Intern Thinks I Am Her Driver

The new intern started a month ago.

Every day since her orientation, shed been hitching a ride in my car after work. I figured it was on my way home anyway, so I never made a fuss about it. Ive always preferred to keep a low profile, and if a twenty-two-year-old needed a lift to the suburbs, I wasn't going to be the "mean boss" before she even knew who I was.

Then came two o'clock on a Sunday morning.

I was dead to the world, deep in the kind of sleep you only get when your phone is supposed to be on Do Not Disturb. But Id left my emergency bypass on, and her call pierced through the silence.

When I answered, there was no "sorry to wake you" or "Im in trouble." Instead, her voice was sharp, fueled by a cocktail of entitlement and cheap gin. She barked an order at me, telling me to get down to The Velvet Loungea high-end club downtownto pick her up. Right now.

The exhaustion vanished, replaced by a slow-boiling heat in my chest. I asked her, as calmly as one can at 2:00 AM, if shed lost her mind. I told her I wasn't her personal Uber driver and that calling a colleague at this hour was beyond unprofessional.

She didn't miss a beat. She let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Listen, honey," she said, her voice dripping with venom. "My cousin is the Head of HR. Taking me home isn't a chore; its a privilege if you want to keep your desk. If you don't show up in twenty minutes, Ill have him pull your file Monday morning. Youll be out on the street before lunch."

I sat up in bed, staring into the dark of my room, somewhere between disbelief and amusement. She really had no idea. She had no clue that the "desk" she was threatening was actually the mahogany one in the corner office.

She had no idea she was talking to the CEO.

When I didn't immediately cave, Briannathats her name, Brianna Kinglet out a triumphant little hum.

"Scared now?" she taunted. "Good. Get moving. And stop at a 7-Eleven on the way. I want a hot vanilla latte, extra foam. Have it ready when I get in the car."

I leaned back against my headboard, a cold smile tugging at my lips. "A latte. Extra foam. Got it."

Brianna had joined the company through a mid-summer intake. Id first crossed paths with her when I was coming back from a floor inspection at the warehouse. I was wearing my charcoal work jumpsuit, grease on my hands, looking more like a mechanic than a woman who owns three holding companies. We ended up in the elevator together. Shed wrinkled her nose, visibly recoiling from the "blue-collar" scent of ozone and machinery, and shuffled to the far corner of the car.

In this company, most people keep a respectful distance because they know my face. I assumed she was just another shy new hire.

The next day, as I was walking to my SUV in the parking lot, she didn't wait for an invite. She pulled open the passenger door, tossed her designer knock-off bag onto the leather, and sat down with a huff.

"You're the tech guy from the floor, right?" she asked, not even looking at me as she adjusted the visor mirror. "I saw you driving past Oakhaven yesterday. I live in the gated section at the front. Its on your way. You can drop me off."

I was floored. I oversee fifteen subsidiaries and nearly ten thousand employees. In ten years of building this empire, no one had ever had the sheer audacity to speak to me like I was the help.

I opened my mouth to correct her, but shed already snapped her seatbelt into place and started scrolling through her phone. "Lets go, I have a dinner reservation. Don't go the long way."

I decided to play along. I wanted to see how deep this went. Was this just one bad apple, or was our culture rotting? I drove her home. When we pulled up to her curb, she didn't say thank you. She slammed the door so hard the chassis shook and walked away without a backward glance.

I told myself she was just young, maybe "professionally illiterate." But Brianna didn't stop.

Every single day, she was there. Waiting by my car. And every day, the demands grew:

"Pick me up at my curb tomorrow morning so I don't have to walk to the gate."

"I hate the smell of coffee. Even if it's your car, no caffeine while Im inside."

"You were two minutes late coming down today. Don't let it happen again."

"These seats are too firm. Bring a sheepskin throw tomorrow."

"This gray color is so depressing. You should really get this wrapped in rose gold."

Id spent weeks wondering how someone could be so shamelessly parasitic while maintaining an air of condescending superiority.

Now, with the 2:00 AM phone call, the puzzle pieces clicked. Her cousin was Rick Dalton, my Head of HR.

"Hello? Are you even listening?" Briannas voice snapped me back to the present. "Are you in the car yet?"

I yawned, long and loud into the receiver. "No. Im going back to sleep. Call a cab, Brianna."

I hung up before she could scream.

The phone didn't stay quiet for long. Ten seconds later, it was vibrating across the nightstand again.

"Are you insane?" she shrieked the moment I picked up. "You just hung up on me! Do you have any idea who is sitting right next to me? My cousin. Rick."

I rolled onto my side, staring at the moonlight filtering through the curtains. "Oh. And?"

Brianna let out a sound of pure disgust. "And? God, no wonder youre stuck in the basement fixing machines. You have zero survival instincts. Im out tonight celebrating with my cousins family because he got me this job. If you had half a brain, youd get down here, pay our tab at the lounge, and drive us all home. You make a good impression on Rick, and maybemaybeIll ask him to move you from the warehouse to a real office."

