After I Paid Off My Mortgage, the Intern Tried to Ruin Me

The department dinner had barely ended when the new intern dropped a message in the group chat. An "afternoon coffee schedule," no less, and she'd tagged me by name:

"Hey Matilda Chavez, you make the most money and get the biggest bonuses in the department, so from now on you're in charge of our daily afternoon coffee run."

"Starting today, everything needs to be ready by 3 PM. Milk tea, coffee, pastries, the works. Minimum $50 per person. I'll decide the specific orders."

I stared at those lines and laughed out of sheer disbelief.

I'd always kept a low profile at work. All I'd done was mention at dinner that I'd finished paying off my mortgage, and this girl had latched onto it, trying to turn me into the department's personal ATM.

I typed two words in the group chat: Dream on.

The next afternoon, a delivery guy showed up at my desk with a mountain of drinks and pastries, asking me to pay.

……

I stared at that coffee schedule in the group chat again, so furious I actually laughed out loud.

A brand-new intern who'd been here all of five minutes had overheard one sentence at a department dinner and decided she was in charge of everyone's lifestyle.

I had zero interest in engaging with someone like that. I'd already shut it down in the chat. But the second lunch break ended, Mercedes Brady came sauntering over to my desk with a cup in hand, her face a picture of wide-eyed innocence.

"Matilda, you saw the message in the group chat, right?"

"The afternoon coffee run is all yours from now on. You make so much more than the rest of us. This kind of money is nothing to you."

She said it loud enough for the entire floor to hear. The moment the words left her mouth, every head in the vicinity swiveled toward me, eyes gleaming with the unmistakable thrill of spectators at a car wreck.

"Oh, and it needs to be ready by 3 PM."

"Milk tea, 70% sugar. Coffee has to be made with oat milk. And don't cheap out on the pastries. Minimum $50 a head."

"I've already collected everyone's preferences. I'll send you the list in a bit."

She rattled it all off like she was spending Monopoly money, not mine.

I looked at her, genuinely baffled. How did an intern who hadn't even made it past probation develop skin this thick?

All I'd done was casually mention at last night's dinner that I'd used my most recent paycheck to clear my mortgage, and today she had the nerve to climb right over me with it.

Even more ridiculous was the way she talked. An unpaid intern issuing orders like she owned the company.

I rolled my eyes and didn't bother sugarcoating it.

"Mercedes, you're an intern and you're worried about the department's coffee order? Sounds like you don't have enough actual work to do."

"Instead of scheming up ways to spend my money, maybe put that energy into your job. Otherwise you won't have to worry about coffee runs because you won't be here long enough to drink one."

I figured that would be enough to make her back off, at least a little.

Instead, her expression darkened and her voice shot up a full octave.

"Matilda, seriously? It's just a few afternoon drinks."

"You already paid off your mortgage. What are you hoarding all that money for? Treating your coworkers to a coffee now and then isn't going to kill you."

"Besides, I'm doing this for team morale. Everyone's working themselves to death around here. You pitch in a little so people can enjoy themselves, and that's a problem?"

By the end of her little speech she'd puckered her lips into a wounded pout, the picture of a selfless do-gooder crushed by my heartless penny-pinching.

A few colleagues who'd never liked me nodded along on cue.

Conrad Dickerson, the guy who never once paid for his own coffee but always had a cup in hand, let out a chuckle.

"Come on, Matilda, don't be so tight-fisted. We're all on the same team here."

A woman at the next desk chimed in right behind him.

"Mercedes is just trying to be nice. You make a little more than the rest of us. Would it really hurt to look out for everyone?"

I almost laughed.

Just like that, Mercedes had talked her way into rebranding my paycheck as the department's communal slush fund.

I'd be the one footing the bill and doing all the work, and somehow Mercedes would get all the credit for being thoughtful.