Sexy in the City

by Alexia Adams, Galen Rose, Samantha Anne, Carolann Camillo, Nicole Flockton, Iris Leach, Olivia Logan, Nancy Loyan, Stephanie Cage (epub)

  “You make it sound like a bad thing.”

  Rachel pursed her lips and fought a smile. “Cami, I’m serious! I’m only making a dollar more an hour than I was at StarChefs.”

  “I thought we were here to celebrate,” Camille teased, “You’re in the company you’ve wanted to work for since freshman year. So you’ve got to start back at the beginning. Suck it up and wow them, now! And if that doesn’t work, just sleep your way to the top.”

  Rachel snickered and tilted her head to one side. “Cami, please.”

  Camille gave Rachel a wink and turned to hail their waiter. “Don’t you worry Rach, we’ll make this week disappear and you can start fresh on Monday.”

  Rachel smiled at her best friend. Camille had just turned thirty, and somehow seemed more worldly than most women ten years her senior. The fact that she was a fashion photographer might have had something to do with it. She’d been to a number of different countries, and had met some of the world’s most interesting people. The way Cami told it, the most interesting were usually found in back alley bars, local watering holes, and hole-in-the-wall pubs. She’d seen it all, done it all, and captured it all. Buying Cami a glass of wine would get you hours of some of the best stories ever told — and Rachel got to hear them all for free.

  A waiter approached and filled their glasses once more. Camille held her glass up to toast Rachel.

  “To the finest junior editor the publishing world has ever seen,” she announced with a smile, tossing her thick ash blond locks behind her shoulder.

  Rachel blushed. “The finest almost junior editor.”

  “Semantics,” Camille replied with a sly smile, “Your future is set, and I say that it’s so. Now clink my glass and drink already!”

  Rachel laughed and saluted her buddy, taking a long, satisfying sip. Camille studied her closely, and allowed herself a serious moment.

  “Honey, listen,” she said, placing a comforting hand on Rachel’s forearm, “This may be a setback, but it’s a minor one. I know how talented you are, and I know how much you love books and the business. You will get the position you were hired for; I know it. You’re already a star, now you’ve just got to prove it.”

  Rachel smiled. “Thanks, Cam. And thanks for dinner! I’m not going to need to eat until Monday! Then again, I can’t really afford to.”

  “Now, now, enough of the pity party,” Camille chided, “You know if you need money I can lend it to you. It comes with an open-ended payback policy, and zero interest.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’m just going to have to find another job again.”

  Rachel breathed a heavy sigh at the mention of a second job; she was so tired of it! Losing sleep to barely get by wasn’t her idea of living life. She’d expected to have that under control by now. But, it was the price one often paid to live their dream.

  “It’s only six months,” Camille insisted, “You can make it. You’ll be fine by the end of the year.”

  Rachel leaned back, stretching her arms. “God, I hope so. I’m pretty much over the four hours of sleep routine.”

  Cami took a long sip from her wine glass. “You can get through it. What you can’t do, however, is be late again.”

  Rachel nodded, giving a yawn. “Let’s call it a night. Or at least let’s get a bottle to go and watch some movies at my place.”

  “Is the roommate home?”

  “Nope, she just left on an improv tour.”

  Camille stood. “Throw in a couple of Diane Keaton movies and I’m there.”

  Rachel grinned. “Annie Hall?”

  “Annie Hall.”

  • • •

  Rachel sat at her writing desk in the living room for the fourth week in a row, stunned. All of her leads had fallen apart. None of her headhunters had been able to come through for her. StarChefs had put a hold on hiring, so she had no chance of returning to her old job despite the fact that she left on great terms. A month had gone by, and she’d submitted her resume at least a hundred times.

  There were no callbacks, no interviews. Either the market stunk, or her resume did. If Rachel didn’t find something soon, she’d run through her savings in no time. She’d wisely budgeted for hard times, and she knew her bills were covered for a couple of months. But let’s face it, she sighed internally, money doesn’t grow on trees … but damn, would that be awesome! The idea of eating doctored-up ramen for another month made her stomach turn.

