the intern ▿ pt. IV
Pairing: reader x ceo!tom holland
Summary: you’re finishing your last year of university in london, and what better way do to that than with an internship at holland and osterfield’s?
Warnings: language, mentions of drinking, partying. also tom being a cheeky bastard
a/n: i received a message about this chapter not working because of inappropriate content and it turns out that it was flagged. i have no idea why and i want you guys to be able to read it, so i’m reposting it. this is not the re-written part, but those will be up soon!
You groggily sit up in your bed at the sound of the front door slamming shut. The light shines through your blinds, and you realize it’s more than likely later than you had first assumed. Throwing the covers off your body, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed and make your way out to the living room of the small apartment.
Cecelia is in the kitchen, her heels and purse scattered on the floor, as she pushes the button on the coffee machine. You yawn, your bare feet padding against the hardwood floors as you walk closer to her. Grabbing a hair tie from the counter, you quickly wrap your hair into a messy bun, sitting down on the bar stool.
“How did your night go?”
She turns around to look at you, a wide grin plastered on her face. You chuckle, picking at the flaking nail polish on your thumb. You watch as she adjusts her dress before leaning on the counter, getting ready to recap her entire night for you whether you want to hear it or not.
“Despite my head killing me, it went very well,” she starts, her eyes meeting yours. “But I wanna hear about yours. How did you get home if you didn’t have your wallet on you?”
You groan, looking at her pleadingly. She just shakes her head, determined to get the story out of you. As soon as you had texted her last night to let her know you had gotten home safe, you knew she was going to ask the moment she saw you. You had hoped she would be too drunk to remember, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.
“Tom.”
Her eyes widen at the same time the machine beeps, signaling that the coffee is ready. “Tom? Your ‘one-night stand turned internship boss’ Tom? Ooh, do tell.” She pours herself a cup of coffee, a gleeful expression on her face, which makes you want to punch it away.
“I called him. He picked me up and took me home. There’s nothing more to the story,” you shrug innocently, hoping your lie is solid enough because there had been way more to the story.
“Hello?” Tom’s voice is hoarse it crackles through the receiver on your new phone. He’s silent for a second before continuing, sounding more awake now. “Y/N? Are you alright?”
You sigh softly, hating how comforting his voice sounds. “Um, hi, Tom. Did I wake you? I’m really sorry- I just, uh,” you stutter, trying desperately to stop your teeth from chattering.
“Where are you? I’ll come get you.”
You tell him the cross streets and he promises he will be there as soon as possible. You wrap your arms around yourself, attempting to keep the little body warmth you had left. You consider going back inside to wait, but the loud music and drunk teens seem less tempting than the sobering cold. Several young adults join you, but they quickly jump in taxis or friend’s cars. Next time I’m bringing a jacket, you think to yourself, watching as a car pulls up to the curb next to you.
The passenger window rolls down, and Tom’s face appears, looking at you with concerned eyes. You ignore him, jumping into the car, welcoming the warmth with open arms. You kick your heels off, curling your legs in your seat to warm them. The window rolls back up as you buckle in, still not looking at Tom, scared of what might await if you do.
“Are you fucking crazy? What are you doing out here, in the cold, dressed like- dressed like that?”
“Forgot my wallet,” you mumble weakly, leaning your head against the door and closing your eyes. “Can you just drive me home, please? It’s freezing.”
You can hear him rummage around briefly, but you don’t have to open your eyes to investigate because two seconds later, soft indie rock fills the car. He doesn’t say anything, just putting the car in drive and as the car moves, you feel the exhaustion of the long day take over. You can’t bring yourself to stop it, the quiet music and steady heat lulling you to sleep.
The sound of a car door being shut wakes you up. You moan quietly, not wanting to open your eyes. The car beeps as it gets locked, and you sigh contently, nuzzling further into the comfort surrounding you. Your head hurts already, and you know you’re going to have a long day tomorrow.
“Darlin’, I need you to tell me what floor you’re on,” Tom’s gentle voice makes your eyes shoot open, suddenly realizing what is going on.
“Second. 2B,” you mumble, lying undeniable still as Tom carries you effortlessly up the stairs, your bare legs slung over his arm. “I, um, I can walk.”
Tom doesn’t say anything, placing you down gently when you reach the door of your apartment. You don’t dare look at him as you search through your purse, a small aha escaping you as you grasp the keys and pull them out. You unlock the door, the click of the lock turning echoing through the empty hallway. Reluctantly, you turn to look at your savior.
“Thank you,” your voice is raspy, so you clear your throat. “I’m really sorry I woke you up.”
Tom hands you your heels back, shoving his hands into the pocket of his sweats. Another look you hadn’t seen on him, but one you knew you could grow to love. You take them, shooting him a small smile, but he just nods.
