by Lyra Parish
I placed the envelope on the dresser next to the empty bottle of wine, and slowly pulled on the jogging pants and T-shirt I'd left crumpled on the floor. My first and only interview started at 2:00 p.m.; considering it was 12:00 p.m., I had plenty of time.
After ordering a pastry from room service, on the house, I dressed. I felt devious and wanted to be sexy business professional. Black bra, black panties, and thigh-highs, it would be my little secret.
I slipped on the skirt suit, tucked my hair behind my ears, and lightly applied makeup. Light pink cheeks, neutral colored eye shadow, and a shiny lip gloss made me feel well put together. The black suit went well with my bright red high heels. Nothing said hire me more than those shoes.
I planned my Vegas life from the time I left the farmhouse. I would work the accounting clerk job at Simon & Fitch until I qualified to test for my Certified Public Accountant license. After interning for a year, and working my way up the corporate ladder, I would become a partner at the firm; buy a new comfortable car, and a nice house.
Landing that job was the most essential piece of my overall plan to stay in Vegas. It would jumpstart my professional career while keeping my mind away from Texas.
Simon & Fitch was only fifteen minutes away, and I decided to leave before the nervousness completely took over. I needed to calm down as I rehearsed the different interview questions that most prospective employers asked. What were my weaknesses and strengths? Why did I feel I would be a good match for the position?
Arriving early wouldn't hurt. I heard Mr. Simon hated tardiness. Being early meant being punctual, and I had punctuality.
I tucked my clutch under my arm as I waited for the elevator.
My heels clicked on the floor as I walked through the foyer, which acted as my runway to success. I worked it like a catwalk.
The blinding sun shone in my eyes and I covered them like a salute as I strutted to the valet area. An older gentleman asked for my Valet slip and scurried away to retrieve my vehicle.
Fifteen minutes had passed before he returned. The time continued to tick. "Ms. Downs. Your car has a flat, and we are unable to move it from the parking space. Would you like for us to call Road Side Assistance, or do you prefer to change the tire yourself?"
I closed my eyes and opened them before I spoke. "I can't change it dressed like this. How long until they can get here?"
He picked up the special red valet phone and made a few calls.
"One to two hours before they can make it out." I looked down at my phone. I didn't have time for that!
"That's no problem. Please tell them to come out, insurance is in the upper visor, I really have to make it to this interview at Simon & Fitch before 1:45 p.m."
But I was already late by my standards.
"Do you have a shuttle for patrons of the hotel?"
"Yes ma'am, but it only brings you to a few designated places like the airport."
"Shit."
Blood pumped through my veins. The stress, the feeling that no one was here to help, made me realize how alone I truly was. I had no one to call.
Taking responsibility, I thanked the valet guy and ran toward a taxi, in fucking heels. I had no idea what I was doing. I never called for a taxi before, but I threw my hand in the air and waved them on. One zoomed over to me, and I hopped in the back seat.
The driver looked no older than twenty-five with a baseball cap and Ray Bans. Hipster driver was not what I expected at all.
Breathless, I said, "Simon & Fitch, please. If you can get me there before 1:50 p.m., I will pay you triple fair."
My phone read 1:38 p.m.
I had exactly seventeen minutes to my destination.
The taxi whipped in and out of traffic like a bee traveling through flowers. I closed my eyes and hoped he wouldn't wreck. Since the accident, I got a little skittish with crazy driving. I wanted to live, and I never wanted to experience whiplash. It probably sucked more than a wine hangover.
We crossed two lanes of traffic, nearly rear-ended a few cars, and almost completely ran over several pedestrians jaywalking. Curse words, a few middle fingers, and fist shakes were involved. The driver had road rage and wasn't afraid to show it.
Fabulous. If I was to die, I wanted to look death in the face and take it with pride.
I straightened in the seat.
"Sit back, honey, Imma professional. Nothing to worry about."
My heart wanted to jump from my chest, but I didn't let it. I did what the hip guy said, and sat back and hoped an anxiety attack wouldn't submerge.
