JUST ANOTHER INTERN

Chapter 6: An Exit Strategy

Bushwick on a Saturday night felt like stepping onto another planet. The air was thick with street food, bass notes thumping from a nearby warehouse, and the low, confident roar of people who felt utterly comfortable in their own skin. It was chaos, and Alex hated chaos, but she found herself smiling for the first time all week.

She found the gallery address—a warehouse with a single, graffiti-covered roll-up door—and hesitated, feeling conspicuous despite her meticulously calibrated outfit. The boots were correct, the dark denim was correct, but Alex Sterling still felt like a gilded cage wearing a disguise.

She pushed past a heavy curtain and into the noise. The space was enormous, vibrant, and packed wall-to-wall with people drinking beer and arguing passionately about art. The works on the walls were bold, political, and aggressively anti-establishment. A perfect reflection of Maya’s personal beliefs.

Alex scanned the crowd, feeling her nervousness spike. She was just about to pull out her phone and admit defeat when she saw her.

Maya was standing near a makeshift bar, backlit by a string of fairy lights and arguing cheerfully with a man wearing a denim vest. She was wearing high-waisted trousers and a fitted, emerald green turtleneck, and her hair was down, falling in dark, loose waves around her shoulders. Without the blazer and the sterile office lighting, she looked stunning—so vibrant and free that Alex felt a dizzying, painful lurch in her chest.

This wasn't the competent, caffeine-fueled project coordinator. This was the person Alex desperately wanted to know.

Maya caught her eye across the room. She paused mid-sentence, the smile dropping from her face, replaced by a soft, startled expression that warmed the entire space. She broke away from her conversation and started walking straight toward Alex, navigating the crowded floor with focused determination.

"You came," Maya said simply when she reached her, and the two words were the most intimate thing Alex had heard all week.

"You invited me," Alex replied, suddenly unable to look away from Maya's eyes.

"I wasn't sure you would," Maya admitted, a hint of vulnerability in her voice. She reached out and lightly brushed a piece of imaginary lint off Alex's dark blouse—a small, intimate gesture that spoke volumes. "It's good to see you. Out here."

She gestured back toward the man she'd been talking to. "Come on, meet Leo. He's the one responsible for the work that looks like a corporate expense report covered in actual blood."

Alex laughed, a genuine, relaxed sound. As she followed Maya, she realized that here, in the noise and the chaos of Bushwick, the lie felt easier to maintain, because the connection felt more real.

They have successfully met outside of work, and the romantic tension is high.

Leo, the artist, was a kinetic burst of energy. He shook Alex’s hand with enthusiasm, then immediately launched into a passionate defense of his current piece: a deconstructed graph titled The Predatory Line that used rust and jagged metal to represent financial growth.

“It’s about how these companies—these megaliths, like Sterling, honestly—they just chew up the small guys to look good on paper,” Leo declared, gesturing emphatically with a bottle of beer. “They talk about efficiency, but they just want to buy their way out of innovation. You know, like some rich kid gets handed an easy job because their last name is on the building.”

Alex’s smile froze instantly. Leo had hit the bullseye, describing her entire internship as a moral failing. Her heart hammered against the expensive, borrowed black blouse. She had to respond, or her silence would look like guilt.

“It’s powerful, Leo,” Alex said, keeping her voice even and focused on the artwork. “But isn’t it true that big structures, however flawed, still require a level of operational competence? Even to manage the chewing?”

Maya laughed, elbowing Leo lightly. “See? Even the interns have opinions. Don’t mind Leo, Alex. He thinks anyone who wears a blazer is personally responsible for the housing crisis.”

“It’s a fair assumption!” Leo protested. “You can’t work for a system and genuinely think it’s fair. You have to be either willfully blind or just trying to climb the ladder, right?”

He directed the question straight at Alex. The heat was on.

“Or,” Alex countered, meeting his stare, “you could be trying to learn how the flaws are embedded, so you can figure out how to fix them.” She paused, leaning in slightly. “It takes a lot more work to dismantle something from the inside than it does to just paint a picture of it falling apart.”

Leo was momentarily silenced, intrigued by the unexpected defense.

Maya watched the exchange, a slow, approving smile spreading across her face. She looped her arm through Alex’s, a gesture that was immediately familiar and possessive, and tugged her away from the crowded canvas.

“Alright, Leo, you’re scaring the interns,” Maya teased. “Alex is here to relax, not debate the ethics of venture capital. Come on,” she murmured to Alex, her voice dropping. “Let’s get another drink. You’re looking a little too serious for a Saturday night.”

The contact—Maya's arm wrapped securely around her own—was an anchor. Alex allowed herself to be pulled through the crowd, feeling a thrilling wave of relief and excitement. Maya hadn't just shielded her; she had accepted Alex's defense of her work ethic, if not her privilege.

When they finally reached the bar, shoulder-to-shoulder, the soft lighting caught the light in Maya’s eyes.

“That was good,” Maya whispered, leaning in so close Alex could smell the faint scent of cinnamon and paint on her hair. “That was a good answer. You don’t think much of the bosses, but you clearly think highly of the work itself.”

Alex turned her head toward Maya, their faces inches apart, their conversation now muffled and private in the loud space. “I think highly of you,” Alex confessed, the words slipping out, unguarded.

Maya’s breath hitched. The easy smile vanished, replaced by an expression of pure, concentrated tension.