Four

"Don't stop. Aughhh. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me Harddddeeer."

"Susan. It's not funny" Joanne said solemnly. 

Susan laughed playfully and threw her hands around Joanne. She whispered into her ears.

"It doesn't have to be funny. It just has to f-e-e-l good."

"It's not like that." Joanne remarked. She was trying on some of Susan’s old clothes for the new job at McAllister group.

"Says the woman that just described her new boss like a modern Greek god." Susan said, smiling. 

"What he is, is a creep and a pervert. I bet he gets off on preying on young women" Joanne said, shaking her head and changing to another outfit.

"Come on! Don't be such a square. I mean, you agreed to go in the first place." Susan reminded her. Joanne winced a little. She couldn't bring herself to tell Susan of the real reason she was switching jobs, it wouldn't be fair to burden someone like that after she had just accepted you into her apartment. 

"I'm just glad you're not thinking of your husband lately." said Susan.

Another false fact. Joanne realized that she hated her ex- husband even more than she had initially imagined, but somehow, that made it even worse for her to forget about him. She tortured herself at night for wasting away her life with him, and the glaring fact that whatever she did, she could not make up for all those lost years, kept her up till morning most days.

Joanne had finally settled on her outfit, and bade Susan a soft farewell. "Remember, grinding, not humping, muy apreciado'' Susan winked. Joanne descended to the parking lot, and planned to head to her car, but an elderly man dressed in a black two-piece suit blocked her way. "Ms Belfort? I was directed to you-" the man wore a posh accent.

"Let me guess. McAllister?" Joanne snapped. The fact that the pervert already knew where she lived was sending her. He better not bring Susan into this.

"Err. Yes." the butler rebutted.

"I prefer to drive to my workplace, thank you." Joanne continued.

"I'm afraid I have to insist. It is easy to get lost downtown of Mid Courbe, and the kind master  would find it  most unacceptable if you are late on your first day." The butler pointed to a black Mercedes Maybach on the sidewalk of their street, the exhaust letting out a transparent clean emission. 

The butler motioned to her. "After you, Madam." he said.

******

Two security personnel flanked Joanne as she exited the Maybach and went into the lobby of the glossy white skyscraper. One of them looked at a tag in his palm and back at her multiple times. He gave Joanne the tag, and talked into his earpiece.

"Yes. She's here.Floor 8” he said.

Joanne thought she might have been actually dreaming. Maybe she was still back at her apartment, the blood loss from the wound her ex-husband gave her, still ebbing her life away. She could have lived her entire life without stepping into a skyscraper, and now she would supposedly have an office on the 8th floor.

She got on the elevator, and when she exited at the 8th floor, was greeted by air conditioning so clean it could have been fresh air, and the glass cubicles and offices and chairs and desks all looked like they were imported from Sweden or something.

These people are just using me. I'm just a plaything to them, she tried to remind herself to stay furious with her firm. She was a victim of literal modern slavery, and her new owner, a mysterious man with perverted propensities. 

She went into an open office, looking for someone to direct her to a desk. Curiously, nobody acknowledged her existence. She was too anxious to reach out to anyone directly, so she just stood there, awkwardly holding her cardboard box of office accessories.

Wait. Did she even have a desk? Was this some sort of elaborate prank? Her heart felt like it was going to break before -

A rough, rigid hand gripped her right shoulder. She winced and turned to see Mr Charles McAllister towering over her. "It's this way" he said with his baritone voice, without even looking back. He walked quickly and with purpose, leading Joanne into a  wide lobby. 

As he pointed to a desk, his engorged back muscles looked like they would rip his brilliant blue blazer at the seams, and the same could be said about his wristwatches and his hand. His signature jawline and cool black eyes that had previously made Joanne wet herself back at the accounting firm were also on full display.

Joanne massaged where his hands touched her shoulder, and she felt herself getting warmer. "This is you. So, these are the rules. No one past 4. No one before 9. And that includes family. Staff Reports and Human Resources, burn or read them for all I care. I told them to stop sending me those. Now Quarterly, fiscal, and modification requests, I get them the same day or next. Honorary invitations,  Golf meets, and Overseas travel, file them under important or garbage. Understood?" Charles asked.

"I - Uhmm- yes. Sorry, No." Joanne stuttered.

"Fucking hell. Out with it already." Charles said impatiently. 

"I'm sorry. I - What I meant to ask was - I will be working under you? Like directly?" Joanne managed. She chastised herself for being polite. This guy was obviously up to no good.

Charles leaned in so close she could smell his perfume. It smelled like a clear sky.

"Do you know how to work a spreadsheet processor?" he asked with a slow breath.

"I - I took an online course for Excel two years ago." Joanne responded meekly.

"Congratulations. You are now a Secretary to a $20 billion company. And to my office, more specifically. Now, those folders aren't going to color code themselves." Charles motioned to a few brown folders on her desk.

"And one more thing. You should know your duties I listed are completely subject to change on my whim. In the future, we'll see if you can handle more responsibilities." said  Charles.

Was Joanne imagining it, or was there a great deal of suggestion in his tone? Her heart began to beat a little faster as she set down to put in a good day's work.