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."