He walked inside, and lo and behold, the woman from the elevator.
Flanking her were two other drop-dead beauties. His breath left him as he remembered how casual he'd been with her earlier. She remained fucking unreadable behind those shades, but still. What was going on?
He glanced behind him as the door shut. The silence as the women watched made him want to step back out just to get his bearings. But it was already too late. He stood there awkwardly until they showed him his seat. He sat with an embarrassed twitch of his lips.
The woman opposite him, to his left, wore a small smile at his antics. Alarm bells rang in his head.
On his right sat pristine perfection, eyeing him in a way that made him feel less.
He leaned back, but the combined aura of the three women made his heart race. Sweat gathered despite the AC.
Get it together, he told himself. Closed his eyes, then opened them, cold now, like theirs.
"Good morning," he greeted, glancing at their name cards. The blonde was Laura, the brunette Salome, and the dark-skinned ice queen, Velvet.
"Ortega?" Laura tested. God, the way she said his name. Get it together!
"That's me," he replied.
"Tell us about yourself." Salome.
Ortega swallowed, then began:
"I can sell anything."
They waited. He stayed silent.
"Tell us more," Salome pressed.
"I can show you."
At that, she looked to Velvet, who hadn't said a word or moved a muscle.
Velvet simply nodded.
"Alright," Salome said. "Show us what you can do."
Laura looked over at Salome. One glance, and Salome added, "Laura?"
"Right," Laura said, her grin brilliant. "Sell me to any one of these bitches."
"What?" Ortega blinked. "You're... you're not an object."
"Didn't you just say you can sell anything?"
"Did I?" The thought slipped out loud.
"Next."
"Wait!" Ortega blurted before he could stop himself.
The ticking clock filled the silence. He met Laura's gaze. All he saw was mischief, the playful tilt of her lips, daring him.
From what he knew of this woman, she was risky. Thrived on shock. Her tattoos said it all. But selling her to any of them would come off as sexist, dehumanizing, no matter how clever he tried to sound. More context would've helped, but the reward was prestige. This was as much of a clue he'd get.
He looked to Salome who was jotting something down. When she looked up suddenly, his eyes jumped over Velvet and landed back on Laura, who watched him intently, elbows on the desk.
"Salome," he said, "I give you Laura. She can be the face of your brand, your everything. Except you, of course. She's dangerous, and you'll like her. And she'll never stab you in the back, because you make her feel alive."
He smiled, but it tasted dry.
Did he pass? Hard to tell. They hid their reactions too well. The most expressive of them all, Laura, gave only a small smile and the slight arc of a brow.
His heart thumped faster now. The fear was gone, replaced by thrill. He had this. Just a little longer.
***
When it was over, Ortega felt the ache in his ass as he rose from that cruelly hard chair.
He said his goodbyes and left, walking with more power than he came in. There was a spring in his step. No verdict yet, but he knew as much as they did. His performance was solid. If they didn't like him, they'd have dismissed him outright. Instead, they said they were still considering and had other candidates to see.
On his way back to the lobby, he met Diem, scared shitless. Ortega smiled at the poor guy.
"It's all in your head, man. The fear. Kill it."
Diem just stared. "Yeah... sure."
Still, the tension on his face eased a little.
Ortega didn't care how cliché his pep talk sounded. As long as the guy didn't end up like that bitter, grumpy reject earlier, he was fine passing on some courage.
He slumped into a different seat in the lobby, one far from his rival's. Couldn't wait to see the bastard's face when he crushed him with his "exceptional results."
He wasn't hired yet, but to himself, he already was. Salome telling him to wait for consideration was just a formality.
The lobby felt more spacious now. Most job seekers had left. Only a few remained, probably waiting for their turns. He nodded at them like the boss he already felt he was.
They ignored him.
Then the woman with the tablet entered.
"Four of you," she announced. "Report to the conference room, now."
The two other men stood with dignified airs of asshole variations. Ortega's asshole air was more dignified and thus stronger than theirs. He let them walk out before following behind, humming a song.
Diem was tense in the conference room before the three women. The two other assholes trailed in after Ortega.
All the men stood tense in the room, bracing themselves for the verdict.
Salome stood after a long beat of silence and cleared her throat.
"Mike Bain, Gary Kross, and Ortega Dyke, exit's that way. Diem Clinton, congratulations. You've got the job."
Ortega still stood when the two dejected men passed him and made for the door. Dazed.
I think they just didn't give me the job. And gave it to someone else.
He looked to Laura and somehow started finding her constant smirk annoying.
Salome gave him a glare that asked what the hell he was still doing there.
Waiting for them to announce the real results, of course. He looked around their faces. Nothing gave them away.
No way this is real. A fucking test. That's what this shit is.
He impressed them. He was the best. He was an asset. How could they cast him away? Were they stupid?
Suddenly, Velvet, Salome, and Laura didn't seem as fair as he'd thought them initially. They were all just the same, aristocrats favoring the privileged over people like him.
He left the room before he lost it completely. He wasn't going to stay and cause a scene like some delusional fool.
He reached the elevator.
And to think I had so many plans for this place...
The elevator stood before him, its many buttons mocking. Goddamn it. He still didn't know how to operate it.
He went around the corridor, but it was empty.
Where to from here now? What next?
He felt the throb building behind his left eye. Clutching the side of his head, he slid down against the wall.
Am I going to be poor and indebted forever?
Ortega was starting to feel this was becoming his reality the more he denied it. Shame lanced through his chest and made him wince. His earlier glee now felt so fucking laughable. The look on that bastard's face couldn't have been more foretelling.
Footsteps. Someone was coming. Fuck.
He wiped his tears, stood up hurriedly, straightened, sniffed.
Laura appeared and caught him with the back of his palm still against his eye. He snorted.
What now?
He looked anywhere but at her, though she was studying him with that small, unreadable smile. Now that he saw her up close and in full glory, he realized this was torture. She was banging hot. Long legs, lips like sin, that confident chill that made the sterile air come alive with the deep, burning scent of her.
His anger had quieted now. Still, even putting himself in their shoes, he saw no reason they'd hire someone else over him. He surveyed her in silence, cold as stone.
"What?" His tone was rude. He couldn't care less.
"I have a question."
His jaw ticked.
"Ortega Dyke." She cocked her head. "From what family?"
"That's my business," he growled.
She smiled. Ortega felt himself about to explode.
He cut the wire before he detonated and nodded to the elevator. "Show me how to open it."
She still stared, and now there was a sudden, mad urge to fuck that smug expression off her face. Somehow imagining her spent under him made him feel better.
"Fine." He started feeling the elevator's edges for the button. Damn touchscreen elevator. Damn rich-ass company. Damn everything!
He felt a light tap on his shoulder and turned slowly, frustration burning in his eyes.
What now?
His gaze swept from her annoyingly pretty face to her outstretched arm. She held a platinum ID card with his profile.
"You might wanna have this," she said, "so you can check with us next week."
His brows furrowed. She sighed.
"You're hired."