  At the other end of the living room, the cordless phone rang. Rachel almost knocked her coffee table over to get it. Nicky, the large and ridiculous golden retriever gave chase behind her and slid into the wall beside the telephone stand with a muted thud. Rachel’s fluffy roommate stared at her expectantly, as if to ask whether or not all of that excitement was worth it.

  Rachel rolled her eyes at the dog. “Dummy,” she muttered, and then spoke into the receiver, “Hello?”

  “Rachel, it’s Cam!”

  “Oh, hi Cami,” Rachel replied, her heart only partially sinking.

  “Okay, listen,” Camille mockingly scolded, “I’m gonna need a little more excitement out of you when I call. I don’t dial this thing very often!”

  A small chuckle escaped Rachel’s lips. “I’m sorry, Cam. I just thought you might have been a callback.”

  “Hmm,” Camille sighed, “Still no luck with a second job?”

  “Nope,” Rachel answered, “And now I get to go to work, get coffee and type barely thought out reports for a junior editor who doesn’t actually read the manuscripts that Lucy puts on her desk.”

  “I don’t know why you haven’t rolled over on this girl yet,” Camille sniffed.

  “Because I’m not a snitch or a backstabber,” Rachel explained, “Who wants a career based on the number of people they’ve thrown under the bus? I want to get to the top based on merit, Cami.”

  “And you will, Rach,” she replied quickly, “But Lucy will never see what you can do if you keep covering for that waste of office space. And you can bet your check that Little Miss Junior Ed has thrown a bevy of the competition under the bus when it suited her needs.”

  “I’d rather not bet my check,” Rachel spoke, a smirk drawing one corner of her mouth upward, “I need that to support the phone bill I generate from talking to you.”

  “Don’t you sass me,” Camille answered, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Just think about it.”

  “I will,” she replied, “Lunch at one?”

  “You got it. I’ll text you the details.”

  “Cool. Later, Cam.”

  Rachel thought about Camille’s advice. She’d been telling her for weeks to give Lucy the heads up about Michelle’s shoddy workmanship. Michelle was one of the three-person junior editor team that worked at Equinox Publishing, and she was also the top contender for the editor spot that Lucy was planning to fill at the end of the year. Rachel learned fast that Michelle’s status in the company had nothing to do with an actual talent for selecting bestsellers. Michelle was lucky enough to have had a small string of assistants who knew how to find winning manuscripts, while she possessed the talent to rewrite presentations in her own words and take all the credit when the published book turned out to be a winner.

  Word around the office was that her last assistant, instead of reporting Michelle to Lucy, chose to sabotage Michelle instead. He placed a less than stellar manuscript on the table for presentation; it was one that he knew Lucy wouldn’t have pushed through for printing. But he stealthily slid it onto Michelle’s desk with a report, and the entire packet made its way to the conference room.

  Lucy described Michelle’s presentation as the “worst lapse of judgment in Equinox history.” Now only known as “the assistant,” he expected Michelle’s cover to be blown.

  What he didn’t expect was for Michelle to rally ba
ck quickly. She blamed the entire fiasco on him, citing that she had taken a vested interest in coaching him so that he could apply for the next available junior editor spot. She cried crocodile tears in Lucy’s office while explaining that she’d put all of her trust in him, and he must’ve chosen to sabotage her. The assistant was gone by the end of the week.

  As Rachel stood online in Bean, the local coffeehouse, she couldn’t shake the feeling that, if she spoke to Lucy, she’d end up being the next office legend. They’d probably dub her “The Dumb Girl.” Michelle had already proven herself to be untouchable, and starting a war like that couldn’t possibly end well for Rachel. Then again, Camille was right — how else was she supposed to get out from under Miss Junior Ed?

  Rachel absently sipped from her latte as she stared at the community board, looking for any help wanted posts. One particular postcard sparked her interest. Orchid Communications. Looking for a few good phone operators. Must be PC literate. Switchboard experience a plus but not necessary. Full- or part-time available. Comparable hourly rate with bonus potential.

