The Intern Regretted His Free Coffee

I froze, instantly checking my phone.

Nine in the morning on the dot. Lunch wasn't for another three hours.

Seeing me stare at my screen without saying a word, Brandon tapped his knuckles hard against the top of the takeout container to hurry me along.

"Did you hear me, Jay? I want a Venti vanilla latte from Starbucks. Don't be cheap like yesterday and order a Grande. It barely covered anything." He tossed off the demand as if I owed him money.

A sharp, angry laugh escaped my chest. "I didn't ask you to get me lunch today."

Brandon blinked, his face suddenly flushing red with rage. "What’s your problem? You think you can just flex on the intern?

"I already bought the food! Now you're saying you don't want it? Do you have any idea how early I had to get up just to get this for you?

"I don't care, you owe me that coffee. I earned it!" He stomped his foot, his voice ringing through the office and immediately drawing the attention of everyone nearby.

A small crowd began to drift over.

"What's going on?"

"Why are they yelling?"

"Jay, what happened?" Marcus Sinclair, a senior guy on my team, looked at me in confusion.

Before I could even open my mouth, Brandon's eyes welled up with dramatic tears.

"Marcus, you have to help me out here." Brandon sniffled, turning to the crowd with a pitiful expression. "Jay asked me to buy him lunch, so I did, and now he's refusing to pay me back."

To me, his expression was pure taunting provocation, but to everyone else, he looked like a helpless victim. Whispers broke out among my coworkers.

Looking around at their faces, I saw no real malice, but the default assumption was clear: the senior employee was picking on the kid in his first week.

Marcus clapped a hand on Brandon's shoulder. "Hey, take it easy. Jay isn't like that; it’s just a misunderstanding. Tell you what, I'll cover the cash for him. Don't stress; we don't need management walking in on this."

Marcus pulled out his phone to send the cash, but I jumped in and grabbed his wrist.

"Don't," I said through gritted teeth, "I've got it."

If I let Marcus pay for this, I'd solidify the story that I mistreated the intern, and I'd never be able to clear my name.

I opened Venmo on my phone.

Brandon's lips twisted into a victorious, smug smirk. "It's nineteen dollars total; don't mess up the amount."

My fingers hovered over the screen. The Chipotle bowl was twelve bucks, meaning his coffee demand was more than half the cost of the actual meal. With everyone watching, I couldn't push back. I hit the transfer. A suffocating heat burned in my chest.

The second the notification hit Brandon's phone, his teary face completely cleared up. He gave Marcus a cheerful thanks and strolled back to his desk. Marcus patted my shoulder in quiet sympathy, and the crowd dispersed.

The office went quiet again.

I dropped my bag and sat down, but the Chipotle bowl Brandon brought was taking up my entire keyboard space. Salsa liquid was already leaking around the plastic lid and dripping right onto the keys.

I stared at the nineteen-dollar Chipotle bowl for a long, heavy moment.

Then I picked it up, dumped it straight into the trash can, and booted up my computer.

As soon as Slack loaded on my monitor, Brandon's profile picture flashed with a new notification.

He’d sent a message, adding a goofy laughing emoji.

[Hey Jay, that cash was just for my emotional distress. Don't forget to order my latte later this afternoon!]

…

My mind went blank. I typed back: [Are you insane? I just paid you.]