Sold to Him

A couple captures my attention next—both blonde with white smiles that make them fitting for a billboard. They look so happy smiling at each other, and I wonder to myself what they could be saying to each other that could be so hilarious.

The sparkle in their eyes is evident, and it’s clear that they’re deeply in love. My heart beats painfully for a moment. I want that. The longing I’ve been experiencing isn’t for a man’s touch alone, but rather the adoration and passion behind it as well. I want a guy to look at me the way that man is looking at his partner, with a worshipful, yet also masterful, gaze.

But I’m no thin blonde, and men don’t look at me with googly eyes. Besides, what I’m about to embark on isn’t about love. They’ll want me to go on dates, entertaining the poor schmucks the best I can. And my dates won’t care about me per se, the companionship service is probably just a way for them to occupy their time with no responsibilities after the date is over.

One after another, the citizens of the city rush past the window. Some walking, others almost running, all of them moving with purpose as they head in different directions. I find myself so lost in creating stories for their lives that the breakfast rush comes and goes before I note the passing time.

“Would you like anything else, Miss?” the baker asks, nodding his head. I jolt alive.

“What time is it?” I turn to him, confused. Surely, I’ve only been sitting here for a few minutes.

“A quarter till noon.” The man nods up at the clock on the wall with raised eyebrows. “See?”

Oh no. Without a word, I grab my things and storm out of the door, a bell jingling as I shamelessly run down the street, most likely looking like a madwoman. How did I manage to make myself late after arriving with more than two hours to spare?

Maybe this is a sign that this is all a bad idea, one that I should abandon. The niggling feeling that I’m in over my head keeps resurfacing, and I fight to push it down once again as I manage to turn the corner through the thick crowd before spotting a shimmering skyscraper towering over its neighboring office buildings.

“This is it,” I whisper to myself before walking to the revolving glass door, pushing the handle excitedly as tingles race up my spine.

There are so many elements responsible for my rush of emotions. The possibility of being so close to a paycheck is enough to send me through the roof, and in a devilish way, the secrecy and mystery of everything only adds to the allure.

“Name and ID, please,” a short security guard asks without looking up. He’s checking boxes on a sheet of paper as I dig out my New York ID.

“Trina…” I fade away, unsure if I should tell him my last name. I don’t remember telling Karen my last name. The man looks up for the first time as he glances between me and my ID picture twice.

“Top floor,” the man instructs, handing me back my ID before refocusing on his checklist.

My thoughts begin to run wild in the elevator as the car ascends with a soft melody playing in the background. Everything seems very expensive and fancy, nicer than any office building I’ve ever been in for sure. The walls of the elevator are made completely of mirrors, and of course I can’t help but check myself out to make sure everything looks okay. Looking back at me is a clearly nervous but excited girl with bright eyes. I look down at my body and pull down my shirt a little to hide my wide hips, which ends up just showing my ample cleavage even more. It’s a futile tug of war. What if I’m not good enough? This is how they’re going to be judging me, isn’t it? I stare at everything that is wrong with me, feeling a little more anxious by the second.

“Welcome Trina,” a woman greets me before I realize the elevator doors have opened.

I whip my head around in surprise, and immediately, I recognize her voice. This is Karen, and she looks as coolly polished and professional as she sounds. Her dress catches my eye first, which is quite shocking considering how gorgeous she is because the black sheath is fabulous. You know how some items are discreet and subtle, yet still retain the sheen of wealth? Her dress screams money, making me feel frumpy and dowdy by comparison.

But Karen’s nice and smiles again.

“I’m Karen,” she introduces herself, extending her hand. “We spoke earlier. Welcome. Please follow me.”

Walking side by side, she leads me to an office. Although my interviewer is subtle, I notice her looking over at my curves as we walk, nodding her head in approval. Once we sit down, she takes out a cell phone.