Thread: A Devil's Game ::: {Ariamella & Prince of Smut}

RE A Devil's Game Ariamella Prince There was something odd about Balthazar his movements indicated a strength and energy that most of the elderly didn't have. In fact... Macy couldn't quite remember a time when an old man spoke with such authority and fullness in his tone. And every time she looked in his eyes, there was something that belied his age, a quality to them that gave the impression of a youthful spark. It kept her on guard despite slightly warming up to him, and that small smile of hers faltered when he leaned forward to tell her about his shop, and a slight frown replaced the smile entirely when he asked about her concerns. To her knowledge, she was quite good at keeping her feelings hidden from aquaintances and strangers alike because of how well she had to hide them on the 32nd floor of Brandon-Demmings. So how did Balthazar see right through her? And exactly how did he see her as she walked in, when she hadn't seen anybody at all? It's really nothing, she replied politely, leaning back in her chair to distance herself from the old man. Just some work related issues, things I'm sure you don't want to hear. She placed her hands in her lap and looked down at the floor, lightly biting her bottom lip out of nervousness. How long had it been since she shared her pain with anyone else? How long had it been since she really let everything loose? A quiet moment passed, obvious contemplation playing out on her face while two parts of her conscience were debating on whether to trust Balthazar. But... It's not like she would ever see him again or become friends with him. Maybe one conversation wouldn't hurt... Have you ever taken a job thinking it could propel you to new heights, only to find out that it's actually a really shitty job? You're doing this job perfectly and yet you can't get anywhere because of nasty coworkers and supervisors? That's what it's like working for BD Publications. A large magazine rack came into focus as she looked off to the side, and a look of irritation crossed her face at the spotting of a pink cover with a brunette model clad in skimpy clothing and plenty of jewelry. There, I work for Couture as the senior assistant to the editor-in-chief. Beneath that airbrushed model and carefully edited articles lies a team of mediocre whores who really just care for the free clothes and prestige of working at one of the largest fashion magazines... Anyway, the CEO of Brandon-Demmings wanted to fill his executive assistant position from within the company, and I wanted it. I would have been perfect for it anyway, there was no doubt about that. But see, when you have a slut for competition and a CEO who likes free strippers, I guess you can imagine which woman he chose. Sarcasm saturated Macy's words, hurt and rage fueling her rant. It was no wonder that she didn't bother censoring herself. She shook her head. I did so much for him. Whoever his last assistant was must have been a total waste of an employee because everything was so disorganized! I reorganized everything from his office to what time his dry cleaning would be picked up to the process of answering calls. Then comes in Andrea, telling him about all she did and how much she would love being his assistant... The kicker was that when I told him who really did all of that, he dismissed me. 'Don't take offense to this, but you don't look like the type of woman who'd take this line of work very seriously.' That's complete bullshit and everybody knows it! I deserved that promotion, and it rightfully belongs to me. It's just too bad I didn't realize that giving sex on the down-low was part of the job description. Macy's voice had steadily risen in volume from when she first started speaking, and she let out an exasperated sigh. Letting out the pent up emotion made her feel better, like a weight was taken off her chest. It didn't ease the hurt quite so much, but it eased the burden of keeping it inside. I'm 24, stuck in a job that pays shit money and doesn't value intelligence at all. I know I'm better than this, and one day I hope to prove that. Getting up from her seat, she returned the book in her lap to the nearby bookshelf and actually smiled at Balthazar. Please excuse my rambling. I had a rough day, and I don't think any book can fix that for me. I'll just go home, open up some wine and get very drunk so I can return to work tomorrow, ready for all the gossip. Maybe I'll stop by tomorrow to actually buy a juicy book or two, if that's alright with you?