  She took the card off of the corkboard, her heart fluttering excitedly. With a little more spring in her step, she spun around with the card in her hand. Rachel suddenly met with what felt like a brick wall; she stumbled backward in a daze and almost fell. A rather large hand clamped around her forearm and held her steady. She shook the cobwebs out of her head and looked up — way up — into a pair of chocolate brown eyes.

  “Whoa, I’m so sorry!” A male voice, the sound like butter, filled her head as she beheld the giant mass of man in front of her.

  As her eyes focused, she got a good look at him. Aside from the gentleness of his concerned expression, this guy was gorgeous … and huge. Rachel was rather tall at five feet, eight inches, and he towered over her in a way that awoke long dormant butterflies in her tummy. Unable to speak, she looked up at him, her eyes wide.

  He looked down at her with an embarrassed smile. “I’m sorry. I probably should have let you know I was behind you. Are you okay?”

  Rachel took a deep breath, unable to shake the confusing feeling she got from staring at him. “I … I’m okay. It’s fine, I should have looked where I was going.”

  His massive hand on her arm felt like fire. She pulled it away slowly and steadied herself. The handsome giant held his arms out, ready to catch her. Rachel put a hand to her head.

  “Wow,” she breathed, “Someone should make you wear license plates!”

  He chuckled, the sound a deep rumble that made her tummy vibrate strangely. She couldn’t help but smile a little bit. “Again, I’m sorry.”

  She nodded, regarding her latte with a mild expression of shock. “Anyti … I mean, it’s fine. Have a nice day, um … ”

  “Joe.” She looked up at him again. Eyes like chocolate, a voice like butter, and a body like steel? Oh no.

  “Right, Joe.” She stepped around him, almost afraid to turn her back, “Have a great day.”

  Rachel hightailed it out of the coffee shop as fast as her flats would allow. She didn’t notice him watching her with interest as she walked away, and didn’t notice the look on Amy’s face as she barreled through the lobby to her cubicle. Rachel heaved a sigh and tossed her bag onto the desk. What the hell was that about? She shook her head and frowned, dismissing the handsome stranger.

  Pulling out the card, she dialed the number determinedly. She would think of nothing but getting an interview. Never mind the way his suit stretched taut over his muscled … no! A husky-voiced woman answered the phone, and only spoke with her for a minute before giving her an interview for later that night. Surprised, Rachel accepted the appointment and ended the call. Just like that, she thought. Yes!

  Chapter Two

  Later that evening, Rachel sat on a shabby couch in a dimmed lobby. A goth chick manned the reception desk, dressed head to toe in leather and studs. Around Rachel sat a group of girls varying in age and size, all dressed far less professionally than she was. She stared down at her black slacks and matching heels and immediately felt over-dressed. She glanced upward and spotted one of the girls reading a book, A.N. Roquelaure’s The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty. Her brow furrowed at the thought of having such a risqué title out at a job interview. Then again, wasn’t a job interview at seven thirty in the evening a little odd, too?

  Rachel grabbed her purse and rifled through it, looking for the card she’d pulled from the community board at the coffee shop, but realized she must have left it at the office. It suddenly dawned on her that she had no idea what kind of job she was applying for. Had she really thought it would just be a standard cold call job? Or was she just desperate enough to reply to an advertisement without checking into what it was all about?

  She stood and approached the receptionist, crossing her arms and leaning on the counter. The goth chick looked up with a sarcastic grin.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Lady Leather asked.

  Rachel gave her a small smile and replied, “I have a weird question. What’s this job all about?”

  The receptionist looked tickled. “Didn’t you reply to the ad?”

  “I did,” Rachel replied quickly, nodding her head, “But it was a really vague ad. I just sort of assumed … I mean, isn’t this a telemarketing position?”

  “Hah,” Lady Leather answered, her smile widening, “You really have no idea.”

  Rachel closed her eyes and sighed halfheartedly. “I know, I’m nuts. But can you just clue me in? Is there cold calling involved?”

  “More like hot calling,” the receptionist chuckled, “If you’ll have a seat, they’ll call you in soon.”

