Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 60059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
The food was exquisite. The yogurt was thick and creamy, layered with honey and granola that crunched perfectly. The muffin was studded with fresh blueberries, moist and just sweet enough. Everything tasted expensive, carefully crafted. Another reminder that Selecta controlled even the smallest details of my life now.
I was just finishing the last bite when a chiming alarm pierced the quiet morning air. My handheld lit up with an alert: Shuttle arriving in five minutes. Please proceed to lobby.
CHAPTER 8
Grace
Five minutes? My heart leaped into my throat. I scrambled to my feet, nearly knocking over my water glass. I hadn’t even brushed my teeth yet. Racing to the bathroom, I brushed quickly, applied a touch of the makeup I found in the vanity drawer—just mascara and lip gloss, nothing that would suggest I was trying too hard.
I grabbed my handheld and practically ran to the elevator, my heels clicking against the hallway floor. The stockings whispered against each other with each hurried step, reminding me constantly of what I wore beneath the innocent dress. The elevator seemed to take forever, and I watched the seconds tick by on my phone. Three minutes. Two minutes.
I burst through the lobby doors just as the sleek black shuttle pulled up to the curb. The driver, a middle-aged man in a Selecta uniform, didn’t even glance at me as I climbed aboard, slightly out of breath. There were already several other passengers—all women, I noticed, all young, all dressed in similarly feminine attire that somehow suggested we were in the same position.
One of them, a redhead in a yellow sundress, gave me a knowing look as I settled into a seat. She didn’t say anything, but something in her expression suggested she understood exactly what my morning had been like. The monitoring, the careful orchestration of every detail. We rode in silence, each lost in our own thoughts, as the shuttle wound through the morning traffic toward Selecta headquarters.
The building loomed ahead, all glass and steel reaching toward the clouded sky. My tummy churned with nervous energy as we pulled into the underground parking garage. The other women filed out ahead of me, dispersing toward different elevators with practiced ease. I followed the signs to the main bank, my fingers trembling as I pressed the button for the twentieth floor.
The elevator was crowded with morning commuters, men in expensive suits who barely glanced at me, women in sharp business attire who made my floral dress feel even more out of place. When the doors opened on twenty, I stepped out on legs that felt like water.
Scott’s office door stood at the end of the hall, that same gold nameplate gleaming in the morning light. I knocked softly, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“Come in.”
His voice sent an immediate shiver through me. I pushed open the door to find him standing by the windows, hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the city below. He didn’t turn immediately, letting me stand there in the doorway, waiting.
“Close the door, Grace.”
I obeyed, the soft click of the latch seeming to echo in the spacious office. Only then did he turn, his eyes conducting a slow, thorough examination that made my skin prickle with heat.
“Good morning, Grace.” His tone was businesslike, professional, as if yesterday hadn’t happened. As if I hadn’t knelt between his legs, hadn’t writhed over his lap while his fingers… I forced the memory away, trying to focus. “You look appropriate today. Floral suits you.”
“Thank you, sir.” My voice came out steadier than I felt.
He moved to his desk, gesturing for me to take the chair across from him. I sat carefully, aware of how the dress rode up slightly, how the stockings pulled against the garter clips.
“As you’ve probably gathered, I’ve decided to offer you the internship position,” he said, pulling a folder from his drawer. “Your basic duties will be standard—data entry, filing, answering phones, fetching coffee. The usual intern responsibilities.”
Relief flooded through me, followed immediately by confusion. After yesterday’s intense, humiliating experiences, I’d expected… what? Something more degrading? More personal?
“However,” he continued, and my stomach clenched, “I also have a special project in mind for you. Something that utilizes your unique background and analytical abilities.”
He turned his computer monitor toward me. The NMB logo filled the screen, that familiar blue that had haunted two years of my marriage.
“You’re going to watch NMB content,” he said matter-of-factly. “Specifically, our newer series. I want you to analyze what works, what doesn’t, and most important, how to make it hotter.”
My face burned. “You want me to…”
“Watch erotic content, yes. Your erotic content, essentially, since you understand the genre intimately.” He leaned back in his chair, studying me. “You’ll write a detailed report on each video—what aroused you, what didn’t, specific suggestions for improvement. Once a week, we’ll review your findings together.”