The Devil's Deal

“Ares!” Jaime shouted, banging on my bedroom door. I groaned and dashed out of the bathroom. “Come in!” I yelled. She yanked the door open and let herself in. She eyed me, still clad in towels and dripping wet. “We’re going to be late for the fundraiser.” She growled. Her tone was angry, but there was no heat in them. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. But you’re not even dressed.” I complained. “I wanted to make sure you didn’t drown in the tub.” I leveled her with a look of exasperation. “Funny. Get out of here and let me get dressed.” I ordered. “Fine. Wear the light blue cocktail dress. It makes your skin glow.” She turned around to leave. “Oh, and put your hair in a chignon. Leave some strands to frame your face.” I scoffed at her back as she left. There’s no way I’m taking orders from her and letting her decide my wardrobe. It took me a second to realize her choice was perfect. The light blue cocktail dress did wonders for my skin, and if I put my scarlet hair up just like she advised, then I would be a flipping knockout. I quickly got dressed, adding a sweep of the mascara and some liner to accentuate my eyes. Then, a touch of some strawberry flavored gloss. My door swung open and Jamie waltzed through. “Wow. You look.. Damn, Ares.” I blushed at her words and slid my feet into my favorite white-strapped heels. “You don’t look bad yourself,” I said, admiring her red gown which was cut off at her shin, but overflowed behind. “Come on. Even if you don’t get a job tonight, you are so getting laid.” She announced. I shuddered and grabbed my purse, letting her lead me out of the room. “Wait!” I shrieked and rushed back. I hurried to the drawer and pulled it open. My insulin pump stared back at me, but I pushed it aside and grabbed the insulin pen instead of a vial of the hormone. I stuffed them into my purse and went back to Jaime at the front door. She gave me a tight smile but didn’t say anything. We got into her car and she hightailed out of the building. “Do you have everything you need? Business cards?” She asked, keeping her eyes firmly on the road. I rolled my eyes. Jaime was a worrier. She dragged me out tonight to enable me to talk to investors and find a job. I was a freelance marketer, and she hoped that I’ll get something permanent by networking with rich people. “Stop worrying. I got everything I need.” I replied. “Good. I won’t be feeding your broke ass come next month.” She retorted without any animosity. But I winced at her statement and turned to face the window to prevent her from seeing my discomfort. If not for Jaime, I would be living on the streets. I have never held any position for longer than four months and all the time in between, I’m stuck living at her mercy. Jaime would do anything for me, but I’m tired of mooching off her. Tears crept to my eyes, and I blinked them back. Tonight is my chance. A clean slate. An untapped canvas. I was going to make the most of it. “Thank you for making me your plus one. I am so going to snag a big shot job.” I offered, blanketing my voice with a confidence I didn’t quite feel. Jaime glanced at me from her peripheral vision. “Atta girl.” She cranked up the radio, halting any further conversation, and I was thankful for the distraction. Any more thoughts of my woes and I would ruin my face with tears. I wasn’t having any of that tonight. “We’re here,” she said in a sing-song voice. I looked at the tall building and felt intimidated. “You work here?” I asked, feeling out of sorts. I’ve been in Malibu for about a month, but I’ve never seen Jaime’s workplace. “Close your mouth, Ares, or you might catch flies.” She chided. “Shut up.” I grumbled. “You are so lucky.” “Ares,” she called seriously. “I work here. But none of the good stuff you’re thinking about. I’m just one of the regular employees.” “You still get to spend your day here. It’s amazing, really.” “Whatever. Let’s go drink those bubbly champagne. I’m parched.” We link hands and march towards the door. The party was in full swing by the time we entered. “Wow.” I gushed. “Mingle.” She shoved me forwards and winked. I grunted and turned towards the party. The males were in tuxedos while the women flaunted their designer dresses. I suddenly felt underdressed in my three-year-old cocktail dress. I spotted a group of people and walked towards them. A waiter passed me on my way and I snatched a flute of champagne, offering her a kind smile. “Hello,” I greeted the men. They didn’t spare me a glance and carried on with their conversation. I quickly downed the champagne, grateful for the liquid courage. “Then, I decided to pitch in a presentation about what I could do for the athletes, and the damned bastard shut me down cold. I don’t even know what I did wrong.” The silver-haired man complained. His counterparts chuckled, but didn’t offer up any solution to his dilemma. Before I could think, my mouth flew into action. “A video footage that analyzes the athlete’s proprietary algorithms could do the trick.” I blurted. The men swiveled their heads to look at me. I had heard enough of their conversation to know what they were saying. The silver-haired man raised an eyebrow, urging me to continue. I took a deep breath and launched into a full explanation. This was my element. “You can translate the algorithms into anatomical movements and spatial data sets. That way, it’s easier to match each player’s stats against the data.” A hush fell over our little group. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard tonight. s**t. Why didn’t I think of that myself?” The man asked. “What’s your name?” Another one asked. “Ares Gonzalez.” I answered, and decided to make good use of the awe on their faces. “I’m a freelance marketer. Here’s my card.” I pulled out some of the cards and handed them to each of the men. “Freelancer, huh? Unusual name too. I’ll call you.” The man decided. “Thank you.” He raised his glass to me. I smiled and turned around. Well, that went well. I tried to locate Jaime when the wind billowed through and caressed my skin. The doors flew open, and he waltzed in. Our eyes clashed and my breath hitched. “Fuck.” I muttered.