Reporting Mr. Oddball

— ESTHER —

“Take your clothes off. Now.”

Huh?

I blinked a few times, double-checking that my ears hadn’t misheard the guy sitting across from me. Big build, messy curly hair, a cigarette perched between his fingers. The way he stared at me was giving straight-up serial killer energy, and my whole body broke out in chills.

I swear, if my bank account had more than crumbs and empty hope in it, I would’ve slapped him bare-handed right then and there.

Unfortunately, my dignity and my survival mode were in a full cold war inside my skull.

“S-sorry, sir? What do you mean, exactly?”

He just grinned. He blew smoke slowly into the air before propping both feet up on the desk with god-tier unbothered energy. Casually, he grabbed my resume, skimmed it for two seconds, then tossed it back onto the desk like garbage.

Bastard. That resume cost me an entire all-nighter, courtesy of my potato laptop that sounded more like a broken tractor than a piece of technology. I nearly cried when the file corrupted halfway through.

And now? This clown just chucked it aside.

“You’re applying for a job here, right?” he asked, shameless.

“Yes, sir.”

“So you need money, right?”

I internally scoffed. Obviously, bro! Why else would I be here, auditioning for stand-up comedy?

“That’s right, sir. I need a job.”

“Good.” He nodded like he was proud of himself, then stubbed out his cigarette in a glass ashtray. “So, strip.”

My polite little smile went completely flat.

I stared at him, mouth hanging half open.

Maybe this was some kind of psych test with the biggest red flag in history. A loyalty test? Company culture stress test? Come on.

“Sorry, sir. I don’t understand.”

“I said, take your clothes off.” His voice hardened, more insistent. “I need to check out your body.”

Check out? Do you think I’m a product?!

His eyes dropped, scanning my body with zero filter, zero shame. Face, neck, chest, legs. My defense instincts kicked in instantly; I pressed my knees together and yanked at the hem of my blazer, trying to cover whatever his gaze was undressing.

Okay. This is definitely not a corporate interview.

“Sir, why do I have to—”

“Don’t talk back.” He cut me off. “If you wanna work here, you follow my rules.”

I swallowed. My throat had gone bone-dry, my palms clammy like I’d just been holding melting ice. There was an unmistakable air of intimidation in the way he spoke, and it made it very clear he wasn’t joking.

And unfortunately, I was still trapped in this chair across from his desk.

Wait.

I let my eyes drift around the room. It was big, with an expensive wooden desk and black leather couches, but the aesthetic had zero corporate energy. Posters of barely-dressed women covered the walls, and the smell of cigarette smoke mixed with musky cologne hit my stomach like a punch.

Shit. How did I miss all these obvious details?

Honestly, last night I’d been in full panic-apply mode, blasting my resume to dozens of job listings online. The second I saw WE ARE HIRING, my fingers moved faster than my brain.

Admin? Send it.

Marketing? Send it.

Personal assistant? Why not.

Even if there’d been a listing for circus lion tamer with minimum wage and dental, I probably would’ve applied to that too.

As long as it kept me alive in this city, period.

But for the love of God, since when did taking your clothes off become a job requirement?!

I forced a smile, even though my cheek muscles ached from it. “Sorry, sir. I can’t do that.”

The smirk on his face instantly vanished. “Why not?”

“Because... I came here for a job interview, not to—”

“Not to what?” He leaned back in his chair, cocky as hell. “You think I’m stupid? Girls like you always end up looking for the easy way to make money.”

Excuse me?

Disgust hit me square in the chest. Not just because he was demeaning me, but because he genuinely thought my financial situation could be bought to make me a slave to his gross preferences.

My fingers gripped my bag strap so hard my knuckles went white. My eyes automatically flicked to the door.

Ten feet.

Barely ten feet from where I was sitting.

If I stood up right now, would he even let me leave?

“Sir, I’m really going to pass on this,” I said, my voice much smaller and shakier than I’d wanted.

He clicked his tongue, annoyed. “Don’t make me lose my temper.”

Every hair on my body stood up at once.

