The Job Offer (Closed)

[Indarkestknight]

Malcolm Holdings occupies a large block in the downtown of Chicago Illinois. In contrast to some of the older, more traditional brick and mortar buildings in that area, it stands as a monument of black glass and steel, reaching high into the heavens. It is a goliath, blotting out the sun itself on clear days, and casting a shadow over the windy city.

Those wishing access to the building must first enter through the front lobby, the most common point of access for outsiders. The tile work here is in fine onyx marble, and steel, the inside of the building matching the cold appearance of its facade. The security guards to this aura of cold dispassion, dressed as they are in black suits with matching red ties.

The ties and suits are mandatory, part of upper management's desire to place all of their employees in their place. Employees are expected to dress to exacting detail, and do precisely as asked. It goes without saying that those who question the company do not last.

There is no board of directors for this company. No wise old men seated around a rectangular table. There is only George Malcolm, the head of of the company. Forty-nine and fit, it is his silver haired countenance that adorns a plaque by the steel elevators. In the photo he stands next to his heir, and the scion of the company, John Malcolm. John is almost a mirror to his father, with the same full head of hair(though his is still black) and the same gray, piercing eyes. He's as tall as his father too, standing at an impressive 6'4", and a muscular 225 lbs. He could have been a linebacker, but instead he followed in his father footsteps, and helps to run the company.

At least thats the public line. The truth is George manages all aspects of his company personally, and John simply stands in for the photo shoot, and company events. Until his father dies, that will be the extent of his involvement with the company, a fact that would perhaps gnaw at John, were it not for his other interest, like today's agenda. In keeping with his image as a vice president with the company, John is permitted a 'personal assistant' or in his terms, a personal fuck toy. Someone to do with as he wishes, and then dispose of when its convenient. Today he is interviewing for the last in a long line of these, and he has just the slut for the job.

She just has to accept his very generous job offer.

 

[Lady_S]

My reputation had taken a serious beating and I found myself shunned in the corporate world. I had been dismissed a few months back on the basis of some false allegations and that too for something so very unthinkable as ‘sexual misconduct’. My efforts now to get another job, similar to the post that I held and compensation that I had last drawn, remained distant. It was at this of point of utter helplessness that one of my applications received a response.

The letter that I held in my hand was from the Vice President of Malcolm Holdings asking me to be present for an interview on the 12th at 7.00 AM sharp. He had spelt out a dress requirement, the company’s uniform policy as mentioned in the letter, for the interview. It comprised of a black woman's business suit, white dress shirt and a cornflower blue tie. There was a promising note to the letter in that it required immediate engagement in case of selection.

On the 12th, I carefully went over the dress – checking if they were anything but perfect. Satisfied that they were, I selected the black lingerie that I had purchased recently, an exotic lacy pair, black stay ups ending in lace elastic bands and five inch heels. These were not specified items and I was happy I could wear what I wanted as far as these were concerned.

When I entered the offices of Malcolm Holdings, it was nearing seven and I quickly walked over to the receptionist, explaining the purpose of my visit. She ushered me into a room, where I was asked to wait. As I sat alone in the room, I wondered about my chances, weighed against the reasons for my earlier dismissal. The silver lining was that while I failed to get a call because of my past, the present organization had at least given me a chance despite that unfortunate blot. I waited with trepidation for I was desperate for the job. Any job, to get me going again and forget whatever had happened earlier.

 

[Indarkestknight]

OOC: Would you prefer first or third person posting from me? I can write either way.

After being led into the waiting room, she was allowed to do just that. The time on her letter had been painstakingly specific, but it seemed to have no effect on those in a position to give her the interview. One might even have suggested that this was some sort of test, designed to see how long she would willingly way for someone to come and get her.

But who would do such a thing?

After a seeming eternity (Or two hours and thirty minutes as the clock read) the receptionist returned. Pale and fit, she strode into the room like a marine on parade, eying the new blood with something halfway between contempt and indifference.

"Mr Malcolm will see you now."

The words were spoken coolly, without inflection or judgment. Just a flat pronouncement. Without another word, the receptionist strode from the room, not pausing to see if the new girl would catch up. She was led down one hallway, and then another, through labyrinth corridors that might have given Theseus pause.

When it was over, she was shown to a simple elevator, and handed a small, plastic key. No further explanation was given, and the receptionist simply walked away, leaving the young woman to her fate. She knew from past interviews that it would probably not be pretty. Women came from Mr Malcolm's quarters crying, sometimes bruised of even bleeding. Whatever he did to them, it was a certainty that it could not be pleasant. All she knew for certain is that he hadn't hired this position on two years, and that he was still looking.

 

[Lady_S]

It was one thing to wait for an interview among other hopeful candidates and quite a different proposition to wait alone in almost an eerie silence. Stella’s discomfort was understandable and, as she waited, she resigned to a distinct possibility that she was being tested.

When at last the wait was over, she only had the time to straighten her dress before rushing to follow the receptionist, who seemed to be in a tearing hurry to leave her elsewhere. It was no surprise to Stella that this girl didn’t utter a word during that unending walk through a concrete maze within Malcolm Holdings. Once she reached the elevator, the receptionist turned and quickly departed.

Stella fiddled with the plastic key, not knowing which floor she was supposed to get off. But she was more than bewildered when she found that the key was not meant for the elevator at all. She now faced a dilemma – which floor and why the key? She recollected what she had heard about instances of women crying when they left this building and, for a moment, she was apprehensive. Yet, because of her otherwise uncertain future, she mustered enough courage to proceed.