  Head tilted, Rachel asked, “So you won’t even throw me a hint?”

  “Sweetie, if you haven’t gathered what this is all about by the looks of the office, then we’ve got a much bigger problem here. Please, have a seat.”

  Pressing her lips together, Rachel nodded. She turned and walked back to her seat, reaching for a random magazine as she sat back down. Before she could even decide whether or not she was offended by the receptionist’s less than helpful attitude, she caught a glimpse of the magazine’s cover. Arch & Soul, a monthly mag geared toward foot fetishists, glared at her under the crappy fluorescent lighting.

  Rachel’s eyes widened and darted to the other magazines on the black-stained wooden coffee table. Nose Rings & Things, Twitchy Palms Magazine, and Clamps N’ Stamps sat on the table side by side, waiting to be perused. Her breath caught in her throat and she looked around, forcing herself to remain calm. The lobby’s décor finally hit her: blood red walls, Toulouse-Lautrec’s Moulin Rouge prints encased in black frames. Not a single guy sat in the waiting room with her. Suddenly the A.N. Roquelaure book didn’t seem so strange. But it couldn’t be what she thought. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she considered the evidence.

  No way, she thought with an inner giggle. Phone Sex? Her eyes found Lady Leather’s, who nodded and smiled with a small chuckle. Rachel wasn’t sure whether or not to be confounded, and wondered if she should be standing to leave. Curiosity piqued, about a hundred questions ran through her mind. How would someone even interview for a job like this? And why are group interviews necessary? Is there an audition involved? Her cheeks flushed crimson at the thought of having to fake an orgasm in front of a group of strangers.

  Instantly, Rachel wanted to bolt; her heart was pounding in her ears. This is insane, her insides screamed, you can’t be a phone sex operator! Just as she stopped her silent panic attack to wonder what her mother would think of her taking a job like this, a heavyset girl with black spiky hair and huge boobs stepped out.

  “Okay, I need Tammy, Leigh, and Rachel,” she announced casually. “Follow me, please.”

  Rachel blanched at the sound of her name, but stood. Ten feet in one direction stood her busty interviewer; ten feet in another direction
was the door. If she took ten steps to the right, she’d be out of this office and home free. Her gaze fell once more upon the receptionist. Lady Leather was watching Rachel’s struggle with a smug grin. Rachel pursed her lips. Ten feet toward the office would wipe the satisfied look right off of that judgmental witch’s face. Was she spiteful enough to do it? Rachel narrowed her eyes as she mustered up courage from deep within her belly, and flashed a grin at the receptionist before following the interviewer inside.

  What are you doing? Turn around!

  Rachel ignored her internal war of words as she allowed herself to be led into the deep recesses of the adult hotline. She couldn’t quite place the stale smell that hung in the air, but it made her nose wrinkle. Could it be the smell of regret? Rachel couldn’t imagine this job being on anyone’s list of dreams in high school. The interviewer spun on her heel, a sleepy smile on her face.

  “I’m Jennifer,” she whispered, “We’re going to head into the conference room in a moment, but I wanted you to see a little bit of the call floor before we went in. There are a total of 50 cubicles, shared by 100 girls over the course of the week. We keep it dark in here to provide a level of comfort for the girls. Trust me, when you’re talking a guy through a blow job, the dim lighting helps.”

  Leigh and Tammy stifled their own giggles, and Rachel couldn’t control the reddening of her cheeks. Her face felt like it was on fire as she did her best to ignore the moans and girly-voiced pleas for more as they rose from the cubicles like smoke. A pair of hands, perfectly manicured, stuck out from one of the cubicles closest to her as the girl stretched, using the momentum to groan loudly. Rachel’s breath hitched, and she averted her gaze.

  Seeing Rachel’s reaction, Jennifer chuckled and opened the door to the conference room. She waved them in, and Rachel gratefully went first. She took a seat on one of the leather chairs, allowing herself a deep breath before Jennifer closed the door. The room was mercifully silent, but not before the final comment of a girl telling a caller exactly what he could do to her followed them in.