The Billionaire's Intern

Chapter 8

It was Monday morning, and I was stuck in my 10 a.m. lecture, trying to stay awake while my professor droned on about the evolution of digital journalism. Apparently, everything written before the internet was either relic-worthy or problematic.

I stared at the projector screen, only half listening. The weekend had passed in a blur, like I’d been sleepwalking through it. Between pinching myself and Leah’s excitement, I’d barely processed getting the internship back.

The only downside seemed to be Liam Westbrook. Maybe I wouldn’t see much of him… if I saw him at all. I clung to that hope as the lecture ended and I packed up my things. I headed for the Humanities Building, where the faculty offices sat tucked away behind a quiet hallway. I paused outside my advisor, Mr. Fallon’s door, exhaled, then knocked twice.

A voice answered, “Enter.”

I stepped in, my eyes immediately landing on Mr. Fallon, who looked up from a thick folder with that calm expression he always wore. His brown sweater and glasses made him look comforting.

“Miss Bennett,” he said, smiling gently. “What brings you here?”

I sat down carefully. “Hi, Mr. Fallon. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“You’re never an interruption. Everything alright?”

I nodded. “Kind of. I wanted to ask about taking a leave of absence.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Go on.”

“I got offered an internship. With Crown Tech.”

That got a visible reaction and he sat up straighter. “That’s no small name. Congratulations. But… I assume the internship will interfere with your class schedule?”

“Yeah. It’s full-time. I’ll need to step away from classes for the semester to take it seriously. And I guess I just wanted to know how that works. What the consequences might be for my grades and my scholarship.”

He nodded thoughtfully, lacing his fingers together. “You’re in your third year, right?”

“Yes.”

“And your GPA is still strong?”

“4.1.” I said.

Mr. Fallon leaned back in his chair. “Alright. Here's the good news. Taking a leave of absence for something educational or professionally beneficial like an internship is completely acceptable. The university even encourages it, especially if it’s career aligned. It won’t affect your academic record or your scholarship negatively, so long as you fill out the proper forms and return in good standing.”

I exhaled, shoulders loosening a bit. “So, it’s doable?”

“Yes. You’ll have to fill some forms and provide written proof of the internship, start and end dates, who’s supervising you, that sort of thing. But from the school’s side, I don’t foresee any roadblocks.”

“That’s great. Thank you, Mr Fallon.”

He gave me a reassuring smile. “I’m proud of you, Faye. You’ve worked hard. This is a good move.”

I hesitated, then said, “It feels a little unreal. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting it. And I’m still not sure how I feel about the person offering it…”

Mr. Fallon chuckled softly. “Ah, yes. The corporate personalities. Just remember why you're there. Focus on the opportunity, not the noise.”

I nodded slowly. “Right.”

“And when you return, we’ll get you right back on track.”

“Thank you,” I said again, this time with more warmth. “Really.”

After leaving Mr Fallon’s office, it was straight back to class. I sat through three more classes, barely registering half of what was said because my mind kept drifting.

For lunch, Leah and I grabbed a quick bite near campus. She spent the whole time talking about outfit ideas and making predictions about me becoming a millionaire. I laughed and nodded.

By the time I got home later that evening, the sun was already beginning to set. I dropped my bag, kicked off my shoes, and collapsed onto the couch without even bothering to change out of my clothes. The apartment was quiet and It gave me space to really think. The past month had felt like a lot. First, I lost my part-time job, then I got an internship and lost the internship all in one day. There was the visit with aunt Fiona and like a weird twist of fate, I got the internship back.

It felt like a drama, but the internship was real and for the first time in weeks, I felt a flicker of hope.

But if I was going to walk into Crown Tech with anything resembling confidence, I needed to know what I was stepping into.

Grabbing my phone from my bag, I typed in the words, ‘Crown Tech’. Liam Westbrook’s name filled the screen in less than a second. Dozens of articles, press releases, and media profiles followed. Turns out, Crown Tech was a billion dollar firm making waves in media, finance, and healthcare. And Liam? The genius behind it all. The company wasn’t even a decade old, yet somehow, it was everywhere. I had no idea how I’d missed it. Maybe I really had been living under a rock.

I clicked on a recent interview he’d done with Forbes. He looked the same, sharp suit, sharper jawline, talking about innovation like it was a language only he could speak. The article called him relentless, focused, intimidating. I believed every word.

I closed the phone and leaned back again.

I must have sat there longer than I realized, because when I finally checked the clock, it was almost 8 p.m. My stomach reminded me I hadn’t eaten anything proper since lunch. I dragged myself into the kitchenette and reheated leftover noodles from the night before.

I’d barely taken three bites when my phone buzzed. I checked the screen. Aunt Fiona.

For a second, I thought about letting it ring out. But I answered.

“Hello?” I tried to keep my voice steady.

“Faye,” she started immediately, voice sharp. “Do you have the money ready?”

I swallowed. “Not yet. I’m still trying to sort things out.”

There was a pause, then an exasperated sigh crackled through the speaker. “So after all the years I took care of you, this is the respect I get? Telling me you’re ‘trying’? You should have thought about that before.”

“I said I’ll get it to you as soon as I can, Aunt Fiona.”

“Well, I need it very soon,” she snapped. “These bills don’t wait, you know.”

I muttered under my breath, “Money doesn’t fall from trees…”

“What did you say?” Her tone sharpened even more.

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “I just… I got offered a paid internship. So I’ll be getting some money soon.”

Aunt Fiona scoffed. “An internship? You think a few pennies from running errands in an office is going to fix anything?

I forced my voice to stay calm. “It’s something. And it might help.”

“Whatever. Just get me the money soon.” And before I could reply, she hung up.

The quiet that followed felt heavier than before. I set the phone down, appetite gone, and pushed the half-eaten noodles aside.

For a moment, my mind drifted back, before Aunt Fiona, before everything felt so heavy and conditional.

I didn’t remember my mother. She’d died just after having me, so all I had were stories I’d heard in bits and pieces. But my father… there were memories, soft and warm around the edges. I remembered always smiling when he was near. On my birthdays, he’d let me skip school. We’d see a movie, stop for ice cream, and drive around singing along to the radio. He’d laugh when I got the lyrics wrong, and I’d laugh too, just because he did.

It felt like we were our own little team.

Then he got sick. Cancer. And nothing was ever quite the same after that.

I blinked back the tears. It was a long time ago, I reminded myself. No use starting a new week buried in old sadness.

I cleared the rest of the meal, rinsed the plate, and wiped my hands dry.

Then I collapsed on my bed, scrolling through more articles about Crown Tech. The deeper I went, the clearer it became that this wasn’t just another company. Their name came up everywhere and in almost every piece, Liam Westbrook was there: a sharp suit, a sharper gaze, and a reputation that seemed both admired and feared.

Some journalists called him a genius, others called him impossible. Most seemed to agree on one thing: he built Crown Tech from the ground up, and he wasn’t even thirty.

Reading it all made me nervous. This was so much bigger than I’d imagined.

But beneath the nerves, there was determination. Maybe this was what I needed… to prove, not just to him, but to myself, that I could handle it.

I set the phone down for a moment, staring at the ceiling, the quiet of the room felt a little less heavy than before. Then I picked the phone back up and opened my calendar. Wednesday glowed back at me, circled in a faint blue reminder.

Just before turning off the lamp, I whispered into the darkness, “Please let this be the start of something better.”