She rubbed her eyes. If big business ever got their hands on this, they’d lobby to make it an amendment to the Constitution.
“You now have fifteen minutes to—”
“I’m doing it!” She growled at the ceiling and walls, not knowing where their camera was. “If you keep interrupting me, I—”
Stop, stop, stop. I’m playing their game again. The moment she admitted their interruptions sucked, they’d increase them to screw with her. After forcing herself to chill, she lifted her face. “Thanks for the reminder. It helps a lot. I can’t imagine what I’d do without it.”
Dead. Fucking. Silence.
Just try to outwit me. She hadn’t reached the top of her night school class to have anyone defeat her here.
Hunkered down, she paged through the handbook. Until now, she hadn’t realized there were so many ways to state that customers were never in error, employees were shit, employers were gods, and benefits meant being able to knock off for sixty minutes during a twenty-four-hour period.
Hold on.
She’d reached the perks section, which read: “If an employee performs beyond expectations and gives one thousand percent to the job, a half minute will be added to their time off, not to exceed five minutes total during each thousand-year period.”
She sagged against the counter and forced herself to turn the page.
Its heading stated Chocolate.
Finally, an interesting part. She read hurriedly and swore. According to this psycho manifesto, a staffer who served more efficiently than everyone else would receive one bite of chocolate every five thousand years, the employee’s performance rated by Andros, Racan, and Vespar, no one else. Their word law; objections not allowed.
The Compensation area came next. During each twenty-three-hour shift, staff would earn one Hard Lust token, which they could use at the company store to buy whatever their heart desired, if they dared. An asterisk behind the warning led to a disclaimer at the bottom, which stated: “We advise you to use your earnings to purchase makeup first and then toiletries, leaving everything else last. If you don’t maintain good grooming and ultimately offend, you’ll have five minutes shaved off your down time, not to exceed fifty-five minutes total during your stay here.”
Leaving a lengthy five minutes to relax for eternity.
Mussolini would have loved these guys. Hell, he was probably down here, writing this shit.
The last section provided scenarios a staffer might encounter in Hard Lust and how to address each.
She read the first:
Imagine there are three patrons who are vying for your attention at the same time. First, they shouldn’t have to flag you down. You should be at their sides, at all times, and serving them before they know what they want. Second, you will provide each whatever they desire—at the same time. No patron should have to wait or should get his order after someone else does. Achieving this is doable. Use your imagination. Watch the others who’ve mastered service at its finest. However, never interrupt them to ask questions. To do so will take minutes off your downtime. Third, and last, always smile. A good attitude goes a long way to getting a bite of chocolate or perks. Make Hard Lust proud.
They were freaking insane.
The door swung inward.
She flinched. “I’m reading, all right?”
“I don’t give a fuck what you’re doing.” A young woman with red hair down to her ass, gray eyes, and a gap between her front teeth slammed the door. Beneath her uniform were several tats and scars, various healed wounds rounded, others jagged and long.
Megan didn’t want to guess what weapons made them.
The woman scratched her reddish bush.
Damn. Going commando down there wasn’t required despite what Andros claimed about Hard Lust being the ultimate experience, including its stringent dress code.
“Hey.” The woman raised her chin. “What are you frowning at? My pussy’s not good enough for you? You think yours is better than—
“No. Absolutely not.” Megan waved her hands. “The straps are digging into my ass and the heels hurt. That’s it, I swear.”
The woman pushed past her and slapped her handbook onto the counter. “Let’s get something straight from the get-go. I don’t take anyone’s shit. Keep your distance or else. That includes looking at me when we’re not talking. If for some strange reason you need to get my attention, it’s Giselle, not Zelli. Call me that and you’ll regret it.”
Surprise, surprise. “I’m Megan.” She put out her hand.
Giselle lifted one reddish eyebrow. “You better not be thinking of touching me.”
“God, no. I thought you’d like to shake hands, but hey, if you don’t want to, that’s cool.”
“I don’t. Remember that.”
“Absolutely.” Megan slid her handbook down the counter, giving Giselle 90 percent of the space.
She regarded the nicety as one would something foul. “Let me guess. You’re trying to tell me I stink?”
There was no winning with her. “Nope. I admire you and want to give you the space you deserve.”
Skepticism flitted across her face, but she calmed and patted her leather strips. “You got a smoke on you?”
“Sorry, no. It’s my guess it’s not allowed down here.”
“Fucking pricks.” She swung her leg onto the counter and bent over, exercising, her cunt facing Megan.
She couldn’t look. Even Giselle’s fist in her face wouldn’t encourage her to do so.
After stretching and grunting, Giselle did the same with her other leg. “What are you in for?”
“Helping my sister.”
“Right on.” She brought her leg down and did squats, her muscles as impressive as any guy’s. “You helped her off her old man, huh?”
“Uh, no.” Megan took a cautious step back. “She was sick, and our insurance didn’t cover it, so I sold my soul to help her.”
“Are you shitting me?” Giselle eyed her. “You’re one of those?”
That stung. She tightened her fists. “You mean a decent person. Someone with a soul?”
“Not anymore.” She barked a laugh. “The fuckers down here have a lock on that part of you.” Having finished her squats, she did jumping jacks. “If you’re stupid enough to come here on your own, who am I to judge? For me, I would have offed my entire family if they hadn’t put me away first.”
Smart people.
She shrugged. “Going after Bernie was their last straw.”