Page 1 of Enthrall
I NEEDED THIS.
More than anything.
On the other side of that long, dark wooden table sat three beautiful women, all unimpressed with the answers I’d given so far. I was blowing this interview.
And sabotaging my future.
Enthrall, L.A.’s most exclusive BDSM club, was hiring a new secretary and by the look of things I wasn’t going to be her, and that unbelievably high salary wasn’t going to be mine. This moment wasn’t about greed, but survival. I was done with eating Ramen noodles, living in a studio, and riding my bicycle around the city’s streets to save on gas. Working two jobs was grueling. Monday through Friday I was a salesperson at Willem’s art supply store in West Hollywood, where many of the city’s creative wannabes hung out, dreaming of making it big. On the weekends, I worked as a server at the Cheesecake Factory. Both jobs I enjoyed, but never having a day off was starting to take a toll.
This interview felt like a lifeline, though somehow my hands were slipping down the rope toward failure.
Two of the women on the panel hadn’t even introduced themselves, which I found odd and made this even more awkward. Tara, my best friend’s girlfriend, could have warned me about this. Having been their previous secretary for years, she was probably used to all this intensity and thought nothing of this sexual tension that even oozed from the designer red brick walls.
Walls that were closing in around me.
The woman on the right had a Scottish accent and was somewhere in her forties. She wore an expensive Chanel suit and designer spectacles that she peered through to text away on her BlackBerry. The stunning raven-haired woman on the other side, with her model good-looks and head-to-toe black leather, contradicted her colleague’s conservative attire. At least the raven-haired interviewer was kind enough to throw me the occasional smile.
“Your resume is very limited,” said Mistress Scarlet, the stern brunette in the middle, as she scanned the file.
I questioned why I continued to put myself through this. Five minutes ago, while in the waiting room, one of the other interviewees had burst out of here and given me the thumbs up.
“It went great!” she’d told me, her cleavage doing a happy dance as she sashayed down the hallway.
My black skirt and white blouse felt wrong on so many levels. I’d gone for serious, studious even, trying to look professional. They must have been looking for a sophisticated type, an employee who would easily mingle in. I sat up straighter, unwilling to admit defeat just yet.
The hardwood floors, dim lighting, and low hanging black and white prints of city life gave off an east coast feel, exuding swanky. If this was all put together to intimidate, it succeeded.
“Why do you want to work here?” said Ms. BlackBerry obsessed.
“Well--” I gestured to make my point. “I truly believe this open-minded environment and diverse clientele will help me to grow as a person.”
Mistress Scarlet looked amused. “So it’s not the salary?”
“The salary is generous,” I said, saving my humiliation for later when I’d drown my sorrows with a bottle of wine.
I blushed in response to their fixed gazes. I could swear they saw right through me, catching me wilt with each failure to deliver the answers they seemed to want.
“Where are you from?” said Mistress Scarlet.
“Charlotte,” I said.
“Bet you don’t miss the humidity,” said raven-haired.
“No.”
“You’re very young,” she said.
“Twenty-one.”
Mistress Scarlet looked tense. “What do you know about what we do here?”
“You fulfill the exotic needs of special clients.” I prided myself on side-stepping that one.
“Please answer the question,” said Ms. BlackBerry while texting.
I waited for her to push send. “This is a private club.”
Mistress Scarlet’s mouth twisted in a half-formed smile.
