Intern Reports Her Lazy Boss Chapter 1

For the third time this week, the new intern wrote me up for slacking off.

She stood by my desk with her chin tilted up in that sickeningly arrogant way of hers. "Mr. Lively made it crystal clear. No one is allowed to eat snacks, drink beverages, or play on their phones at their desks."

"You broke all three rules. That's a three-thousand-dollar fine. We're docking a full month's pay."

Looking at her perfectly manicured, youthful face, I couldn't help but smile.

The girl had only been working here for fifteen days.

Riding on the coattails of Oliver Lively's favoritism, she strutted around the office like she owned the place, treating everyone else like dirt on her shoe.

But there was one tiny detail she didn't know. I was the majority shareholder of this firm.

Where did she get the audacity to fine the very boss who signed her paychecks?

My name is Victoria. I am thirty-eight years old.

Ten years ago, at twenty-eight, I founded an interior design firm from the ground up. Over a decade of blood, sweat, and sleepless nights, I grew it into a highly reputable brand in the city.

Once the company stabilized, I stepped back from the front lines. I handed the day-to-day management over to the CEO I had personally mentored and promoted: Oliver Lively.

Oliver was five years younger than me. He was sharp, ambitious, and my absolute top choice for a successor.

I delegated my power completely. Unless there was a massive, company-altering project, I stayed entirely out of the daily operations.

I just kept a single, modest desk for myself tucked away in the farthest corner of the design department.

I set my own hours. I came and went as I pleased.

To the rest of the staff, I was just a veteran employee with no real authority. They politely called me "Victoria" and left me alone.

I loved the peace and quiet.

I also never interfered with HR decisions or new hires.

That was, until Blair showed up half a month ago.

Oliver personally escorted her onto the design floor.

"Everyone, this is Blair. She's a fresh Ivy League graduate and the newest addition to our design team. Please show her the ropes," Oliver announced, his tone practically dripping with admiration.

Blair smiled and waved, her eyes sweeping across the open-plan office.

When her gaze finally landed on me, it was loaded with scrutiny and thinly veiled contempt.

From her very first day, she refused to act like an intern.

She complained that the standard-issue company laptop was too slow, demanding the admin team order her the latest, fully loaded iMac.

She complained that the coffee in the breakroom was cheap instant trash. By her second day, she had an assistant running out to buy artisanal pour-over coffee, charging it directly to the corporate account.

When people started whispering about her diva behavior, she just offered a condescending smirk.

"Mr. Lively authorized it. He said brilliant creative minds require a premium environment, and the company shouldn't pinch pennies on the little things."

The name "Mr. Lively" was her royal decree.

To give credit where it's due, she was undeniably clever.

She quickly gathered a clique of young, equally arrogant junior designers who thought they were God's gift to architecture.

To the older, seasoned staff, she showed nothing but disrespect.

Right in front of the entire floor, she announced that my design philosophy was "ancient history and completely out of touch."

During a pitch review with the Design Director, she didn't hesitate to interrupt, loudly criticizing a color palette as "tacky and entirely unfit for modern aesthetics."

At first, I brushed it off. I figured she was just young, overly ambitious, and desperate to prove herself.

I even saved her skin once.

We had an urgent, high-stakes project, and Blair volunteered to take the lead, bragging that she could handle it in her sleep.

She severely overestimated her abilities.

With barely an hour left before the client deadline, her entire 3D rendering file corrupted.

The poor girl was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack, tears welling in her eyes. I stepped in, rebuilt the core models from my own archives, and sent the final draft to the client with minutes to spare.

She looked at me that day with a mix of genuine shock and gratitude.

I assumed that after bailing her out, her attitude toward me would finally change.

I was dead wrong.

The very next afternoon, I overheard her chatting in the breakroom.

"That Victoria woman just has a few more years of repetitive experience. It's really no big deal. If I had the luxury of sitting around doing nothing but studying software all day like her, I'd be ten times faster."

One of her little followers chimed in. "Seriously. I heard she's just coasting until retirement. She abuses her seniority to slack off all day."

Blair let out a light, arrogant laugh.

"Don't worry, the company isn't going to sponsor a charity case forever. Mr. Lively told me the future belongs to the young blood. Dinosaurs who can't keep up with the new pace will be phased out sooner rather than later."

I stood completely still behind the breakroom door, a ceramic mug in my hand. I didn't walk in.

"I'm telling you, people like her are just dead weight taking up oxygen," Blair continued. "Just wait and see. I'm going to clean up this toxic, lazy culture myself."

I completely lost my appetite that day.

I suddenly realized that the company I had built with my bare hands had quietly bred a culture I absolutely despised.