“’s alright. Just don’t go outside by yourself like that again. I’ll see you on Monday. Night.”
You watch quietly as he walks back down the stairs, the hood of his sweater bouncing. You mumble a response, fully knowing he can’t hear you. Sighing, you step into the dark apartment. Two minutes later, you’re wrapped in the covers on your bed, willing yourself not to think about how Tom had immediately responded to your call of help, or how he had carried you upstairs, letting you sleep for as long as possible. Eventually, you’re able to fall back asleep, the smell of Tom still lingering in your nose.
“So he just picked you up and dropped you off? Nothing else happened? Bollocks!”
“I swear, nothing happened. He drove me home, carried me upstairs and then he left.”
“He carried you upstairs?”
You groan, realizing your mistake too late. Cecelia raises her eyebrows multiple times, teasing you. You shake your head, picking up your phone from the counter. Turning it around, the screen lights up at the motion, and you notice you have an unopened text message. Your pulse immediately quickens when you see his name.
“Shut up,” you mutter, a small chuckle escaping you as well, knowing she means well.
Let me know if you ever forget your wallet again. I’ll add chauffeur to my resume
Cecelia notices your sudden silence, grabbing the phone from your hands before you can stop her. You watch her as her eyes trace the words of the simple text. She whistles, handing you the phone back before taking another sip of coffee. You pull your leg up on the chair, resting your head on your knee.
Fuck you, Tom Holland.
“He just loves teasing you, doesn’t he? Cheeky bastard that one.”
XXX
You had left the text unanswered the rest of the weekend, having no clue what to say to him. He hadn’t followed up on it either, so you figured the whole situation would remain a secret between the two of you - well, three if you count Cecelia.
You desperately hope so as you enter the building of Holland and Osterfield’s on Monday morning. As you walk up the stairs, you re-read the email you had received from Harrison late the previous night. You double check the information and the time, nodding pleasingly when you realize you’re on time. You stop on the third floor this time, taking in the unfamiliar environment. You stop in front of the meeting room Harrison had told you to go to, knocking quietly.
A woman you have never met before opens the door, and you realize you’re the last one. You smile sheepishly, stepping into the room, trying to ignore the questioning stares of some of the workers in the room. Your eyes involuntarily find Tom immediately, sitting next to Harrison who is standing at the head of the table opposite from where you’re standing. Harrison glances up as the door is closed behind you and smiles.
“There you are! Everyone, this is our new intern Y/N. She’s helping us out with marketing for the next six months.”
The small crowd murmurs a few greetings, and Harrison tells you to sit down and comply. You aren’t sure exactly why he had invited you to the meeting in the first place, but you tell yourself it’s a great way to learn something new. Placing the laptop bag in your lap, you give Harrison your attention. When he starts talking, you briefly let your gaze flicker to the left to look at Tom. He doesn’t seem to notice it, staring down at the notes displayed in front of him.
You notice he isn’t wearing a blazer today, only a faded charcoal-colored button-up shirt. A black tie dangles from his neck and you wonder momentarily if he hated dressing up for work as much as you do. He shuffles the papers a little, the shirt tightening around his bicep as he does so. You instantly look away, not wanting the sight to stay in your head longer than it had to. Returning your attention back to Harrison, you listen as he talks about the charity gala they are hosting in a few weeks.
“Um,” you speak up quietly, instantly regretting interrupting him. “I think it would be more beneficial to personally invite the honor guests and then advertise through newsletters and e-mails.”
Harrison purses his lips, considering your suggestion. “Why do you think that?”
“Well, I assume the honor guests are well-established business owners, politicians, you know, the usual. I also assume most these people are older than all of us in this room. I think they would appreciate the gesture of a personal letter in the mail. With all due respect, Mr. Osterfield, most people didn’t make it as young as you and Mr. Holland. I just know that my grandparents would respond better to a letter than an impersonal e-mail.”
You hear a few other people mumbling agreements. You meet Harrison’s eyes for a moment before looking back down at your hands, reminding yourself to apply a new coat of nail polish when you get home. There is a brief silence, and you wonder if maybe it had been a bad idea to speak up like you did.
“I think she’s right. Let’s send the honor guests invitations and we’ll notify the other businesses through e-mail like planned,” Tom speaks up and you immediately look at him. He just nods at you, and you give him a small smile.
“Okay, that’s settled then. Y/N, would you help me with those invitations later?” he asks, looking at you expectantly and you nod hurriedly. “Now, let’s talk about the next marketing campaign.”
Harrison’s words drown out, and you glance down at the papers in front of you. You stifle a yawn, suddenly wishing you could cuddle up in bed with Tom. You shake your head, needing to get rid of the thoughts. That doesn’t work as well as you hoped it would when Tom takes over his portion of the meeting. His words are impossible to comprehend, the thoughts in your head taking over. You quickly excuse yourself, opening and closing the door before anyone can say anything.
