The God 's unpaid intern

Chapter 4: Date Night Disaster

“Lucía, listen to me,” Diego stammered, his pulse hammering in his ears like a drum solo. “We have to go. Right now. Seriously, the ceiling is about to have a very bad day.”

Lucía didn’t move. She stood frozen in the lobby, her gaze flickering between the stolen briefcase in his grip and the chaotic screams erupting from the ballroom behind him. “Diego, you’re holding a briefcase that belongs to Sterling. You’re sweating like you’ve been through a car wash, and you’re talking about ceilings having bad days. What is happening?”

“Oh, for the love of—tell her the ceiling is structurally unsound! Use your ‘paralegal’ brain, you simpleton,” the God hissed. “And move! If you’re still standing there when the security detail catches up, you’re going to be a cautionary tale in the evening news.”

“Structural issues!” Diego blurted out, grabbing Lucía’s arm and tugging her toward the lobby exit. “The building. It’s old. Very, very old. The chandelier is a liability. I’m just… doing the firm a favor by clearing the area.”

“By stealing a briefcase?” she snapped, though she allowed him to pull her forward.

“It’s evidence!” Diego shouted over the rising din of shattered glass as another segment of the chandelier groaned overhead. “Of the… uh… structural malpractice!”

“‘Structural malpractice’? I’m beginning to think your only talent is lying poorly,” the God mused. “Duck left! The guard is coming.”

Diego didn't ask questions. He yanked Lucía hard to the left just as a massive, obsidian-suited bodyguard rounded the corner, his radio blaring static and orders. The guard’s eyes narrowed instantly, his gaze locking onto the stolen property under Diego’s arm.

“You!” the guard bellowed, his voice dropping into a professional, terrifying register. “Drop the bag and get on the floor. Now!”

Diego felt the familiar, hum-like vibration of the ‘speed buff’ crawling up his spine, but he forced himself to stay grounded. If he went full-speed, he’d look like a blur of motion, not a clumsy paralegal. He needed to look like a desperate, terrified amateur.

“Look, man, I’m just trying to leave!” Diego yelled, his voice cracking perfectly. “I’m a lover, not a fighter! Just let us walk out the door!”

“Not a chance, kid,” the guard said, moving with the practiced efficiency of a predator. He stepped into their path, blocking the exit.

“He’s going to grab you in three seconds,” the God whispered. “Use your left foot. Trip him. But make it look like you’re just failing at basic motor skills.”

“Lucía, stay behind me!” Diego shrieked, sounding slightly more high-pitched than he intended.

“Diego, get the briefcase back to them and let’s go!” Lucía insisted, her voice trembling but steady. “You’re going to get us killed!”

The guard lunged. Diego panicked, not because he was afraid, but because he was trying to look incompetent while his body was screaming at him to dodge with the speed of a professional boxer. He leaned backward, his heel catching on the plush lobby carpet, and he threw his arms out as if he were trying to catch a falling tray of drinks.

He swung his left leg in a wild, uncontrolled arc—exactly as the God commanded—and tripped the guard with his own heel.

It wasn't a tactical maneuver. It looked like a slapstick pratfall from a silent movie. The guard hit the polished marble floor with a bone-jarring thud, his radio skittering across the tile.

“Whoa!” Diego stumbled, flailing his arms like a windmill, and landed squarely on top of the guard, his own face buried in the man’s stiff, starched shoulder. “Sorry! I’m so clumsy! I don’t even know how I’m still walking!”

“You’re an embarrassment to the divine, truly,” the God muttered, sounding exhausted. “But it worked. Get up, you buffoon, and run!”

Diego scrambled to his feet, panting heavily. The guard groaned, dazed, shaking his head as he tried to regain his footing. Diego didn't give him the chance. He grabbed Lucía’s hand and sprinted toward the revolving doors.

“Why did you do that?” Lucía shouted, struggling to keep pace as they burst out into the cool night air of the city.

“I didn’t! I tripped!” Diego gasped, his lungs burning. “It was a total accident! My shoelaces… the carpet… gravity is not my friend today!”

They sprinted down the sidewalk, the neon lights of the city blurring into streaks of pink and blue. They didn't stop until they reached a darkened alleyway three blocks away, where the sounds of the sirens were still distant, competing with the blaring horns of taxi cabs.

Diego slumped against the brick wall, the stolen briefcase sliding from his grip. He checked his reflection in a dark shop window. He looked like he’d been dragged through a hedge backward. His tie was undone, his blazer was missing a button, and his hair was standing up in every direction.

Lucía was leaning against the opposite wall, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She looked at him, her eyes scanning him up and down. She was quiet for a long moment, the only sound the muffled pulse of the city nightlife.

“That…” she started, her voice sounding strange, distant.

“I know,” Diego interrupted, rubbing his face with his hands. “I’m a disaster. You should go home, Lucía. Seriously. This isn't safe. I’m clearly involved in something way above my pay grade, and I don't want you dragged into this.”

Lucía walked over to him, her expression unreadable. She didn't look angry anymore. She looked… fascinated. Or perhaps terrified. It was hard to tell in the flickering yellow light of the nearby street lamp.

“You’re the most boring, predictable guy I know, Diego,” she whispered. “You spend your days filing paperwork and your nights eating lukewarm noodles. And yet, tonight, you tripped a professional security guard with the precision of a judo master while simultaneously pulling off a high-stakes heist that would make a movie character blush.”

“She’s starting to connect the dots,” the God warned. “Tell her it was adrenaline. Humans love the ‘adrenaline made me a temporary ninja’ trope. It’s very convincing.”

“It was just… adrenaline,” Diego said, laughing nervously. “I was terrified! I just flailed, and he happened to be in the way. It’s like when people lift cars off their kids. Pure, dumb luck.”

Lucía reached out and gently straightened his collar. Her hand lingered, her touch cool against his flushed skin. She looked deep into his eyes, searching for a trace of the man she thought she knew, but all she found was the haunted, wide-eyed stare of someone being puppeteered by a cosmic force.

“Dumb luck,” she repeated, her voice skeptical. She shifted her gaze from his face to his hands, then back to his eyes. She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper that made the hair on his neck stand up. “Diego, I saw how you moved. That wasn't a flail. You pivoted on your toe. You calculated the distance, and you hit his pressure point with your heel.”

She paused, her eyes narrowing as she asked the question that made Diego’s stomach drop to the floor.

“Since when do you know how to throw a punch like that?”

Diego opened his mouth to lie, to spout something about a self-defense class he took in college, but the God cut in before he could even form the words.

“Don’t lie, Diego. It’s pathetic. Tell her you’ve been keeping secrets. It makes you seem mysterious and dangerous. Women love dangerous.”

Diego looked at Lucía, the woman he had spent months trying to impress with his stability, now staring at him as if he were a complete stranger. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind an ache in his joints and a cold, sinking feeling in his chest.

“I’ve been keeping secrets,” Diego whispered, the admission sounding hollow in the quiet of the alley. “A lot of them. And I think… I think I’m just starting to realize how deep they go.”

“Much better,” the God purred. “Now, tell her to run. We have to deliver this briefcase before the sun comes up, and your heart rate is already spiking again. It’s going to be a long night.”