— Art Donaldson, the name was all over headlines. Once the greatest rising tennis players, having six grand slams on his belt. Now, was one of the, if not, the most successful business owners in North America.

He’d retired from tennis after a shoulder injury and his divorce with Tashi. Putting all of his tennis knowledge into a campaign company, making tennis magazines, sponsoring tennis matches and tennis players, hiring the best editors from every corner of the world.

Somehow, you’d scored a spot as a paid intern. Art had set up a program with Stanford for media design students to send in their portfolios and resumed. You’d made it to the top final three, and managed knocked the other two students off the polls after your in-person interview with the man himself.

Shortly after, you’d started working hand-in-hand with Arts design team, treated less like an intern and more like an actual team member. The pay wasn’t as good as if you were actually employed there, but you were still only interning. The benefits made up for the income, healthcare, insurance, and getting to spend your week with Art.

He wasn’t your typical mean, snarky, hardened CEO. Art was interactive, greeting everyone with donuts and coffee in the morning, special catered lunches on friday’s to celebrate everyone for good work. Even when someone screwed something up, he didn’t lash out, he’d simply give them a firm guide to get them right back on track.

After another long day of work, you’d clocked out and headed out to the parking garage. When you’d gotten in your car, you’d turned the key, listening to the engine rev before sputtering to the stop. Trying once more, that time it didn’t even make a revving noise, just sputtering before shutting off.

With a huff, you get out and pop the hood, trying to decipher what the hell could be wrong now. In the midst of your search (which, wasn’t going very good, due to your lack of car knowledge) a voice breaks you from your determination.

“Car trouble?”