Arthur Penhaligon, a boss whose kindness was matched only by his fervent belief in diversity, felt his office was missing something. He viewed his team as a carefully curated human mosaic, and what it needed was a fresh, local perspective—local, in this case, meaning European. When the internship application from Norway arrived, bearing the name Solveig Larsen, it felt like destiny. The name alone resonated with the crisp, clean echo of fjords and sagas. He pictured a resplendent Nordic woman—not for any untoward reason, of course, but as the perfect final piece for his collection. In the days leading up to her arrival, he fussed endlessly, adjusting the thermostat and re-briefing the team, earning a symphony of weary sighs with his mantra of “Everything must be perfect for her.”
The day came, but a last-minute meeting chained Arthur to his desk. He dispatched his assistant, David, to the airport for the pickup. When David finally saw the intern, his face underwent a rapid series of emotions: confusion, stunning surprise, and then a slow-dawning, magnificent grin. His thumbs flew across his phone screen before he’d even left the arrivals gate. During the drive, he kept sneaking glances in the rearview mirror. "God, she was gorgeous, but…" he thought, the grin refusing to leave his face. Solveig would catch his eye in the mirror and wonder at his unabashed glee, offering a polite, questioning smile of her own. She remained quiet, a veteran of these moments, deciding it was best not to startle a new colleague on their first day. Upon arriving at the office, the welcome was almost overwhelming; everyone was smiling, their faces bright with a curious, electric energy. The PhD intern was taken aback; it was a reception unlike any she’d ever received.
Arthur burst from his office like a man expecting a parade. “Where is the intern? Where is she?” he called out, his eyes scanning the room for a Valkyrie and finding only familiar faces. Solveig stood quietly as Arthur addressed David. As he spoke, her eyebrow arched with a cynical, sad humor; she sensed a familiar script about to unfold. Arthur’s gaze finally swept over her, lingered, and then returned with a jolt of cognitive dissonance. He pointed a trembling finger, not at David, but at her.
“That’s her. That’s Solveig Larsen.”
“Do not raise your voice at me! I am your BOSS!”
“You? Racist?” David replied with a dose of theatrical disbelief. “Come on, Boss.”
Notice to the reader: Getting déjà vu? Don't worry, we haven't bugged your home. Probably. All characters and events depicted on this page, even those that seem to perfectly mirror your own life, are entirely fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is not only purely coincidental, but also frankly, a little bit magical.
Ooouuuh very interesting story. I’m not really into reading but I felt captivated enough to keep going till the end. Well done 🙂↕️🙂↕️
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