Chapter 11: The Intern Interview
POV: Clark
Clark's Hell's Kitchen office had never looked so pathetic. Three mismatched chairs faced a desk that had probably been salvaged from a bankruptcy auction, while case files covered every available surface in what optimistic people might call "organized chaos" but which more accurately resembled the aftermath of a small explosion in a filing cabinet factory. The morning light streaming through windows that hadn't been properly cleaned since the Clinton administration did nothing to improve the aesthetic.
"She's going to walk in, take one look at this disaster, and leave. Which might actually be better for everyone involved."
Clark straightened his tie—a thrift store acquisition that almost matched his jacket—and tried to arrange the chaos into something resembling professional competence. The Afghanistan rescue had put his name on federal watch lists and earned him Tony Stark's gratitude, but it hadn't done anything to improve his office furniture budget.
The stack of resumes on his desk represented the kind of desperation that came with sudden success. Word had gotten out that Clark Collins Investigations was somehow connected to high-profile corporate security work, and applications had arrived from everyone ranging from experienced ex-military contractors to college students who thought private investigation looked exciting on television.
Most of the candidates had been exactly what he'd expected—competent but unremarkable people looking for steady work in an uncertain economy. A few had shown promise but lacked the kind of flexibility his operation required. None had made him suspect they might be anything other than what their paperwork claimed.
Then Natalie Rushman walked through his door, and Clark's artifacts began humming with warning frequencies that suggested his morning was about to become exponentially more complicated.
She looked like the answer to a question he hadn't known he was asking. Auburn hair that caught the light like polished copper, green eyes that suggested intelligence and humor in equal measure, and the kind of professional attire that managed to be both conservative and devastating. Her resume claimed Harvard Law School, six languages, and typing speeds that approached superhuman levels.
Her presence in his shabby office felt like finding a Fabergé egg at a garage sale.
"This is either the luckiest break in hiring history or the most elaborate setup I've ever walked into."
"Mr. Collins?" Her voice carried the faint trace of an accent that his linguistically enhanced hearing couldn't quite place—Eastern European, possibly, but carefully modulated. "I'm Natalie Rushman. I have an appointment for the intern position."
Clark stood, extending his hand for what should have been a routine professional greeting. The moment their fingers touched, three things happened simultaneously:
First, his Truth-Seeking Marble grew uncomfortably warm in his pocket, suggesting that Natalie Rushman was not entirely what she appeared to be.
Second, the physical contact sent a jolt of awareness through him that had nothing to do with artifacts and everything to do with basic human chemistry.
Third, she held the handshake for exactly two seconds longer than strictly professional, while her thumb traced a subtle pattern across his knuckles that felt distinctly deliberate.
"Okay. Definitely a setup. But what kind of setup, and who's running it?"
"Ms. Rushman," Clark said, releasing her hand before the contact could become obviously inappropriate. "Please, have a seat. I have to admit, your qualifications are impressive enough to make me wonder why you'd want to work for a small PI firm in Hell's Kitchen."
She settled into the chair across from his desk with the fluid grace of someone comfortable in her own body, crossing her legs in a way that drew attention while appearing completely unconscious of the effect.
"I'm looking for hands-on experience in investigation work," she said, her smile suggesting hidden depths. "Corporate law is lucrative, but it's also... predictable. I want to work somewhere that challenges me."
"Truth, but not the whole truth. She's looking for something specific, and it's probably not investigative experience."
"What kind of challenges are you looking for?"
"The kind that require creative problem-solving. Unconventional approaches to complex situations." She leaned forward slightly, and Clark caught a faint trace of perfume that seemed designed to bypass rational thought entirely. "I understand you've had some very interesting cases recently."
The way she said "interesting" suggested she knew far more about his Afghanistan adventure than any legitimate job applicant should. Clark felt the familiar weight of decisions that would determine whether the next few months featured professional cooperation or elaborate spy games.
"She knows about Tony. She knows about the rescue. Which means she's either federal law enforcement, corporate intelligence, or something more exotic. Time to find out which."
"I handle security consulting, missing persons, the occasional corporate investigation," Clark said carefully. "Nothing that would require skills beyond standard PI work."
"Of course." Natalie's smile suggested she was enjoying a private joke. "Although I did notice that some of your recent work has involved travel to rather remote locations."
"Documentary consultation. Afghanistan reconstruction efforts."
"How fascinating. I've always been interested in international aid work."
She shifted in her chair, and the movement caused her to brush against his desk. The contact looked completely accidental, but Clark's enhanced perception caught the subtle tell—she was scanning the surface for any loose papers or documents that might provide useful intelligence.
"Professional-grade surveillance. She's gathering intelligence while maintaining perfect cover. Either she's the world's most overqualified intern, or she's running an operation."
Clark decided to test the waters with a carefully designed probe.
"The work sometimes involves coordination with federal agencies," he said, watching her reaction carefully. "SHIELD, FBI, that sort of thing. I hope that wouldn't be a problem for you."
The coffee mug in Natalie's hand slipped from her fingers, spilling lukewarm coffee across her application paperwork. She gasped in apparent embarrassment, reaching for napkins while apologizing profusely.
"Oh God, I'm so clumsy! I'm so sorry, this is mortifying!"
But Clark's artifact-enhanced perception caught what ordinary observation would have missed. The spill wasn't an accident—it was a perfectly executed distraction technique designed to cover her momentary loss of composure when he'd mentioned SHIELD.
"Gotcha. She definitely knows what SHIELD is, and she definitely wasn't expecting me to mention them casually."
"No problem," Clark said, handing her more napkins while studying her face for additional tells. "Accidents happen."
"You must think I'm a complete disaster," Natalie said, dabbing at the coffee stain with the kind of focus that suggested she was using the cleanup time to reassess her approach.