It was a bold play. She didn't just want a chauffeur; she wanted a sugar daddy for her night out.

"You're sure about that?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral. "Youre sure Rick can just move people around with a snap of his fingers?"

HR Directors have power, sure, but not like that. Any mid-level promotion requires a VPs sign-off, and anything involving core operations comes to my desk. Every significant personnel change ends with my signature.

"Of course he can," Brianna bragged. "Last month, some old guy in Marketing tried to talk back to him. Rick had him transferred to the shipping containers within forty-eight hours. The guy had been there for six years, and he didn't even dare to complain. Rick runs that office. What he says goes."

I went cold. I remembered a transfer request from last month. Bill Higgins. He was a stellar performer, a veteran who knew our brand inside out. When Id asked why a top-tier marketing lead was moving to the warehouse, the VP of Operations told me it was a "voluntary hardship request"that Bill wanted a lower-stress environment. Id felt sorry for the guy and signed it.

Now I realized Bill hadn't stepped down. Hed been pushed.

"Your cousin sounds like a real powerhouse," I said, my voice dropping an octave.

Brianna took it as a compliment. "Youre finally getting it. Rick says that in a few more months, hes going to have our whole extended family in key positions. Were going to run the place. Itll be a family business, and people like you will be lucky to even have a gate pass."

The ambition was staggering.

"Doesn't he worry about the CEO finding out?" I asked.

Brianna snorted. "The owner? Please. Rick says the guy is some billionaire recluse who owns fifty other companies. He doesn't have time for this branch. He hasn't been seen here in years. As long as the numbers look okay, Rick is the king of the castle."

I almost laughed. I do own other companies, and yes, they are stable enough that I don't need to micromanage them. But I had been spending every day at this specific branch precisely because it was underperforming. Id been playing "undercover boss" in the workshops to find the friction points.

I thought the problem was the machinery. I was wrong. The problem was the parasites.

"So? Are you coming or not?" Brianna demanded. "Im telling you, once my family takes over, everyone is going to have to answer to us. You should be begging to get on my good side."

I smiled into the darkness. "Actually, Im not really the 'begging' type. If your family is as powerful as you say, Im sure you can find your own way home. Goodnight, Brianna."

I blocked her number.

A moment later, a notification popped up on my laptop, which was synced to my work messages. Shed found my internal employee ID.

You're dead, you low-life grease monkey. Im not just getting you fired. Im going to make sure youre blacklisted from the entire industry. Youll never hold a wrench in this city again.

I stared at the screen, genuinely impressed by the sheer delusion. Im worth eleven billion dollars, and a twenty-two-year-old intern was threatening to blacklist me from my own industry. My friends at the Country Club would never let me live this down.

But the humor was fading. If Rick Dalton was using his position to shake down employees and build a nepotistic shadow government, he wasn't just a bad manager. He was a liability.

I pulled up my contacts and messaged Robert Foster, the VP of the branch.

Cassie here. Call an all-hands meeting for tomorrow morning at 9:00 AM sharp. No exceptions. No excuses.

Robert replied within seconds. Understood, Ms. Callahan. I'll take care of it.

Monday morning. 8:50 AM.

I pulled my SUV into my usual spot, but I didn't head for the private elevator. I walked toward the main entrance.

Brianna was already there, leaning against the glass doors with her arms crossed. Standing next to her was a man in his early thirties wearing a suit that cost more than he could afford and an expression that suggested hed just smelled something foul. His badge read: Rick Dalton, Director of Human Resources.

The moment Brianna spotted me, she pointed a manicured finger. "Thats him, Rick! Thats the guy."

Rick stepped forward, looking me up and down with practiced disdain. I was still in my "low-profile" gearjeans, a plain black tee, and a rugged canvas jacket.

"So, youre the tech from the floor whos been harassing my cousin?" Rick asked. His voice was oily. "Who hired you anyway? I don't recognize your face, and I see every file that comes through this building."

"I keep a low profile," I said simply.

Brianna smirked, her eyes gleaming with malice. "See, Rick? Hes probably some temp who snuck in through the back door. Hes probably not even in the system. You should kick him out right now."

Rick chuckled, tilting his head back. "A ghost in the machine, huh? No wonder you don't know how things work around here." He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial, threatening whisper. "Look, Im feeling generous. Youve been driving Brianna for a month, so Im willing to let you keep your job. But there are conditions."

I raised an eyebrow. "Conditions?"

"One: An 'administrative processing fee' of fifty thousand dollars. Cash or wire to my private account. Otherwise, Ill find a reason to have you escorted out by security for trespassing."

"Two: You are Briannas personal driver. Morning, evening, and weekends. You do whatever she says, whenever she says it."

"Three: You owe us for the 'emotional distress' you caused this weekend. Call it fifteen thousand for the club tab, the Uber she had to take, and the sleep she lost crying about your attitude. Thats sixty-five thousand total. You want to pay by Venmo, or should I give you my routing number?"