Deep breath, Esther. Do not cry. Do not let him know you’re scared out of your mind. But how was I supposed to stay calm when the creep in front of me had just told me to get naked in a closed room with no windows?

I tried to take a deep breath, but my chest felt tight. The oxygen in this room felt like it was running out. Cold hands, hot-and-cold shivers down my spine.

Right as he opened his mouth to say something else, the door behind me slammed open.

“Joe! We’re out of time! Deadass, the twins in the next studio are already complaining! They’re waiting on the props for that… very crowded scene next door!”

I flinched hard. My shoulders shot up, my hand grabbing the back of the chair on reflex.

Three women strutted in. Their heels hit the marble floor loud enough to drown out the AC hum.

The first one wore bright red lingerie with a long sheer robe. Behind her, a blonde in an ultra-tight black bodysuit, and the last one in barely-there lace with ten-centimeter heels.

My eyes went wide, bouncing between them one by one, then back to their outfits, my brain lagging out completely.

“Oh, hold on,” the blonde one interrupted, eyeing me from head to toe. Her lips curled into a knowing smile. “Is this the girl for that very unconventional scene? Damn, she’s got that awkward, innocent look. The camera might eat that up.”

Oh no, no, no!!!! What the fuck is wrong with you people!

The girl in the lace outfit behind her scoffed, adjusting the revealing neckline of her costume. “Please. If it’s for one of those pretty intense scenes with the guys, she looks like she’d faint before they even get started. Look at her—she’s literally shaking!”

My bones started coming loose one by one. My brain, which had been running slow, suddenly kicked into overdrive connecting every absurd puzzle piece. The posters on the wall. Joe’s demand. The uncensored, vulgar conversation. And now, three women walking in casually pitching graphic sex scenes like they were discussing a regular office meeting.

Don’t tell me...

Oh, holy shit.

DON’T TELL ME—

“Yeah, we’re mid-audition,” Joe answered, grumbling, jerking his chin at me. “But this new candidate wants to be dramatic, all holier-than-thou, won’t cooperate.”

The blonde girl raised an eyebrow, then sauntered toward the desk, runway-model style. She leaned toward me, eyes sharp and provocative.

“Come on, babe. The pay is fat. You could make thousands of dollars just for going limp under two guys at once. It’s literally easy money!”

I whipped my head between Joe and the girls, horrified.

Easy money?

Two guys at once?!

Wait, hold on. What exactly was I applying to be here?!

“Is she the replacement for tomorrow’s group scene, Boss?” the blonde asked, completely shameless.

Instantly, all the blood drained out of me, leaving a cold sensation across my whole body.

Scene? Are you kidding me?!

I looked between them, praying one of them would laugh and say this was a YouTube prank. But their expressions stayed flat, professional in the worst possible way. One of them was even scanning my outfit head to toe with a grin.

My throat clenched with an overwhelming tightness. Swallowing felt like swallowing glass shards.

My eyes accidentally landed on the huge lettering on the wall behind Joe’s desk.

PRIVATE TAKE ENTERTAINMENT

Underneath, a blazing neon slogan that made my eyes want to pop out of my skull:

Your fantasy, our production.

I read it once.

Twice.

Three times.

And everything clicked into place at lightning speed.

The barely-dressed women posters. The threesome talk. Joe’s demand to strip. Tomorrow’s wild sex-scene audition.

Oh.

OH, FUCK.

GOD! FORGIVE ME!

I’d just walked into a job interview at a porn production house.

It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of scalding ice water on my head. My face burned, but my fingertips went numb. My heart was slamming so hard against my ribs it felt like it was about to shoot straight up my throat.

I’m gonna throw up! HELP!

Not because I was disgusted by them specifically, but because of how close I’d come to walking into an unfiltered den of the sex industry.

If I’d caved earlier and stripped out of fear of getting fired... what would’ve happened to me in this room? Getting passed around in front of a camera?!

That thought sent my stomach into a full spin.

“Yo, girl, why are you just standing there?” Joe frowned. “I’m talking to you, right?”

