Aleena
I stood staring at the glass doors of Tara Kline Interiors, where I was about to begin my internship.
On the surface, I looked composed and determined, as if my world hadn’t been thrown off balance by the man who would become my stepfather very soon.
I stepped into the building at about 8:45 am, holding my portfolio tight against my chest.
The studio looked perfect.
It was decorated to make their clients feel safe to spend their money.
I saw that the mood boards were already pinned with the week’s projects.
Everything about the space felt organised, the complete opposite of the chaos that I felt inside.
Tara Kline arrived at exactly nine.
She was tall with silver-streaked black hair pulled into a severe bun.
“Aleena Martin,” she said.
“You’re early.
Good because I don’t tolerate lateness, excuses, or half-finished work.
Follow me.”
And that was it.
I followed her nervously as she walked me through the studio with brisk efficiency, introducing me to the junior designers by last name only.
Here’s the rewrite, dialogue and action carrying more of the weight:
My first real assignment came in at 10:30.
A consultation with Mrs.
Eleanor Hargrove, recently widowed, wanting her Upper East Side penthouse redone top to bottom.
Tara handed me the file without ceremony.
“She wants sensual, not vulgar.
There’s a difference.
Don’t disappoint me.”
Mrs.
Hargrove arrived at eleven, smelling faintly of Chanel, her eyes sharp in a way that reminded me of someone I didn’t want to think about.
She wanted the house to feel alive again.
Rooms that invited people in instead of echoing.
I sketched fast, faster than I usually did.
Deep jewel tones.
Layered textures.
Lighting that could shift from soft to dramatic with the turn of a dial.
When I described how heavy silk drapes could pool on the floor like spilled ink, my pencil slowed, and for a second I wasn’t in the studio at all.
Mrs.
Hargrove’s eyes lit up.
“Yes.
Exactly this.
Make it feel like the house had a secret to keep.”
Tara watched from the doorway, arms folded, saying nothing until the client left.
Then, one nod.
Don’t get cocky.
Talent without discipline is useless.”
I spent the afternoon buried in catalogues, trying to keep my hands busy.
It worked, mostly.
Then I’d close my eyes a second too long and be back under that restaurant table, his fingers around my ankle.
My mother was waiting when I got home.
She was wearing a silk blouse with diamond earrings and a glass of champagne already sweating in her hand.
I gave her a look.
She was always the picture of elegance even when she barely leaves home.
“We’re having drinks with Vanessa Lang,” she said before I’d set my bag down.
“Twenty minutes.
And wear something that doesn’t make you look like you just left a dorm room.”
Vanessa arrived exactly on time, air-kissed my mother on both cheeks, and turned to me with a smile that took its time.
“So this is your famous daughter.” She tilted her head.
“Meredith, you never said she was quite this striking.
Those eyes and mouth, they are a dangerous combination for a girl her age.”
Meredith’s smile tightened.
“She’s still finding her place in the world.”
“I’m sure she is.” Vanessa’s gaze dropped to my neckline and stayed there a beat too long.
“The young ones always do.
Especially the ones who look like they were made for trouble.”
My mother laughed and waved her off, “oh please, Aleena is too good for that.
She has always been a white one since childhood.”
Vanessa shrugged and sipped from her glass, “I’m sure she is.”
She set the cup down.
“So, how is the internship at Tara Kline?” Vanessa asked.
“Your mother told me you just started working there.
Tara Kline is a nightmare, I hear.
Wonderful work, though.”
“She’s tough,” I said.
“I look forward to learning a lot.”
“Good.
You want tough at your age.
It’s when they’re soft on you that you should worry.” She took a slow sip.
“You know, my friend Diane, her daughter interned somewhere in finance last year.
She was a smart, beautiful girl.
But she ended up completely wrapped around one of the partners.
The man was twice her age and yet she got married to him, it was a whole scandal.”
“Her poor mother,” Meredith said, though she didn’t stop smiling.
“Diane tried to stop her, you know.
She cried about it for a month but you should have seen the girl by the end of it.
Confidence like I’ve never seen.
Some girls just know how to use what they’ve been given.” She looked at me over the rim of her glass.
“Doesn’t hurt that the men who go for it usually treat them better than boys their own age ever would.
More generous.
More patient.”
“Vanessa,” Meredith said, laughing, “you’re terrible.”
“I’m honest.” She turned back to me.
“What do you think, Aleena?
Would you have the nerve?”
The question sat there.
I turned my glass slowly by the stem.
“I think I’d rather earn things myself.”
Meredith laughed again, a little too loud for the room, and reached for the wine bottle.
I didn’t say anything else.
I drank what was in my glass and let the conversation move on without me.
By the time Vanessa left, Meredith poured herself another glass and didn’t look at me.
“She’s always been jealous of anyone younger.
Don’t let it get to you.”
I watched her swirl the wine in her glass.
“Then why are you friends with her?” I asked.
Meredith snorted, shaking her head.
“Friends is a strong word.”
“Do you even like her?”
That earned me a real laugh.
“Of course not.”
I blinked.
“You don’t?”
“No.” She took a sip of wine.
“Vanessa is exhausting, judgmental, and incapable of minding her own business.”
“Then why invite her over?”
Meredith set her glass down and shrugged.
“Because our world doesn’t work that way, Aleena.
It’s all about connections.
Sometimes you keep people around because they’re useful, not because you like them.”
“That sounds….”
the sound of the doorbell cut me off and Meredith’s entire expression changed.
She was on her feet before the second chime, smoothing a hand over her blouse as a smile spread across her face.
“He’s here.”
My body went rigid as my glass stopped halfway to my mouth.
Was it Ethan?