Hurriedly, you make your way upstairs and toward your desk, scolding yourself the entire way. You had never crushed on anybody this way before. Does it count as a crush? Your thoughts are messy and most of them unwelcome as you plop into your chair with a loud sigh. Pulling out your computer and earbuds, you welcome the loud noise of the song as you press play. You try your best to focus on the lyrics, pulling up the chat window and clicking Cecelia’s name.
you: dude i just interrupted harrison in a meeting and tom stood up for me and i wanna kms
A few minutes pass by and you pray that your best friend is on her computer, needing someone to vent to, or rather, someone to help you make sense of your jumbled thoughts. A small icon pops up, notifying you that she’s writing and a relieved sigh escapes you.
cecelia: bollocks! tell me what happened
you: tom isn’t wearing a blazer today and he looks really good and i just. ugh. f*ck me
ceceilia: i bet that’s what you were thinking when looking at him
you: shut up. i gotta go. i ran out of the meeting because i couldn’t stand it and i have to do my work
You exit out of the chat window, pulling up the document you started on Friday. Harrison had asked you to compile a list of potential businesses to contact in regards to the gala. You finish it faster than you would have liked, but you attach it to an e-mail and send it to Harrison anyway. He responds not even five minutes later, asking you to meet him in his office.
You unwillingly get up from your chair, making your way down the hall. You attempt to ignore your increasing heartbeat as you get closer, not knowing what to expect. You had interrupted him and caused quite the scene as you ran out of the conference room. You definitely didn’t earn any more respect points by doing that. Your knock on the door is timid but he appears to hear it anyway.
He tells you to come in, so you open the door cautiously, a nervous smile dancing on your lips. Harrison is sitting at the chair behind his desk when you close the door behind you, but your eyes are more focused on Tom leaning up against the desk. He looks at you quizzically and just for a moment you think you see a form of concern in his eyes. Harrison clears his throat and startles you out of your moment with Tom.
“Are you alright, Y/N? You seemed to leave us in a hurry? I know meetings can be boring but...”
You quickly shake your head, meeting Harrison’s eyes. “No. I’m sorry. I, uh, stomach bug. I wasn’t feeling too hot.”
Your excuse is so weak that you don’t even buy it yourself but Harrison just nods. “Okay, well, I hope you feel better. Why don’t you, uh, take the rest of the day off? You can work on those personal invitations at home and send me a few different versions, and then we’ll pick the best one. I saw that you’ve done a fair share of graphic design.”
You nod slowly, wondering if your face betrays how confused you feel. “I can stay-”
“I’ll take you home,” Tom speaks up for the first time since you entered the room, giving you a tight-lipped smile.
“O-Okay. Um, I’ll get right on those invitations, Mr. Osterfield.”
Tom walks you to the elevator, neither of you saying anything, the only sound is the elevator jostling as it moves. The ride back to your apartment is just as quiet, the radio making the tension a little less awkward. You hadn’t talked to him since he had dropped you off at your apartment, and you weren’t quite sure what to say.
“Thank you,” you state suddenly, deciding to elaborate after receiving a look laced with confusion from him. “For taking me home on Friday. I never really thanked you. I don’t wanna think about what could’ve happened if-”
“Yeah, I don’t want to think about that either. Don’t understand why you’d be walking around in a dress like that anyway,” he interrupts, not taking his eyes off the road once.
“Oh, shut up, like you were complaining last week. That dress wasn’t any better.”
You pause momentarily as the words leave your mouth. That was the first time either of you had mentioned your night together after the interview. You glance over at him, noticing the way his knuckles are turning slightly white from gripping the steering wheel. He doesn’t smirk like you had expected him too.
“Well, I was there to take you home that night. To make sure you were okay and no one touched you. I watched you from the moment you walked in,” his words are stern, almost slightly possessive, but then a smirk finds its way to his lips. “Besides, I don’t recall you complaining either. Unless you count complaining about me taking too long to-”
“Okay, okay,” you grumble, feeling your cheeks heat up at his words. He chuckles just as he pulls up in front of your complex.
You unbuckle slowly, grabbing your bag in one hand. There is a slight pause in the music, which makes the sound of you opening the door appear even louder. You slide out of the car, your heels clicking against the cobblestone of the street. Slinging the bag over your shoulder, you dip your head back in to take one last look at him. He has a confident grin on his face now, the seriousness of his voice totally gone.
“You didn’t run out of the meeting because of a stomach bug, did you?” He raises an eyebrow mockingly, almost knowingly, as you shut the door. You watch in slight horror as he takes off, the sound of his car accelerating bringing you back to reality. Ignoring your flushed cheeks, you trudge toward the entrance of your complex. There was no way he knew why you had run out. He couldn’t know. Could he?