"Not at all. Though I have to ask—you seem nervous. Is there something about the job that concerns you?"
"Press the advantage. See how she responds to direct questioning."
Natalie looked up from the coffee cleanup, meeting his eyes with an expression that seemed to balance vulnerability and determination. "I suppose I am nervous. This is exactly the kind of work I've been hoping to find, and I really don't want to mess it up."
"Truth again, but still not the whole truth. She wants this job, but not for the reasons she's claiming."
Clark leaned back in his chair, making a show of considering her application while actually analyzing her micro-expressions for additional intelligence. She was good—professional-grade good—but artifacts provided perception advantages that normal surveillance training didn't account for.
"Your language skills are impressive," he said. "Six fluencies is unusual for someone your age."
"I've always been good with languages. They come naturally to me."
"Including Russian?"
The second coffee spill happened so fast it might have been genuine clumsiness if Clark hadn't been watching for exactly this reaction. Natalie knocked over a water glass this time, sending liquid cascading across his desk and onto the floor.
"Three for three. Every time I mention something connected to her real background, she has a convenient accident. It's almost insulting how obvious it is."
"I am so sorry!" Natalie exclaimed, grabbing every available napkin and paper towel. "I don't know what's wrong with me today. Usually I'm much more coordinated than this."
"Usually you're a trained operative who doesn't spill things accidentally. But you're rattled because I'm asking questions you didn't expect from a small-time PI."
"Really, it's fine," Clark said, helping with the cleanup while considering his options. He could expose her deception directly, which would probably result in her disappearing and someone else taking over surveillance duties. He could pretend he hadn't noticed anything, which would leave him under observation but might provide opportunities to learn more about whoever had sent her.
Or he could hire her anyway and see how long she could maintain her cover while he simultaneously wasted her time and gathered intelligence on her employers.
The third option appealed to his sense of humor and his tactical instincts in equal measure.
"Keep your enemies closer. Especially when they're attractive enough to distract you from the fact that they're enemies."
A knock on the office door interrupted their cleanup efforts. Scott Lang entered without waiting for permission, took one look at the water-and-coffee disaster, and raised an eyebrow.
"Boss, you know there are janitors who specialize in this kind of thing, right?"
"Scott, meet Natalie Rushman," Clark said. "She's interviewing for the intern position."
Scott studied Natalie with the focused attention of someone who'd learned to spot law enforcement surveillance during his less-than-legal career. Clark watched the recognition dawn on Scott's face—not specific identification, but the general awareness that this woman represented some kind of official interest in their operation.
"Natalie," Scott said carefully. "Nice to meet you. What brings you to our little corner of organized chaos?"
"I'm looking for experience in investigative work," Natalie replied, her smile bright enough to power a small city. "Mr. Collins has built quite an impressive reputation."
Scott glanced at Clark with an expression that clearly communicated his opinion of hiring someone who was obviously conducting surveillance. Clark responded with a subtle nod that meant "I know exactly what she is, and I'm hiring her anyway."
"Scott's not wrong to be suspicious. But sometimes the best way to handle surveillance is to give them exactly what they think they want while controlling what they actually see."
"Well," Clark said, making his decision with the same combination of calculation and recklessness that had carried him through Afghanistan. "Your qualifications are certainly impressive, and we could use someone with your language skills. When can you start?"
Natalie's smile shifted from professional politeness to something that might have been genuine pleasure. "Immediately, if you'd like. I'm very eager to begin."
"Eager to begin gathering intelligence on me and my operation. The question is whether I can learn more about her employers than she learns about my artifacts."
"Excellent. Scott, can you show Natalie around the office? Give her the basic orientation?"
Scott's expression suggested he thought Clark had lost his mind, but he nodded agreement. "Sure thing, boss. Though I should mention, there's not much to see. Office space, filing system, coffee machine that only works when it feels like it."
"I'm sure it will be fascinating," Natalie said, gathering her things with efficient grace. "Mr. Collins, thank you for this opportunity. I promise you won't regret it."
"I definitely will regret it. The question is whether the intelligence I gather will be worth the complications she's going to create."
As Scott led Natalie toward the filing cabinets, Clark heard him mutter under his breath: "Boss, she's definitely a spy."
Clark's whispered response was quiet enough that only Scott's proximity would allow him to hear it: "I know. Keep your enemies closer."
Scott's answering grin suggested he understood exactly what kind of game they were about to play.
After they left for the office tour, Clark sat alone among the coffee-stained ruins of what should have been a routine hiring interview, feeling his artifacts hum with residual warnings about deception, danger, and the peculiar satisfaction that came from knowing his enemies thought they were smarter than they actually were.
"Natalie Rushman, if that's even your real name, you have no idea what you just walked into. But I suppose I'm about to find out what kind of training produces someone who can spill coffee on command while conducting covert surveillance."
His phone buzzed with a text message from an unknown number: "Target acquired. Initiating close observation protocol. He's more perceptive than expected, but manageable. Also... infuriatingly attractive."
Clark stared at the message for several seconds before realizing it had probably been sent to the wrong number by mistake. Either Natalie was texting her handlers, or someone else was conducting surveillance on someone else entirely.
Given the day he was having, he suspected it was the former.
"Well, at least she thinks I'm attractive. That should make the next few weeks interesting."
Clark deleted the message, cleaned up the remaining coffee stains, and prepared for the most elaborate game of spy-versus-spy he'd ever played. His new intern was definitely going to complicate his life, but she was also going to provide insights into whoever was interested enough in his operation to send a professional.
And if she happened to be extremely attractive while conducting espionage against him, well, that was just another occupational hazard in the increasingly strange career of Clark Collins, artifact-wielding private investigator.
The afternoon promised to be very educational for everyone involved.
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