I stared at him, eyes wide open. My mouth moved, but my voice stuck in my throat.

“I... I thought...”

“Thought what?”

“I thought this was a normal company, sir!”

The three women immediately exchanged looks. One doubled over laughing, clutching her stomach, while Joe rubbed his face, grumbling in frustration.

“Jesus, girl.” Joe shook his head. “You applied here without even reading our agency description? You thought we printed children’s magazines or something?”

I wanted to say yes, that’s exactly how careless I was, but seeing their faces, casually discussing explicit sex scenes, I was pretty sure that explanation would just make me look even dumber.

So the best ninja move was silence.

“Alright, enough drama. Let’s test the pairing now—”

No.

Absolute no way.

I shot up so fast the chair flew back behind me with a screeching crash. My knees were weak as hell, but pure fight-or-flight instinct forced my legs to hold my weight.

“SIR!”

Joe jumped. “What now?!”

“I just remembered I have an urgent matter to attend to!”

“What matter?”

“A... a national security matter!”

I grabbed my resume off the desk with shaking hands, gripping it so hard the paper nearly tore.

“Thank you so much for the opportunity, sir! But I’m gonna pass on being booked for a gangbang!”

I bowed almost ninety degrees. God, why was I still being polite?!

“Hey! Wait a second, babe!” Joe swung his feet off the desk. “Where are you going?”

“SIR, I HAVE TO GO RIGHT NOW!”

I spun around like an absolute animal. My bag strap caught on the chair, but I didn’t care, I just yanked it free. My only goal: get out of this cursed room, this dumping ground for someone’s wild fantasies, immediately.

“Hey! Don’t run! Our clients love virgin-looking girls like you!”

Screw that. Virgin from Hong Kong, my ass.

I grabbed the door handle and pulled hard.

It didn’t budge.

I pulled again, harder.

Still stuck.

Damn it! WHY WON’T THIS DOOR OPEN?!

“Excuse me, girl.”

I turned automatically. The blonde girl pointed at the door, looking way too amused.

“Did you try pushing it?”

I froze. My brain glitched out.

Shit. Turns out you push it, not pull. With whatever was left of my dignity now reduced to cosmic dust, I shoved the door open and bolted the second it gave way.

“Hey! You forgot your resume on the desk!”

DON’T CARE!

I didn’t care if my resume ended up as a prop in some steamy film, if one of my shoes flew off, or if my hair looked like a lion who’d just escaped its enclosure. All that mattered was getting out of that red zone.

I didn’t dare look back even once. I sprinted down the long hallway, chest heaving. Once I found a corner pillar far enough away, I collapsed against the wall, clutching my chest.

My breathing was completely out of rhythm. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Damn it. I’d literally almost debuted as a porn star in a fake threesome scene, all because I was too lazy to read a job description.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to calm down. But the second Joe’s face and that vulgar sex-scene talk replayed in my head, every hair on my body stood up again, all at once.

I just wanted a normal office job.

I just wanted a monthly paycheck on time, health insurance, maybe a year-end bonus if I was lucky.

NOT MY INTERNATIONAL DEBUT IN THE GLOBAL ADULT ENTERTAINMENT INDUSTRY!

_ JAMES _

The engine’s roar exploded so loud it completely swallowed the music that had been blasting through the cabin. The tachometer needle shot into the red zone like it owed someone money, while my hands gripped the leather steering wheel so hard my knuckles went white.

Ahead of me, the night track unfurled, a stretch of asphalt lined with brutal, hairpin turns just waiting to humble anyone cocky enough to think they had this.

I slammed the gas pedal down without a second thought.

The red sports car shot forward like a bullet, leaving a thin trail of smoke screaming off the back tires. As the first turn came rushing up, I cut the wheel left in one lightning move, half-clutched, then yanked the handbrake with zero mercy.

The back end of the car whipped out to the side. Tires shrieked against the asphalt, spitting up thick white smoke that instantly fogged up my rearview. In under a second, I was drifting sideways at an angle so precise it was basically art.

