

Sunday night’s found me in that executive hallway again, crawling down it on my hands and knees. “There you are,” she said, stepping out from her office–clad in leather and holding a wooden paddle. “We’ve got a lot of work to take care of today. Be a good boy, won’t you, and join me in my office? You’ll be spending the afternoon over my lap.”

It had been a while since I made a wet spot in the bed like that.

Monday morning, back in The Closet, a sleepy Lyndie inquired about Friday afternoon’s task: “Did they, like, ask you to file some papers or something? Take out the trash?”

“I just had to hang up an award.” I chose to leave out the part about being poached for a strange power game.

“What a waste of time,” she muttered. “At least I have a place to do schoolwork. It’s a shame we don’t get paid for this.”

I wanted to tell her more. I wanted to tell her everything. We were hardly friends, and I didn’t know her well enough to trust her, but if anyone could appreciate the absurdity lurking under the surface of the corporate world, it was my fellow bitter intern.

“Do you know Gabrielle Heller?” I asked her.

“Should I?”

“She’s the CEO here.”

She offered an apathetic shrug. “Good for her. What about her now?”

“Just curious if you had ever met her before.”

“I’ve met, like, two people from this company. So, no, I have not met the CEO. Have...you?”

“Nah. Just wondering what she’s like.”

“My advice, Clark? Don’t think about people who are never going to think about you.”

Later in the day, I tried to recreate the path that Anderson had taken me down previously. It was hard, considering I hadn’t been paying attention at the time. Clearly I didn’t predict a strange encounter with management. Ten minutes later, I was approached by a young man - he looked to be a little older than me, but not by much.

“Can I help you? You look lost.”

“Oh...I was just heading over to…” my voice trailed off as I realized how ridiculous I was about to sound. “...Ms. Heller’s office?”

“Ms. Heller? Do you have an appointment?”

“I’m an employee.” That was kind of true.

His skeptical eyes seemed to imply that I would’ve had more luck if I was a visitor and not an employee. “If you don’t have an appointment, I’m not sure that you’ll be able to see her this afternoon.”

Ah yes, this must’ve been Daniel.

“She’s expecting me, actually.”

His eyes narrowed further. “What is your name?”

“Clark Ashburn?”

“And you said you’re an employee here?” I didn’t like the implication in his tone, but I suspected he had already made up his mind about me.

I nodded.

“Let’s see if she’s available for you.

I followed him to his desk where he tapped away at a keyboard and consulted some unseen-to-me things. I could now see we were close to her office. Not far from where we stood, I could spot the award I hung the other day.

And there was the trash can where Ms. Heller had tossed the old award. It was empty now.

“Ms. Heller?” Daniel had called her from his desk. “Yes, I have a Clark...Fishburne here to see you?”

“Ashburn,” I said, correcting him.

He scoffed, visibly frustrated that he had to say my name at all. “Ashburn, I’m sorry.”

There was a short pause. I watched his eyes change from a smug annoyance to surprise.

He looked back to me, still speaking to her on the phone. “Y-yes. I’ll let him know.” He hung up the phone and expelled a short sigh. “Yes, she’ll see you now. Though, if I may ask, what is your position in the company?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer him. I was afraid if I told him the truth, it would arouse suspicion. Should an intern be meeting with the CEO? Still...who was I supposed to say that I was that wouldn’t look worse when he inevitably found out the truth? I’ve seen a sitcom or two before.

“An intern,” I said.

He didn’t say anything, instead offering only another skeptical nod.

I couldn’t have fled from his desk any faster.

I knocked on her door, only to find that it was opening before my knocks were completed.

“Ah, there you are,” she said, a wide smile on her face. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to reject my offer in person.”

“Oh, I wasn’t going to…”

“So you’re interested?”

“Well…” I wasn’t expecting to have to give an answer so soon. “Yes.”

“Excellent.”

She closed the door behind me, and closed the blinds in the window that looked into the hallway. The isolation and privacy felt intimidating - especially given the mysterious future ahead of us.

“I see no point in belaboring this,” she said. “Take your pants off for me.”

“Here? Now?”

“Shall I give you a minute or two to decide if I mean now or later? I have faith that you can figure out the right answer.”

I sighed and began unbuckling my belt. She was right–it had been kind of silly to even ask.

“What a good boy,” she said. “Look at who can follow directions.” Her voice was a mix of heavy condescension and sincere satisfaction. I was feeling a lot of things–not least of all humiliation–but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it.

I kicked off my shoes and shimmied my way out of my khakis, leaving them and my shoes in a small pile to the side. I was left in my button-down, boxer shorts and socks.

“Adorable,” she said, pacing around me, scanning me over yet again. “I see this from time to time. Little boys dressing up like their fathers. You’d like to be a big businessman?”

I offered only an insecure shrug.

“You look like a baby to me. Are you a baby?”

I shook my head.

“What if I want you to be a baby?”

I started to shake my head, but stopped myself. It was hard to explain–but there was something about her question that had piqued my interest.

I nodded. “Yes...if that’s what you want.”

“Oh, I do,” she said. “But babies must look and act the part. Just having an adorable looking baby-face isn’t enough.”

I trembled a little, feeling even more uncertain of where this was going. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, for one,” she said, as she walked to a filing cabinet which she unlocked and opened, “while you’re in my office with me, you can call me Mommy.”

I swallowed nervously.

“And,” she continued, “we’ll have to get you into one of these.”

She held up the folded object she had pulled from the cabinet. I knew what it was–a diaper–but that answered very few of my questions. If anything, it created more.

“You...want me to put that on?”

“No,” she said. “I’ll be putting it on you myself. You’re just going to lie down on the ground for me and let me do that. And we should hurry. I have a meeting in ten minutes, and I’d like to make sure you’re nice and snug before we part ways for a bit.”