Inside the elevator, Stella took her chances, hitting the button that would take her to the topmost floor. At worse, someone might ask her why she had come upstairs but it would give her an opportunity to find out which floor she was required to go. She heard the humming of the elevator as it rushed up with a visibly scared occupant. What Stella didn’t know was that the elevator was set to reach the topfloor and wouldn’t have stopped anywhere else even if she had pressed a different button. With a soft ring the elevator stopped and the door of the elevator opened in front of Stella. She walked out and the elevator busily left almost immediately.

There was almost absolute darkness all around, save and except a ray of light that fell on a closed door at a great distance. The dimished light where Stella stood helped her to distinguish the surrounding walls as she walked, with bated breath, towards that closed door. For comfort and strength, she ran her fingers along the plastic key. This key, she fervently hoped, would clear her current doubts and her uncertain future to what, she almost prayed, would be something worthwhile.

 

[Indarkestknight]

The door before her was not composed of wood, or plastic. It was polished steel, unmarked and unadorned. There were no names, numbers, or other signifiers upon its polished surface. The sole mark of any sort was a plainly furnished steel door handle, and beneath that a small key card slot.

This key card slot was a match to the card which Stella held in her hands. It was not unlike the same style of slot provided by a thousand different hotels. Its intent and purpose was very simple. By giving her the key, Mr Malcolm, wherever he was, had given her permission to access this place, to open this door.

It was a test of sorts, just a slight one. A curious question of if she possessed the fortitude for what lay beyond. If she slid the key into the door, she would be stepping into his world, beyond what she had known. It was an concept, this door.

Behind the door, it was the same, and yet also different. The style of the building remained the same, office beyond furnished in the same style, with a clean glass and steal decor, matched against deep black leather. It looked austere and modern, just as did the rest of the building. Here though, the lighting was just a bit darker, less brightly lit, with deeper shadows that seemed to hide things, just beyond the realm of perception.

The secretary who greeted her was a cold woman, austere with age, and possessing cold blue eyes. She didn't say a word to her, gave no response to questions asked. She was used to these affairs, and was resigned to her small part in them.

When someone entered this office, at this specific time, they were directed to sit, waiting as she paged them in to Mr. Malcolm, and then they were motioned to enter. Behind them the frosted glass doors would close, and lock. She could not hear anything that happened beyond them. She did not wish to.

The office of Mr Merlin was different from the rest of the building, if only in the details. Like his secretary, his desk was made of glass, but whereas hers was a simple pane of fogged Plexiglas, his desk was intricately carved with myriad designs and shapes in sharp geometric patterns. Their purpose was unclear, but the symbols seemed to glow in the low light of the office.

When she entered, the man himself had his back turned towards her, a high backed leather chair her only indicator of his presence at all. His only words were cool, and hard. Lacking any softness or empathy, any indication of warmth.

"Sit."

 

[Lady_S]

Stella sat down nervously on the only chair that was placed in front of Mr. Malcom’s weirdly designed desk. She tried to make out a meaning from the sharp geometric patterns that separated her and her likely employer and boss, Mr. Malcolm. Was this purely some intricate design, made to make things appear different in a company that was always the first to come to the market with new products? Or, was the owner trying to send a message to intending ‘special’ category of employees? No matter how much she tried, the designs were far too complicated to make any sense to her.

Stella realized that she had spent a good few minutes, just looking at the desk. Her interviewer had not uttered a single word, a single question after that initial instruction to ‘sit’. The continued silence was baffling and unbearable to her. To make matters more difficult, the interviewer had his back turned towards her, the partially revealing head above the backrest of the leather chair the only indication of a man’s presence. She cleared her throat, very softly though, just to sound her presence to the man, in case he had fallen asleep. Even if the man was awake, he didn’t stir nor did he speak. He continued with his silence. Stella wondered if this was an intriguing test of her patience. He could also be testing if she had nature and habit to remain silent without raising questions. Either way, she would remain as she was; if she wanted to get the job her best course would be to sit and wait. She continued to stare at the desk top, trying to crack the puzzle if there was any. By now, Stella had become impatient, her eyes wandering across the length and breadth of the room where she was sitting with Mr. Malcolm.

Suddenly, the big wall mounted TV screen in front of her started to flash messages. Simultaneously, out came a computer key board from somewhere underneath the desk to pop up right in front of her.

The message that flashed on the screen at first was ‘WELCOME STELLA EVANS’ and soon that rolled up to read ‘USE YOUR KEY BOARD TO REPLY TO VISUAL QUESTIONS’. This was followed by ‘SPEAK ONLY WHEN YOU ARE ASKED VERBAL QUESTIONS’.

A while later, the screen displayed the following - QUESTIONS THAT ARE REPLIED ‘YES’ EARN POSITIVE MARKS WHILE THOSE WITH ‘NO’ AS AN ANSWER GET NEGATIVE MARKS. QUESTIONS WILL NOT BE REPEATED.

It was obvious to Stella that the person who was on the other side of the desk and back towards her, had a laptop and was passing information through the big screen. She was excited and ready to answer. She dreaded facing interviews with grim people asking her questions. This was better, almost as if she was in the hall going through a written test with specific questions.

‘YOUR TIME BEGINS NOW’ soon popped up on the screen and Stella was ready with her hand on the key board and eyes glued on the screen.

“IS THERE TRUTH BEHIND THE ALLEGATION ABOUT YOUR SEXUAL MISCOUNDUCT?”

The first question itself had put Stella in a dilemma. If she told the truth and said ‘NO’ it would yield negative marks, while ‘YES’ would earn marks for her but factually, incorrect. She had no time to deliberate. Yet, she wanted marks desperately. She wanted the job.

She typed ‘YES’.