Maybe I wasn't as brave as I thought.
Thinking back to my previous statement, I should have added, triple fair, if, and only if, I arrived in one piece.
Interview questions flashed in my mind. Why did I want this position? What were my strengths and weaknesses?
The next thing I knew, the cab inched closer to the blue building. I pulled out my phone, 1:57.
Holy shit! Where did the time go?
After a screeching halt where he almost jumped the curb, I pulled a hundred from my wallet and handed it to the cabbie.
"This one is on me. You can owe me one."
He handed the hundo back to me. I crumbled it into a tight ball and threw it on the floorboard.
"Hey!"
"Thanks!" I took off the sexy red heels and ran into the building. My nerves felt like mush, and sweat formed on my brow. Once inside the double doors, I placed the heels back on my feet and rushed to the secretary's desk.
2:00 p.m. I was late.
Breathlessly, I forced out my name to the disinterested secretary.
"Jennifer. Downs."
The woman rolled her eyes at me and looked at the clock.
"I am sorry Ms. Downs, your interview was scheduled for 2:00 p.m. Mr. Simon is apt and expects all prospective job candidates to be the same.
"But it's 2:00 right now. Please. I had a flat and–"
"Let me phone the interview panel."
My phone clicked to 2:01 p.m. Rude Secretary waited on the phone, and I heard the mumbling of a husky voice on the other line as she asked if I would be seen for the interview.
"I am sorry Ms. Downs. Our committee thanks you for your time and wishes you luck in all your future endeavors."
My world crashed down. Every plan I had crumbled.
How could a person's dreams be flattened so quickly?
Tears welled in my eyes, and I wanted nothing more than to sit down and cry on the floor. Everything rested inside of the Simon & Fitch corporate office: a career, and ultimate happiness. The most elite accounting firm in the country denied me because I failed the simplest test: being on time for an interview, one that was practically impossible to get.
"Thank you. Good luck," the woman muttered again, shooing me away. I took my cue to leave.
I found my way to the front of the building and stared up at the whitewashed sky. Everything seemed to blur. Always prepare for the worst was my motto and for the first time, I hadn't.
Rejection. I hated the way it burned going down.
No taxi waited for me, and I had no transportation to get back to the Bellagio. Instead of calling a cab or Googling a service, I walked.
Maybe fifteen blocks in high heels would make me feel better? Make me feel pain, make me feel alive, and give me time to learn from the situation. Replay all the steps I should have taken beforehand to ensure that it never happened again. I would drive myself mad with the should-have could-haves.
Maybe coming to Vegas was a mistake?
No. I wouldn't give up yet.
My feet ached. Fifteen blocks turned into thirty.
And I cried until my face turned red. I knew when I walked into the Bellagio, I looked like hell, and the reflection in the elevator proved it.
My Vegas dreams came to an abrupt halt, and I didn't want them to. I had enough cash to survive for a while, but I needed something that would provide sustenance. No dead-end jobs. I wanted a career, something that I
could hold on to that was consistent in a world that had no consistency.
Once inside the room, I took off the stupid, sexy shoes that hurt my feet, and lay on the bed.
My new life seemed exciting yesterday.
Today it all went to shit.
I couldn't handle another month on the emotional roller coaster.
As I sat on the end of the bed, I caught sight of the black envelope on the dresser.
I stared at it for a few minutes then picked up the phone.
It was Vegas or Texas.
I chose Vegas.
Four
Within minutes, Mr. Felton returned my phone call and asked if I could meet him at his office in the next thirty minutes.
Only one problem, I had no way to get there.
"Sure. I'll be there as soon as I can, but I have to call a cab becau–"
"No. I'll send Charlie, my driver, to meet you."
Driver?
No use arguing. He wasn't the type of man to lose an argument. I knew that, and didn't even know him.
Instead of insisting, I thanked him and fell back on the bed.