That’s it. Right there.

I corrected the wheel with quick, practiced hands, keeping the momentum locked so the car’s speed and angle stayed glued to the racing line. One wrong calculation, one moment of hesitation — and that’s it, career over, life over, splattered against a concrete wall.

But that’s exactly what made it addictive.

That death-defying rush that sends adrenaline straight to your skull.

As the car glided through that tight corner, the whole world went slow-motion. The engine noise, the tire screech, my own heartbeat hammering out of control. It all blended into one liberating kind of chaos. In that one second, my brain went completely blank. Empty.

No board meetings giving me migraines. No stacked client calendar demanding my soul. No voices constantly telling me who I’m supposed to become.

Just me, this feral machine, and the black asphalt underneath.

I slammed the gas again until the dashboard rattled. The car launched savagely into the next turn, trailing thick smoke and engine roar that tore through the night, followed by faint cheers from spectators somewhere in the distance.

But right at the peak of that high...

A voice — unwelcome, uninvited — cut straight into my skull.

“James! You cannot keep being this selfish!”

My grip on the wheel instantly turned to iron, veins popping along my arms.

“How much longer are you going to waste your time on this car, huh?”

Damn it.

I squeezed one eye shut, trying to force the voice out. But the more I tried to ignore it, the tighter its grip got like the guy was literally sitting shotgun next to me, replaying the same demands on loop for the millionth time.

My head started pounding out of nowhere. My breathing, steady seconds ago, fell apart completely. I swallowed, but my throat had gone bone dry, Sahara-desert dry.

“This family needs you, James! The company needs you!”

I shook my head fast, hard, refusing.

No.

Not now. Please, not now.

“What if something actually happens to me? Who’s gonna run everything then? You just gonna let his life’s work go down the drain?!”

I jolted so hard it knocked the wind out of me.

One second of lost focus was all it took. The car lost traction instantly, the tail swinging way too wide into the sharp turn. The back tires screamed bloody murder while the thick concrete barrier suddenly lunged toward the windshield.

Shit! Shit, shit, shit!

I panicked, yanking the wheel the opposite way trying to grab back control. Too late. My head was already static. My heart was slamming against my ribs so hard it felt like it was trying to punch its way out of my chest.

I stomped the brake with everything I had, but physics doesn’t negotiate the car kept sliding at full speed, unbothered.

In that split second before impact, pure instinct took over. I curled forward, throwing my arms up to shield my head as the car slammed into the barrier at full force.

The crash rattled the entire cabin like something out of a horror movie. My head cracked against the steering wheel, and my vision exploded into a thousand blinding sparks. Sharp pain shot from my forehead down to my temple.

I groaned in pain, gasping hard, gripping the now-bent steering wheel just to keep my body upright.

For a few long seconds, silence dropped like a curtain.

The engine was still running, a low, strained hum the same roar that used to feel like freedom now sounded like a dying scream. My temple was slick with sweat mixed with fresh blood. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Slowly, I lifted my head, which felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, and let my body sink back into the half-wrecked seat. My breathing came out ragged, like my lungs had forgotten how oxygen worked, my vision still swimming.

Why though?

Why is it that even here, in my last safe place, those voices still find a way to catch up and wreck me?

I squeezed my eyes shut, grinding my jaw until it ached, trying to hold back a tidal wave of emotion pressing against my chest.

“I almost actually died just now,” I rasped out, breath still uneven.

My phone buzzed hard on the center console, screen lighting up with an incoming call. The notification sound snapped me halfway back to reality.

I grabbed it with a shaking hand and hit speaker. “Yes, Momo?”

“Boss, you need to get back now before the whole plan falls apart. It’s already two in the morning,” the voice on the other end scolded.

I let out a weak scoff, glancing at my cracked rearview mirror. “Yeah, Momo. On my way.”

I hung up, then stared blankly at the hood, still letting off a thin trail of smoke.

Damn. Wild.

Didn’t even realize a full three hours of tonight just went to a near-death ‘date’ with my beloved metal Lightning McQueen.