Tainted Gold

Chapter 2: Misinformed

I woke up to my phone ringing on the counter and the oh so annoying hum of my alarm clock. I didn't know which one I wanted to silence more.

I decided the phone call was probably more important. When I picked up, I heard none other than the stern voice of Oliver Gold.

"Ms. Ojima. I'm calling you in for your first night of work. Be at The Gold Room in an hour."

Are you kidding me? It hadn't even been a day since I handed in my application for the job.

I must've said that part aloud without realizing, because he snapped in reply, "Do you want the job or not? You are very fortunate that your aunt found you this oppurtunity, given your...current situation."

I felt a spark of anger and annoyance light in me when he mentioned her. I hated the fact that she found this job for me.

And the way he'd stated it, as if I was below him... it grated on my nerves even more.

"Fine. I'll be there." That marked the end of the conversation, and the end of the annoying ring of my alarm clock. An hour..

Sure. I have time.

•••

Okay. So maybe I'd dressed a bit....sexy.

Backless black dress that didn't even reach my knees and dark red lipstick.

Hair curled and left flowing. Stilettos that gave my height an extra inch or two.

But I guess one of the perks of this job was I didn't have to wear a uniform. Not that that had ever stopped me...

There was a huge crowd swarming at the front. Maybe there was an employee entrance? I heard my phone chime in my purse. Of course, it was Mr. Gold with a message.

Show the bouncer your ID. Meet me at the bar.

A vague instruction, but he was my boss. You could feel the music from outside, the bass vibrating the pavement.

I pulled out my ID and held it tight as I cut my way to the bouncer. A couple of people got annoyed, and blessed me out for cutting in line.

Well, I say line, I mean gathering.

I held up my ID to the bouncer's intimidating glare. His jaw clenched and his thick brows came together. His expression was fixed into a deep scowl.

But displeased as he appeared, he waved me through the doors. I'd never seen the club at night, in its working hours.

The black floor was littered with glitter, confetti, and deflated neon balloons, and the multi-colored strobe lights cut the dark into fragments.

The dance floor was a clump of sweaty bodies in glimmering costumes, swaying and grinding together in a massive web of sexual need.

And in the center of it all was the bar, an oasis to the bass fueled madness.

It was veiled in a blue shadow that made it clear in the dimness, made it stand out. And sitting on one of the bar stools, calmly sipping a glass of Scotch, was Mr. Gold.

I approached him, trying to soak in my disgust. The stench of pride and greed was wafting all around him. Or maybe that was the sweat.

"Mr. Gold!" I yelled over the music. He turned and smiled cooly.

"Ah. Ms. Ojima. Come with me, I have a matter I must discuss with you." He was professional and calm, his tone almost airy.

He lightly placed a hand on my exposed back, leading me with him. The touch sent a shiver through my body. I felt a static in the air around us, but shook it off.

He was good-looking, but I couldn't let that distract me.

We walked to the elevator, and once we were inside, he pressed the button leading to his office.

My curiosity started tugging at my lips, wanting me to speak my thoughts. The silence in the elevator was awkward, to say the least.

But he didn't seem to be bothered at all. His hands were held behind his back. I kept my eyes to the floor.

"Black looks good on you," he says. I feel my face get hotter.

"Thank you, Mr. Gold," I mutter. "Please," he says, "call me Oliver."

I chuckle under my breath. "Well, if you want to be on a first name basis..." I gathered all my muster and my courage before continuing.

"Call me Indigo."

He smirked and said nothing else, but nodded in acknowledgement at my request.

Not a moment later, we reached the 10th floor. He gestured for me to go first, and I graciously accepted.

I'd never actually gotten to see his office. I'd wondered to myself what it looked like. I guess I was about to find out.

•••

It was almost too spacious. It was the size of a storage warehouse, not an office.

The floor was soft grey carpet. The side facing me was completely made of glass, showing off the breath-taking view of the city, while the other walls were a smoky marble.

In the middle of the space was a glass desk, imbedded with flecks of gold. It was clean and organized.

Any emotional trinkets or pieces of his personal life were cleared from the surface. He circled around in a graceful stride and sat in his black swivel chair.

"Please, sit." I did as he said, and sat in the grey scaled down couch facing the opposite side.

"I must admit, Indigo. You aren't here for the reason you think." I didn't say anything, but listened on in frightful concern.

"Your aunt, I believe, misinformed you on what exactly this job entailed. You aren't going to be a secretary."

What the hell..

"The form you filled was to be a live-in assistant manager."