The soft blanket snuggled around my body, and all I wanted to do was relax after my stressful day, but instead, I stood, fixed my hair, and reapplied makeup to cover up the puffiness in my eyes.
My hotel phone rang. The front desk let me know my driver had arrived to escort me. I took one deep breath, and grabbed my resume before leaving.
"Hello, Ms. Downs. My name is Charles Harbrow, but you can call me Charlie." His grayish white hair reflected in the sun, and he had a sincere voice.
"Hi. I'm Jennifer. It's a pleasure."
After a firm handshake, he escorted me outside. A black, glossy limo stretched across the covered driveway. Charlie opened the door, and I smiled at him before sliding across the slick comfortable leather. I could get used to this kind of treatment.
Within minutes, it seemed, I made my way up the sidewalk to a huge building, one larger than Simon & Fitch.
Is it possible that I landed an interview at another successful corporation?
"Ms. Downs, I'll escort you inside."
I allowed him to walk with me to the clear elevator. I had never ridden in one that was totally glass.
"Once on the fifteenth floor, ask for Mr. Felton. Good luck." And the glass doors closed.
I could see everything: the atrium below, the small waterfall in the center, and windows to the offices that lined the walls. I didn't know what kind of business Mr. Felton ran, but it seemed legit, and corporate, and stable. Everything I wanted.
When I arrived at the top floor, a secretary, petite and pretty, escorted me to Mr. Felton's office. In the center of the door hung an engraved golden plaque with Finnley Felton in an elegant cursive script. Big curly Fs… Fancy.
Mr. Felton stood facing the windows in a neatly pressed suit. The black tie complemented the black suit, designer from head to toe. His green eyes met my brown gaze, and I smiled, but only received the ghost of one in return.
Once the secretary left us, I searched the room, trying to take in every little detail: abstract art on the wall, a conference table in the back, and a lounge area in the middle. The afternoon light cast a yellow glow in the room. A large oak desk, which screamed business executive, had two chairs tucked in front. The room looked comfortable, welcoming, but also professional.
The red velvet curtains that overlooked the atrium were jerked closed.
"Hi, Finnley. Thank y—"
"It's Mr. Felton."
My face flushed. How could I be so inconsiderate and unprofessional?
I immediately felt stupid.
"Mr. Felton. Thank you for allowing me to interview. I've brought my resume and a list of recommendations. I'd love to join your accounting team if you'd allow me."
I outstretched my hand and he left me standing there, awkwardly. The smile faded from my face as he leaned against the wooden desk with his arms crossed.
"Take off your clothes." His voice was low and silky.
"Excuse me?" The words hit me like cool water.
I don't think so, asshole.
"The interview has begun, Ms. Downs. If you'd like to join my team, you will do what I say and if you'd prefer not, you are more than welcome to turn around and walk that tight ass through the door, and we can pretend as if this never happened."
The fierce tone behind his English accent made me cower. I froze as I calculated my next move.
What the fuck?
The way he looked at me, exploring my body as if he were undressing me, made my stomach flip. No one had ever observed me that way. With a sprinkle of courage, I searched the blank matter-of-fact expression that covered his face. This man was all business.
As his long eyelashes hit the tops of his slightly sun-kissed cheeks, I closed my eyes to regroup my thoughts, then opened them quickly. I couldn't let my nerves get the best of me. He moved his messy hair behind his ears, and then sat on the desk, waiting, wanting, daring me to make my move.
"Have you decided? Or are we going to waste the good portion of my time daydreaming?"
I swallowed.
All I ever wanted to do was live in Vegas among the lights and fast-paced city. How did I get myself into this? Take off my clothes? I wasn't some cheap whore to be bossed around. The thought of undressing in front of him disgusted me… or did it?
My heart sped as he watched with a lust and want so fierce I shivered. It was now or never, you only live once, right?
