He walked inside—and lo and behold, the woman from the elevator.
He froze at the entrance. Flanking her were two other drop-dead beauties, each with her own charm. His breath left him as he remembered how casual he'd been with her earlier. She remained fucking unreadable behind those glasses—but still. What was going on?
He glanced behind him as the door shut. The silence as the women watched made him want to step back out just to get his bearings. But it was already too late. He stood there awkwardly until they showed him his seat. He sat with an embarrassed twitch of his lips.
The woman opposite him, to his left, wore a small smile at his antics. Alarm bells rang in his head.
On his right sat pristine perfection, eyeing him in a way that made him feel less.
He leaned back, but the combined aura of the three women made his heart race. Sweat gathered despite the AC.
Get it together, he told himself. Deep breaths. He closed his eyes, then opened them—cold now, like theirs. They felt it.
"Good morning, ma'ams," he greeted, glancing at their name cards. The blonde was Laura, the brunette Salome, and the dark-skinned ice queen—Velvet.
"Ortega?" Laura tested. God, the way she said his name. Get it together.
"That's me," he replied.
"Tell us about yourself."
Four words. Simple. Came from the brunette—Salome.
He swallowed, then began.
"I can sell anything."
They waited. Ortega stayed silent.
"Tell us more," Salome pressed.
"I can show you."
At that, she looked to Velvet, who hadn't said a word or moved a muscle.
Velvet simply nodded.
"Alright," Salome said. "Show us what you can do."
Laura looked over at Salome. One glance, and Salome added,
"Laura?"
"Right," Laura said, her grin brilliant. "Sell me to any one of these bitches."
"What?" Ortega blinked. "You're… not an object."
"Didn't you just say you can sell anything?"
"Did I?" The thought slipped out loud.
Salome sighed. "Next."
"Wait!" Ortega blurted before he could stop himself.
The ticking clock filled the silence. He met Laura's gaze. All he saw was mischief—the playful tilt of her lips, daring him.
From what he knew of this woman, she was risky. Thrived on shock. Her tattoos said it all. But selling her to any of them would come off as sexist, dehumanizing—no matter how clever he tried to sound. More context would've helped, but the reward was prestige. This was as much of a clue he'd get.
He looked to Salome, jotting something down, frown sharp beneath her spectacles. When she looked up suddenly, his eyes jumped over Velvet and landed back on Laura—who watched him intently, elbows on the desk.
"Salome," he said, "I give you Laura. She can be the face of your brand—your everything except you, of course. She's dangerous, and you'll like her. And she'll never stab you in the back, because you make her feel alive."
He smiled, but it tasted dry. Laura seemed to weigh his words, then gave the faintest nod.
Did he pass? Hard to tell. They hid their reactions too well. The most expressive of them all—Laura—gave only a small smile and the slight arc of a brow.
His heart thumped faster now. The fear was gone, replaced by thrill. He had this. Just a little longer.
***
When it was over, Ortega felt the ache in his ass as he rose from that cruelly hard chair.
He said his goodbyes and left—walking with more power than he came in. There was a spring in his step. No verdict yet, but he knew as much as they did: his performance was solid. If they didn't like him, they'd have dismissed him outright. Instead, they said they were still considering and had other candidates to see.
On his way back to the lobby, he met Diem—scared shitless. Ortega smiled at the poor guy.
"It's all in your head, man. The fear. Kill it. Do your best and leave the rest."
Diem just stared. "Yeah… sure."
Still, the tension on his face eased a little.
Ortega didn't care how cliché his pep talk sounded. As long as the guy didn't end up like that bitter, grumpy reject earlier, he was fine passing on some courage.
He slumped into a different seat in the lobby—one far from his rival's. Couldn't wait to see the bastard's face when he crushed him with his "exceptional results."
He wasn't hired yet, but to himself, he already was. Salome telling him to wait for consideration was just a formality.
The lobby felt more spacious now; most job seekers had left. Only a few remained—probably waiting for their turns. He nodded at them like the boss he already felt he was.
They ignored him.
How dare they?
Then the woman with the tablet entered.
"Four of you," she announced. "Report to the conference room—now."