The Billionaire Intern(falling for her)

Adina Carter owned half of the city But nobody in Dave's company knew that. This morning, she stood in front of her bedroom mirror in Banana Island. Behind her were 100 dresses — red, peach, light blue elegant dresses, all designer. Silk. Lace. Diamonds. She ignored all of them. She picked baggy light-wash jeans, an oversized white shirt, and dirty white sneakers. She packed her honey blonde hair in a loose ponytail, few strands falling on her face. No makeup. Natural face. Innocent. "Adina, what are you doing?" Her mother screamed from the door. "You are a billionaire heiress! You are going to intern looking like that?" "Exactly," Adina said. "I want to be normal. I want people to like me for me, not for money." Her mother sighed. "Your father owns that company, you know. Dave works for you." "That's why I'm using a different name. Just Adina. No Carter." She grabbed her old backpack and left. One hour later, Adina stood in front of Dave's company. Big glass building. Her father's building. Inside, everyone wore suits and red elegant dresses trying to impress the CEO. Adina walked in with her squeaky white sneakers. The receptionist stared. "Intern?" "Yes, new intern, Adina." On the 20th floor, the door to the CEO office opened. Dave Anderson stepped out. Grey suit, black hair, dark brown eyes, manly, handsome, cold. The arrogant CEO everyone feared. He looked at Adina. From her loose ponytail to her baggy jeans to her dirty sneakers. "What," he said in his deep manly voice, "is this?" "New intern, sir," the manager said quickly. "Adina." Dave's eyes didn't leave her sneakers. "Why are you wearing baggy jeans to work? This is not a basketball court." Adina kept her head down, acting poor. "This is all I have, sir. I'm sorry." Dave frowned. He hated spoiled rich girls, but he hated poor dressing more. "You will be my personal assistant," he said coldly. "You will make coffee, carry files, and learn how to dress like a decent girl." Adina wanted to laugh. This man who worked for her father was telling HER how to dress. "Yes, sir," she said softly. "And tie your ponytail properly. Loose strands are unprofessional." He turned and walked back into his office, grey suit perfect, black hair perfect. Adina watched him go and smiled secretly. He had no idea. No idea that the poor intern in baggy jeans and sneakers in front of him owned his chair, his desk, his building, and his entire company. And he had just told her that her ponytail was unprofessional. This was going to be fun.