Episode Five
1147 Words
ELENA'S POV
The VIP lounge's hallway was longer than usual.
I was trying to tell myself to breathe and relax, that maybe it was just some other wealthy guy looking for a diversion. But this did not feel right. As if walking into a trap, I had no clue I'd set.
When I finally reached Room Nine, my heels echoed off the gleaming floor like the ticking of the clock, hands hitting a little harder than they needed to. I knocked twice, as Marcus told me.
No answer.
I stood there.
Knocked again.
Nothing.
I slid open the door.
Empty.
Soft shadows danced on leather couches and a glass table filled with unused champagne and strawberries. Slightly sweet cologne was all over the room, but no one was in sight.
I blinked in shock. Had I come too early? Had he cooled on me?
I entered, just in case, looking around. No sign of activity.
With disappointment, I returned outside.
Marcus stood by the bar, talking to one of the fresh faces. I walked over to him.
"Hey," I grumbled. "There is nobody in Room Nine."
He furrowed his brow. "What are you saying?"
"It's like, empty. Completely. "There's champagne and fruit there, but no guest."
He scrunched up his face and pulled out his phone, typing fast before holding it to his ear.
"Yo, Leo," he said. "VIP Room Nine, still booked?"
Pause.
"You sure? Nobody came?"
Another pause.
Then his forehead popped up. "Wait—left? Like, left left?"
He looked at me and raised a finger.
"Okay, yeah. Thanks."
He slapped the phone into his pocket. "He skedaddled," Marcus said with a tone as if he didn't believe it himself. "Security caught him leaving just as you were arriving."
Great. "What the hell?" I growled.
Marcus shook his head. "Rich people, man. They have attention spans shorter than a goldfish on Red Bull. Don't take it personally."
"I waited an hour to prepare for that," I complained, folding my arms.
He slapped my shoulder lightly with a trace of a smile. "You'll be okay." He did pay for the whole hour, though, so." He pushed an envelope into my hand. "You earned your money. Go home, Elena. Next weekend, we'll see you."
I accepted the envelope and stuck it into my purse and exited without a word further to say.
The streets outside were quieter than usual. The neon sign of the club buzzed out behind me, casting pink light onto the sidewalk as I pulled on my hoodie and began to walk home.
I'd only gone a few steps before my phone buzzed.
I pulled it out, hoping maybe for a text from Dani or a meme from one of the girls.
It was an email.
Subject: Promotion & Transfer Notice
I stood in shock.
Promotion?
Transfer?
I read it hastily, Company email. Kingsley Group HR.
No, wait.
Not Kingsley.
Rodriguez Co.
I re-read it. And again. The words remained the same.
We are pleased to inform you of your promotion and relocation to Rodriguez Co., effective today. Report to the New York HQ office by 8:00 AM tomorrow sharp for your placement briefing. Congratulations."
I scowled at the screen.
No "confirm" or "would you consider." No explanation. No warning. Just report there?
A flush came up my neck. Did I lose my job at Kingsley? Did I somehow, swap jobs?
My finger hesitated over the email again.
Then I read the word "promotion."
I furrowed my brow.
Promotion… means more money.
More dollars translates to Mom's medical bills being paid without me selling my kidney. More dollars translates to maybe I could abandon the night shifts in the Velvet Room. More dollars meant I could sleep more than four hours without needing to juggle personas like some career contortionist.
So I did what I always did.
I shrugged, stuck my phone in my pocket again, and told myself I'd do it.
THE NEXT DAY
It was early the next morning.
And by early, I mean three alarms, a panic attack, and exactly twenty minutes of self-arguing over what to wear before settling on the crispest thing I had—a black blazer that fit high-waisted pants and nude pumps. Corporate, crisp, but still Elena.
My messy hair was slicked back into a low bun, my make-up so sharp I could cut somebody open with it.
If I was getting transported to another planet, I wouldn't do it in amateur attire.
Rodriguez Co.'s office building complex was just as daunting as I'd recalled. Steel and glass skyscrapers. Receptionists dressed in the same uniform. Floors that probably got waxed more than I bathed.
I walked up to the front desk, bracing myself.
"Elena Skylar," I announced with a hint of a smile. "I was contacted about a transfer from Kingsley Group."
She rushed to put something into her console, then regarded me. "Yes, Miss Skylar. Welcome. You'll be seeing the company owner for your assignment."
I winced. "The… owner?"
"Yes," she said politely. "Mr. Rodriguez is waiting for you on the top floor. His assistant will take you in."
That wasn't normal.
HR did all the hiring at Kingsley. Even the managers didn't get face time with the CEO unless they were quitting or getting sued.
I nodded and followed the assistant down an incredibly long corridor, through a gold-accoutred elevator, and then up, up, up, up.
The top floor was too quiet.
Too… perfect.
She pointed at a massive oak door. "He's expecting you."
And then she left.
I lingered.
Something was off.
But I opened it anyway.
The office was empty.
Not empty, agonizingly empty.
There were abstract paintings on the walls that I could never dream of affording. There was a full bar in one corner, and the desk looked as though it had been carved from the ego of a Greek god. I slipped inside cautiously, heels disappearing into the plush rug beneath my feet.
I looked around. Ridiculous, I thought. I shouldn't be in this room. But something in the room demanded an investigation.
So I did.
I walked over to the desk. No papers. Just a sparkly computer, a glass pen holder… and something pink, fluffy, and embarrassing.
My Hello Kitty Robe, I'd recognize it anywhere, it has a stain of blue nail polish at the top.
Folded up.
On the desk.
My breath was gone. My stomach felt like it dropped from a great height.
What the hell is going on?
A chill of cold shot up my spine. I was halfway to fleeing when I heard the voice.
Low. Deep. Familiar.
"Back to swipe your robe?"
I whirled around, my throat constricted with fear.
And there he was.
Slouching against the door frame, suit immaculate, smirk evil.
My Spill Victim.
In flesh.
Looking at me like he was the one in charge.
Because maybe… he was.
- Writer
