Tortured Souls

2 - Getting the job

- Aria -

The 'plan' is to apply for a job as his personal assistant. I don't know what most people think they're applying to do as a personal assistant for a rich man but the thought alone sets off alarm bells in my head. This thought is what sets my lips into a grim line as I sit in the waiting room of his office, legs crossed at the ankles because the skirt I'm wearing is so tight that any other position would compromise the fabric. Courtesy of Jim, who said Mr. Martinez was quite the playboy and suggested I play into that for an advantage.

To which I responded, "Sounds a lot like I'm whoring myself out." He laughed and rolled his eyes at me. "Use what you've got," he said with a shrug.

"Isabella Coleberg?" Jim had first suggested that I use "Marsha" as an alias, as if that was a fuckable name. Again, not that I was going to fuck him, I just refused to be called "Marsha." At the sound of my chosen alias, I stood up and smoothed out my skirt, walking toward the front desk. The woman working there appeared to be in her early twenties. She had blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and... a lot of cleavage. I quickly brought my eyes back up to her face and smiled awkwardly, looks like I'll fit right in. 'Right through there."

I nod and thank her, walking to the corner office and knocking gently. "Come in." The voice is deep and powerful. Entitled. Exactly what I'd expect from someone exploiting child labour.

I gently push the door open and let it close behind me. When I turn to face him, I nearly lose my breath. If at all possible, the picture I'd been provided somehow didn't do him justice. As I got closer to him, I realized he had some freckles spread across his nose and cheekbones and when his eyes flitted up to mine, I was surprised to see that they were semi-heterochromatic. One eye was completely brown whereas the other one was half brown and half green. He was stunning.

"Take a seat," he said, looking back at his papers and motioning for me to sit in the chair on the other side of his desk. I tug on the skirt slightly, begging it not to tear as I sit down. Yeah, it's that tight. And yet when he saw me he barely took a moment to observe me.

"You are Isabella Coleberg?" he inquires, reading something off of a paper, probably my fake resume that I memorized last night.

"Yes, I am," I respond, a soft smile on my face.

"I'm fairly busy today so I'll need to skip the small talk and get right to the important questions," he said, putting my resume down and leaning back in his chair. "I only have one question for you: why should I hire you?" I stare at him for a moment and he elaborates. "I've had thirty-seven applicants for this position today. Out of all of them, why should I pick you?"

My eyes widen slightly in surprise. I reviewed all the questions he usually asked his applicants and this wasn't one of them, yet it was the only question he was asking. I tried to think quickly. What would catch his attention? Did he want seduction? Competence? Confidence? I thought back to what Jim had told me on the way here.

"Make sure to smile a lot. And laugh at anything he says that is remotely funny, those hot shots love that shit. Oh, and bonus if you can find a way to promote your figure, maybe a little–" he uses his arms to push his chest together, "--y'know?" I resist the overwhelming urge to gag and shove my pride down to a place so deep it can't see what I'm about to do. I pull my lips back, revealing what I hope is a convincing smile, and laugh loudly as if he's just told a great joke. As I'm laughing, I press my arms together, pushing up my cleavage against the shirt I am wearing. His eyes finally flicker to mine, a tinge of irritation in his brow but otherwise his facial expression is blank. Then, he sighs and looks back at his papers like he is completely uninterested in anything I have to say. I feel a tinge of anger but I push it down, taking a deep breath. The smile drops from my face, I release my arms, and we fall into a tense silence.