The Company

The phone starts buzzing again; he shoots her a good-natured, yet impatient, stare.

“Sorry about that – my mom’s been freaking out all day. Something about the moon phase or whatever.”

A smile graces his features and a chuckle escapes his lips. Sheepishly, she takes the time to turn the phone completely off and slip it back into her black silk evening bag.

“There, that should do it.” With a sigh, she picks up the champagne flute and gives him an eyeful of her ample décolletage, as she tips her head back with abandon, before locking his eyes and licking her lips.

“Seems someone has quite the appetite,” the smile turns to a grin, he leans forward to brush his lips against her ear, whispering, “and so do I.” The giggle is actually genuine – a rarity, in her line of work. Handsome and a charmer; he knows I’m a sure thing, right? Having returned to his original position, he orders her another glass of Cuvée with nothing more than eye contact and a nod.

“So, tell me about yourself. What brings you to Monopolis?” An eyebrow cocks in response, a hand resting above her top knee.

“Oh? What makes you so sure I’m not a local?” The fingers edge up her leg to play with the white embroidered hem of her slinky red silk dress. Stoically, the glass is refilled, and the bartender turns away from the public display, so out-of-place in comparison to the dinner music being played live on piano, the silver inlay of the stately marble bar top, and the men who have the good sense not to flaunt their companions where a business associate could easily blackmail them.

“Let's just say I’d remember someone as handsome as you,” flashing her teeth to seal the deal, sucking the air through them as his fingers lightly brush the inside of her thigh. Calculating this is the right time to play hard-to-get, she playfully bats his hand away. “Ah-ah-ah, this isn’t the time or place for such debauchery.” Sipping her drink, she stares into his very soul. “Answer the question, Big Shot.” This evokes a self-depreciative ‘heh’ and the sudden urge to run his fingers through his hair.

“Not yet.” She rolls her eyes in mock-condemnation.

“Men. Always have to play mysterious.” With a dramatic sigh, he elaborates.

“I’m here to see about a possible… promotion. A few of my friends are also candidates for the company, and we’ve been asked to do a few things for the… well, I guess you could say it’s an internship.” Another round of eye contact and two knocks on the marble brings him another double McCallan, neat. “We’re not even going to be considered unless we show we have what it takes to make it in the business.”

“Really? Is the business springing for your stay tonight?”

“Actually, this is all out-of-pocket for us ‘young hopefuls’,” the burning feels good, warms up his chest. “The Company has a strict policy of refusing to invest a dime until they know their loyalty – and money - will be fully returned, with interest.”

“Sounds like smart business standards.” Around these types, it’s best to sound refined. “They must be ridiculously successful, if it’s that elitist to gain entry.”

“Oh, you have no idea. Forget the One Percent, these guys are the One Percent OF the One Percent,” his enthusiasm growing. “People would kill to be in the position I am, right now.”

Downing the drink, he notices the bartender waiting for permission to pour him another from the 30 year bottle – it is given. Oh, he is making this TOO easy on me. “So, what do you like to be called, Big Shot?”

“Je m’appelle Jake, chère Mademoiselle.” Raising his glass, she does the same, and they clink before they both finish their drinks.

“Oh, well, you can call me-“ A finger presses against her lips.

“Shhhh- I don’t want to know.” Eyes raking up and down her gorgeous frame, on display just for him. “I don’t want to know anything except what’s underneath all of this.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” leaning in to him like he had done to her, “most don’t.” With a wink and a smile, she watches the effect her proximity has on him.

Dutifully, Jake leaves a hundred-dollar bill as a tip for the wonderful service, while Hope politely tries to contain her curiosity of the rest of the contents, getting a glance - and the clink - of a black card, nonetheless. Standing, he gallantly presents his arm to his date for the night, to assist in getting up with such a short hemline, while being as ladylike as possible.

“Come on, I think it’s time for us to depart.” The excitement is clearly visible as she gathers her evening bag, and throws a ‘Thanks, Glen,’ over her shoulder. He is less than enthused as he takes the tip and the glasses, thinking to himself how much he likes the bubbly brunette who, unbeknownst to either man, is currently in the process of mentally counting off how many of her debts she’s going to have taken care of by morning.

Why couldn’t he have picked up the redhead two seats down who always complains about his cosmos, currently tapping her fingernail against the marble inlay? Glen turns his attention with a sigh too heavy for too many reasons.

The well-manicured hands rest gently, yet insistently, on her lower back, guiding her to the elevator. In her vanity, she notices the distinct clacking of her stiletto heels are almost Pavlovian in their effect on every man in the vicinity. After all, Hope has the kind of figure that doesn’t require pantyhose or stockings to make a perfect impression. Turning her catwalk strut up to ‘10’, she makes sure everyone looking is jealous of Jake.

All part of the job.

Pressing the button to the elevator, he begins to tremble in anticipation. This is it. They lock eyes, as the ‘ding’ announces the arrival of their car on the left-hand side of the two options. It’s blessedly empty, and they enter it at once.

Once the doors have closed completely, Jake pulls the emergency stop button, and seizes his opportunity. Lips pressed to the sensitive flesh below her collarbones, hands absolutely ravaging the flesh of her legs, one shapely calf hooking around his waist to give him better access. Picking her up, he pins her against the wall and she wraps her arms around his neck to balance herself, fingers digging into his shoulders. Quickly, he unties the top of her dress from behind her neck, feasting himself on the pink tips he finds below.

Hope barely has to pretend to be enjoying herself – every noise she makes is from how expertly he’s playing with her body. At first, I thought he might have some – FUCK – ridiculously weird fetish, but he’s definitely a – Oh, God – a ‘pays the girls to go away’ type. A thumb brushes ever-closer to her womanly center. Probably has a perfect pedigree of a trophy wife waiting for him at home; lucky me.

In anticipation of his next move, one of her hands reaches down to slide down the sheer thong. The flimsy thing had been soaked through before she even stood up from her barstool.

“Wait.” Panting, confused, she does as she is told. “Not yet. I want you to do something for me.”

“Anything.” With little to-do, he produces an opaque black satin handkerchief. Ah, there’s the fetish.

“Turn around.” With her back to him, he folds the cloth perfectly and ties it around her eyes, absolutely confident she can’t see a thing, before hitting the emergency stop again and punching in his destination. As soon as they start moving, her body, knee-jerk, questions the descent; he begins to answer.

“There’s a party hosted by The Company in the lower-levels for all the new Interns. We can’t have nosy journalist drones spying on our good time, after all. Now, it goes without saying, a lot of those influential people I mentioned are going to be there, so,” he runs a finger over her face, double checking the cloth, “you’re not allowed to peek. Is that understood?”

With a coy smile, she nods. …is this like an ‘Eyes Wide Shut’ kind of thing? Might be a very lucrative opportunity… “Fine, but this is gonna be considered á la carte – I didn’t know we’d be in public.”

“Good girl.” With that, he grabs her bottom with both hands, hoisting her back up to her previous position, and starts to nibble on her earlobe, then her neck, until he finds the spot that makes her go weak in the knees.

“Oh, Jake, did anyone ever tell you how great you are at doing that?”

Before doubling his efforts, he remarks, “Can’t be that great, you can still form sentences.” His hands pull off her thong, she lifts her hips to help him.

“I’m a professional, I have to-“ the dress comes next, as the car jolts to a stop and the door opens.