Dr.
Clara Vance closed the office door behind us with a soft click before walking around her desk.
“Have a seat.” “Thank you, ma’am.” I lowered myself into the chair across from her desk, setting my notebook neatly on my lap.
She opened a digital file on her tablet before glancing up at me.
“Lauria.” “Yes, ma’am.” “Film Studies graduate.” “Yes.” She nodded once.
“I’ve reviewed your application.” My heartbeat picked up slightly.
Was that good?
Bad?
Her expression revealed nothing.
Instead, she folded her hands together on the desk.
“You applied to twenty-three production companies.” I blinked.
“…Yes.” “You received twenty-two rejections.” “…Yes, ma’am.” “And yet you still submitted the twenty-third application.” “I figured someone had to say yes eventually.” For the first time since we’d met…
The corner of her mouth lifted.
“A practical answer.” “I try to be.” She studied me for another quiet moment before continuing.
“You’ll be shadowing me for the next two weeks.” For a second…
I wondered if I’d heard her correctly.
“You’ll attend meetings.” “You’ll observe negotiations.” “You’ll take notes.” “You’ll ask questions after—not during.” I nodded immediately.
“Understood.” “No coffee runs.” “No filing paperwork unless I specifically ask.” “This internship is meant to teach you how talent management actually works.” I tried very hard not to let my excitement show.
Shadowing Dr.
Clara Vance herself wasn’t an internship.
It was an education people usually waited years to receive.
She noticed my reaction anyway.
The smallest widening of my eyes.
The barely restrained excitement.
Instead of discouraging it…
She smiled.
“You’ll do fine.” “…Thank you.” She glanced back down at her schedule.
“Tomorrow morning.” Her finger moved down the screen.
“Nine o’clock.” A brief pause.
“You’ll meet Timothy Zion.” The sentence landed so casually that it took my brain several seconds to process it.
Timothy…
Zion?
The Timothy Zion?
The actor whose posters covered half the walls in this building?
The man currently starring in one of the biggest drama series on television?
My heart skipped.
Professional.
Stay professional.
I took a steady breath.
“Of course, ma’am.” No squealing.
No stunned silence.
No rambling.
Just an answer.
Clara looked up from her tablet.
Something approving flashed across her face.
“Good.” Most interns, I imagined, probably reacted very differently.
She continued scrolling.
“He has a press conference at nine.” “A script revision meeting after lunch.” “A wardrobe consultation in the afternoon.” She looked at me again.
“You’ll attend each one.” “I will.” “You’ll also be responsible for taking meeting notes.” That surprised me.
“Official notes?” “Official notes.” I nodded once.
“I won’t let you down.” “I know.” There it was again.
That quiet confidence she seemed to have in me despite knowing me for less than an hour.
As I left her office that afternoon, one thought echoed louder than every other.
Tomorrow…
I was meeting Timothy Zion.
The Next Morning I arrived forty-five minutes early.
My father always said that if you were on time, you were already late.
So…
Forty-five minutes early felt safe.
The Press Conference Suite occupied the entire western wing of Zion Entertainment’s headquarters.
Everything about it looked immaculate.
Bright white walls.
Professional lighting.
Rows of chairs arranged with military precision.
Television crews adjusted cameras while journalists quietly compared notes.
Microphones bearing logos from entertainment networks lined the long interview table.
I recognized several names immediately.
Variety.
Entertainment Weekly.
The Hollywood Reporter.
Even a few international outlets had sent correspondents.
I swallowed.
This was much bigger than I’d imagined.
Clara was already there.
Naturally.
She stood beside the interview table reviewing the morning schedule on her tablet.
When she noticed me approaching, she simply nodded.
“Good.” “You arrived early.” “I wanted a little extra time.” “You’ll fit in well here.” Coming from her…
That felt like high praise.
I took my assigned position beside her, notebook already open.
Staff moved efficiently around the room.
Final lighting adjustments.
Audio checks.
Security briefings.
Everything happened with remarkable precision.
Then…
The room became quiet.
Not because someone asked for silence.
Because everyone instinctively stopped talking.
Footsteps echoed from the hallway outside.
Measured.
Unhurried.
Confident.
Every journalist straightened in their seat.
Camera operators lifted their equipment.
Someone whispered, “He’s here.” The doorway filled with a tall figure dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit.
No tie.
The first button of his shirt left open.
Dark hair slightly tousled.
He wasn’t trying to command attention.
He simply…
Did.
Timothy Zion entered the room with the calm confidence of someone completely accustomed to public scrutiny.
He acknowledged no cameras.
Ignored the whispered comments.
Walked directly toward Clara.
“Morning.” “Morning, Timothy.” They shook hands briefly.
Professional.
Comfortable.
Years of trust compressed into a simple greeting.
Then…
His attention shifted.
Toward me.
Those dark eyes settled on mine.
For a brief second, everything else disappeared.
Not because he was intimidating.
Because he was incredibly observant.
He wasn’t looking at me like a celebrity examining a fan.
He was evaluating someone new joining his professional circle.
I met his gaze without looking away.
I was nervous.
Of course I was.
But I hadn’t come here to be starstruck.
I had come here to work.
Clara cleared her throat softly.
Just enough to remind both of us that introductions still needed to happen.
Timothy extended his hand.
“Lauria?” His voice was deep and remarkably calm.
I accepted the handshake.
His grip was firm without being overpowering.
Professional.
Confident.
“Timothy.” I smiled politely.
“I’m a huge admirer of your work.” A familiar response.
He’d probably heard that a thousand times.
But I continued before he could answer.
“Especially your performance in Fallen Valor.” Something changed in his expression.
Subtle.
Almost impossible to notice.
“You carried so much grief without saying very much.” I remembered watching that film during university.
“There was one scene where your character realized he’d lost his family.” “You barely spoke.” “But your expression…” I smiled.
“It was heartbreaking.” “I’ve seen a lot of great performances.” “That one stayed with me.” Silence.
Not awkward.
Thoughtful.
Timothy continued holding my hand for just a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Then…
He smiled.
Not the polished smile printed across magazine covers.
Not the practiced expression fans saw on red carpets.
A real one.
Small.
Quiet.
Almost shy.
“…Thank you.” Two simple words.
But something about them felt genuine.
Most people praised his appearance.
His fame.
His popularity.
I’d complimented the work.
The acting.
The craft.
For the first time since entering the room, he looked less like an international movie star…
…and more like someone who genuinely loved his profession.
Clara noticed.
I caught the brief glance she sent in our direction.
Not surprised.
Curious.
Interesting.
Before either of us could continue, she stepped smoothly back into manager mode.
“Alright.” She clapped her hands together once.
“We’re live in two minutes.” The atmosphere shifted instantly.
Crew members moved into position.
Journalists prepared their first questions.
Timothy straightened his suit jacket before walking toward the interview table.
Just before he reached his chair, he glanced back at me.
Only for a second.
Then he nodded.
A simple acknowledgment.
A silent welcome to the team.
Clara leaned slightly toward me.
“Sit beside me.” She pointed to a chair positioned just behind Timothy’s seat.
“The note-taking position.” I took my place, opened my notebook, uncapped my pen…
…and realized that my very first assignment in Hollywood had officially begun.