I peered behind him and stared at the Vegas strip in the distance. With perfect plump lips, and straight white teeth, Mr. Felton smiled at me. In that very moment, I decided to gamble. I didn't know why because I wasn't much for risks. If anyone was a play-it-safe type of girl, it was me. But in that moment, I wanted to be someone different. I wanted to know the outcome of what waited on the other side. I played with lady luck to see what hand she dealt. Maybe I would get lucky.
He saw me naked already, right? Right?
I slowly unbuttoned the white silk shirt from top to bottom. My breathing increased with each button. The shirt slid from my shoulders and dropped to the floor in a little, crumpled pile. Self-consciousness danced with crazy as my breasts bulged from the top of my black lacy bra.
With steady hands, I unclasped and unzipped the gray skirt from my waist. It fell to the ground and I stepped from it, keeping my gaze to the floor. I paused and raised my eyes to meet his. They gleamed with delight and lust as he searched my body.
"Continue," he said in a gravelly whisper.
I had never taken my clothes off for anyone before. The being-sheltered-thing really made me feel more aware of my naked body. More than anything, I felt embarrassed.
I slowly released a breath with hopes to calm my nerves as I unclasped the bra. On the count of three, I told myself.
One.
I reached behind my back and fidgeted with the clasp.
Two.
Only one more to go.
Three.
I slowly removed the straps. That was it; the girls were free.
Completely exposed, I stood with my head held high and tried to tell myself I didn't strip down to bare nothingness in front of a stranger. But that's just what I did.
I inched the thigh-highs from the top of my legs.
"No. Leave those. But remove the rest."
"The rest?" But that left only my panties.
The black lace felt cold in my fingers. I took my time inching them down my legs and dropped them on my clothes.
"Shaven, completely. Not what I expected from you. Not. At. All."
"Why? Do I not look like I take care of myself or something?"
I stood, vulnerable in thigh-highs and red heels, in front of a beautiful monster. But in reality, I chose it, so monster was a bit harsh.
My breasts and sex were exposed to all of Vegas, or at least that's what it felt like.
Have I lost my fucking mind? Am I this desperate for a job?
A nagging voice inside answered back... Apparently, and yes.
Mr. Felton stalked toward me like a tiger with smooth and fluid movements.
Behind me, he slowly pulled my hair from its business professional bun until dark locks fell around my shoulders and above my breasts. Inspecting every part of me, he slowly circled around my body and let out a moan to let me know that he approved of what he saw. All I could do was peer out the window at the Vegas strip. What the fuck was I doing? I needed to know.
I no longer wanted to look at him. Instead, I focused on the little rays of sun that sprouted through the cotton-clouded sky, so blue that I practically got lost in it.
"Did you hear me?" He was speaking to me, but I had traveled a million miles away.
"Sorry, Mr. Felton, what did you say?"
"It's amazing. Do you know how many women try to accomplish what you pull off so naturally?" The word naturally left his plump lips. Silence lingered.
The blood rushed to my face, and I could feel my cheeks turn pink.
"You're joking, right?" I tried to pull the edge from my voice, act like I didn't care, but I couldn't. I expected him to say something else. Something different like, "fuck me now or get on your knees" by the way he looked at me.
"You don't even know what you've got, do you? You're fucking amazing, Ms. Downs. You don't try to be beautiful... You just are. I have a handful of ladies that would die for these legs, waist, and for"—he cupped my breasts in his hands—"these."
I tensed, and he squeezed, but immediately let go. He continued to stand inches from my body, and I could smell him. Clean like soap and summer rain, and I almost soaked up his scent. The edge of his suit brushed across my nipples, and they were rock hard. My hormones, not whore moans, went haywire.
"My business is built upon confidence, Ms. Downs, confidence in whom you are, and with what you have. You've got the body, the perfect ass and tits, pretty face, the fierce attitude, but you seem embarrassed about your body, and I can't understand why."
I didn't speak.
"No. It's not…" He paused, chuckled, and then fell silent. I was confused.
"I can't believe I didn't recognize a virgin when I saw one. Usually I'm very good at spotting them, but you, you were a little hard to crack. I'm not fooled often."