Page 5 of The Woman

My eyes drift to the door, and a moment later, the first woman walks through.

I let out a long, quiet breath, my shoulders remaining stiff, watching as she walks in our direction. Another follows her, and then another, all of them moving in the same way. The amount of women who continue filing into the room is surreal.

Once the first one reaches us, she dips her head in greeting and then turns to walk away. The ones after her do the exact same thing and then go and stand next to her in the middle of the room, beginning to form a line.

I try to keep my scowl from deepening as I watch the scene, but my eyes glaze over when they continue coming. Sure, I find this whole production a little intriguing, and sure, I find the scents that follow them as they pass me to be interesting – less musky and spicy and more sweet and floral – but I have no more desire to pick one today than I did yesterday. She’s just going to be wasted on me.

The room continues filling up until there are multiple rows of women dressed in the same black pants and white top, standing evenly spaced, waiting for me to choose one of them.

“Go on, take a closer look,” one of the men encourages from my left.

My grandfather and the two men intently watch as I get to my feet and step forward, clasping my hands behind my back like I’ve seen my grandfather do a thousand times. I walk past the first row of women who are staring ahead blankly as I run my eyes over each of them.

It’s odd, being this close to a female, let alone a group of them.

If it weren’t for my audience, I’d have just picked the first one I saw to get it over with, but I need to make a show of choosing the right one for me. I wouldn’t want to embarrass my grandfather in any way.

This place is known for its large selection of options, which would explain why I’ve been presented with so many. Any type of woman you can think of fills this room. Thin, thick, tall, and short. Dark-skinned, pale, and bronzed. There are women with straight hair, women with wavy hair, and ones with curly hair. All with different colors, and all beautiful in their own way.

But on the inside, they’re all the same. No personality.

The weight of my grandfather’s stare increases the pressure I already feel, causing sweat to break out across my back by the time I make it to the third row. The women in this line are all thin and tall, much like the ones in the first two rows; all except for the woman on the end. For some reason, she stands out.

She’s half a head shorter than the others, and as I get closer, I notice she’s got a little more meat on her as well. Blonde hair falls in waves down her back, and her eyes . . . they’re a striking blue, almost purple in appearance. Violet. As I continue past her, it appears as if she locks eyes with me, causing me to pause for the briefest second. But when I stare at her face, her eyes are trained straight ahead, just like the rest.

I continue moving through the rows, one after the other, my fingers digging into my opposite palm behind my back as my annoyance at having to put on this show grows with each step I take until I reach the final one.

“So, Phoenix, which one catches your eye?”

I walk slowly toward the front of the room, my eyes running over the rows one last time as I go.

Finally, after some long seconds, I answer. “This one.” I point to the blonde one closest to me.

“You’re sure? You do have thirty days to make one exchange, but once that is done, we can no longer help you.”

I nod. It doesn’t matter to me. I won’t be making use of her like they expect and will probably just end up loaning her out. That’ll keep her out of my hair.

Thompson, one of the two men, walks toward her, placing an arm around her shoulder as he leads her away from the others. “The rest of you wait here,” he says loudly but kindly to the remaining women. “Your supervisors will return shortly to lead you to your regular activities.”

Coming to a stop in front of me, Thompson makes a sweeping gesture in my direction. “This is Phoenix. You’ll be living with him now as his companion. Tell him your name.”

Those almost violet eyes lined by thick dark lashes swing up to my face before dropping to my chest. “My name is Avery. I’m honored to be chosen.”

Ignoring her, I turn back to Thompson. “Is there anything else that needs to be done?”

“Everything else is taken care of,” he answers. “She’s been given her shot for three months of birth control. Since you won’t be returning to your penthouse right away, we’ll have her delivered within the next two hours so that she’ll be there for you when you return.”

I unclench my jaw, the action probably exacerbating the pain in my head, and give a curt nod. “Very well, thank you.”

The female, Avery, glances up at me before being led away, and then it’s time for us to leave.

My grandfather switches tunes seamlessly, wanting to discuss another project I’m starting next week as we travel back to Carsen Architecture headquarters. He seems to be in good spirits, no doubt happy with the way everything went, but it takes me longer to get my focus back.

It’s not until I’m taking a seat behind my new desk in my new office that those extra pounds I was carrying on my shoulders start to lift. This, right here, makes it all worth it. Not the room per se, but what it represents – my promotion.

Peeling off my suit jacket, I glance around the room. I was only able to sit here briefly this morning before I had a meeting and then had to leave with my grandfather. My father had all of my belongings moved up here after I went home yesterday, but it’s still fairly empty.

My mood improves as I stare down at the stack of papers on my desk, and for the next several hours, I let my work be my sole focus. My time is filled with phone calls, meetings, and getting started on a virtual rendering for an important client my grandfather gave me. Unfortunately, I wasn’t happy with it and ended up scrapping it.

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