Wedding Games

Lucky

The next few days are a blur of frenzied activity. To my utter astonishment, I got a job offer the very next day after my interview with the psychologist at the CW Centre. I visited the Winsworth Interactive Company’s offices to meet with their top lawyer and sign the employment contract that same Friday afternoon. The lawyer explained that he only had a few minutes spare before his next meeting, so I would have to sign then and there. Not wanting to delay him, I rushed through the paperwork without bothering to read the fine print. 

That’s something that I’d usually never do, but I was just so grateful to have a job again, and the promise of a nice fat pay cheque on the near horizon, that I didn’t think twice about signing on the dotted line.

Before I left their offices, I was told that I, along with six other new recruits into the company, will be attending an offsite week-long training and team building bootcamp three days later, on the following Monday.

As in... today.

I only had the weekend to prepare, and I wasn’t told anything about where I’d be going or what sort of activities I’d be doing, so packing was tricky. I ended up just stuffing an extra pair of jeans, underwear, t-shirts, hiking boots and a spare jacket into my duffel bag, along with toiletries and my phone charger. The only thing they specifically asked me to bring along was my passport, which seemed an odd request.

Surely they won’t be taking us overseas for a corporate bootcamp? Even the Winsworth Interactive Company, with its limitless wealth and deep pockets, wouldn’t waste money on something like that. They’re probably just flying us out to the Appalachian Trail or Yosemite for a week of camping and hiking and working as a team to build wooden rafts or something.

Now, my uber (a high-end luxury sedan, paid for by the Winsworth Interactive Company) pulls up outside the private jet terminal at John F. Kennedy International Airport. I thank the driver and make my way inside, my black duffel bag slung over my shoulder.

The private jet terminal is bustling with a mix of businessmen and women in sharp tailored suits, Kardashian-esque influencer celeb types and airport staff.

I watch in awe as a guy walks by wearing a black tracksuit, a chunky gold neck chain and dark shades, his entourage in tow. He’s some famous rapper, Lil Oldie Z, or something.

I was told to make my way to the help desk at the centre of the terminal on arrival, where a company employee would be waiting to help me board. 

Although, seeing that I’m actually here a quarter of an hour earlier than expected, I have some time to kill. I could pick up a takeaway coffee at the airport Starbucks, and maybe a blueberry muffin to go with it. I was too nervous to eat breakfast this morning, and to be honest, I’m still not hungry. It’s like that butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling just before a big test or an exam. 

Plus, caffeine is probably a terrible idea right now. The last thing I need is anything that’ll get me all hyped up and wired. I’m already on edge and nervous as it is, without an infusion of happy-wakey-panic juice.

So I make my way to the centre of the terminal as instructed. As I approach, I’m met by a wide-eyed girl in a navy blue pantsuit. She appears around my own age or younger, her curly ginger hair held back in a tight bun.

“Valerie Greene?” She asks, and I nod. I’m tempted to ask how she knew it was me, but then I remember the mugshots the company took of me after my first interview with Annemie Beenhouwer. Or maybe, everyone else already got here earlier and I’m the late arrival… even though I’m technically here fifteen minutes earlier than the specified time.

“You’re the last one,” the girl says brightly, as if guessing my confusion. She gestures for me to load my duffel bag onto the bag of a nearby golf buggy. “Some of the others were here almost a whole hour early. I can’t blame them though, I’d also be keen to get on that private jet asap. You’re in for the royal treatment. Like a real life Cinderella.”

She sighs as she says this, with a dreamy faraway look in her eyes.

“You know where they’re taking us?” I ask hopefully, but she just smiles cheekily at me and makes a zipping up motion with her finger across her mouth.

“My lips are sealed,” she says. “But trust me, you’re in for one hell of a ride. You’re so lucky. Anyway, hop aboard and I’ll take you out to the jet.”

No need to tell me twice.

I take my place beside her and the golf buggy zips out through the terminal and out onto the tarmac, where a dashing silver-haired man in a pilot’s uniform stands at the ready outside a sleek blueish-grey aircraft, a flight attendant at his side. They greet me warmly as I disembark the golf buggy, gesturing for me to make my way up the boarding stairs.

I feel like a celebrity or some sort of royalty, and I want to soak in this moment, but the morning air is chilly and laced with snow, so I hurry up the stairs.

Inside the cabin, my heart begins fluttering wildly in my chest as reality finally sets in.

This is really happening. I’m inside a private jet. About to embark on a week-long paid-for holiday, at the beginning of my dream job at an incomparably awesome gaming company. I’ve seriously hit the jackpot.

I look around at the spacious interior, taking in the elegant caramel leather and burnished walnut wood surroundings through a daze of awed fascination.

It takes me a moment to even notice the other occupants, seated on the huge leather sky couches or around tables, looking up from their seats to watch the late arrival board with a mixture of bored curiosity and veiled competitiveness.

Six other new company recruits.

All of them are female.

Female, and young, and pretty.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?