My Ambition Pt. 02

I knocked timidly on the door to Mr Melo's office, opening it when I heard "Enter." I'd been summonsed to a client meeting... My first, to take minutes and ensure there was a clear record of decisions. I didn't know what to expect, as I tried to walk in confidently... to seize the opportunity. I was wearing a short flared grey skirt and peach blouse with the top two buttons undone, three-inch stilettos and glossy black stockings, feeling smart but feminine.

Mr Melo's office was beautifully decorated with a wooden desk and black leather chair in front of ornamental shelves at the far end. Directly as one walked in, there were brown leather Chesterfield couches and chairs encircling a modern thick pile feature rug. Mr Melo was seated in front of the picture windows overlooking the bay, a bald man with an unremarkable oval face, loose jowls and matching flabby physique. But his dark eyes were alive and intelligent, always making me feel like he was looking right through me, exposing my thoughts.

To his right, were two men I had never seen before. They were dark skinned older men, so I assumed they must be the clients from India, here to discuss the large telecoms programme I'd hear about in the corridors. Nicolas was sitting casually on a couch across from them, sipping coffee as if he belonged. Unlike me, or at least that's how it felt...

Mr Melo continued talking as I entered, while all four of them glanced over to me standing uncertainly at the edge of the circle, waiting for instructions or hopefully an invitation. They all undressed me with their eyes, lingering over my feminine assets, hungry looks of men who felt entitled to taking whatever they wanted.

I blushed at the scrutiny and looked away, slightly embarrassed as I noticed two other women, tall and gorgeous... one platinum blond, the other rich auburn, standing demurely at attention just outside the circle of chairs. They were dressed in micro miniskirts with loose cowlneck sleeveless tops in diaphanous fabric and towering heels, the typical attire of what I'd come to know as 'coffee girls'...

Junior admin staff who seemed to do nothing except attend meetings, get refreshments and carry papers for the senior executives. They kept to themselves on the C-suite floor, so I had not really talked to any of them. But even more strangely it seemed like they revolved, with a constant supply of new women. I'd asked about them and been told cryptically that catering and entertainment had been outsourced and they were deployed as and when needed.

After what felt like an eternity of being ogled, Nic patted the seat of the couch next to him, indicating with his eyes that I was to sit beside him. As Mr Melo carried on about planned engagement with government officials, I took my seat, trying valiantly to prevent my far too short skirt from revealing too much. I sank into the low couch, causing my knees to elevate above my hips. The smirking expressions on the faces of the clients as they stared unabashed at my legs told me they hoped I didn't succeed.

I smoothed my skirt over my side-crossed legs, all the while awkwardly holding onto my notebook computer, trying to project competent professionalism, rather than the insecurity eating away at my confidence. I smiled politely, trying to follow the conversation, not sure what I was supposed to do.

Eventually Mr Melo turned to me and said, "Morning Lucia, we were just concluding an engagement with Dr Patel and Mr Babu."

"Yes, Sir." I acknowledged, not sure why I called him that, except that I felt like a schoolgirl in front of the headmaster and it seemed appropriate.

They both nodded at me, greeting my boobs as I mumbled "Pleased to meet you."

"I'll summarise the key points of agreement for you. Then I want a memo for signature before lunch." Mr Melo instructed, and almost as an afterthought. "Do you want a coffee?"

"Yes please, Sir." I felt like I was being included in the inner circle with that simple offer, so there was no way I wasn't going to accept. I hesitated for a second, not knowing if I should get it myself or ask one of the 'coffee girls' instead. It seemed neither, because Mr Melo just clicked his fingers and uttered a single word "Americano".

I was taken aback by the dismissive authority in that action, commanding the girls without even acknowledging them, as if they were purely there to attend and serve his needs. It felt powerful to be included with those who get to give orders. This was what I wanted in life. To be part of the elite, secure in the knowledge that my directions would be followed. To be someone important...

He immediately launched into a series of points which I frantically noted, complex arrangements and names I was not entirely sure about. But I valiantly tried to keep up, typing a couple of pages of notes as he spoke.

He didn't even pause when one of the girls arrived less than a minute later with my coffee. She curtsied respectfully while her eyes remained downcast, almost fearful, placing the cup on a small table beside the couch, because I was too busy writing to take it. As she bent, taught stockinged legs impossibly straight in her heels, her skirt rode up on her bottom to reveal a hint of lace at the top of her stockings. Even more surprising was the sight of her pert breast and a glimpse of nipple through the gaping armhole as her loose blouse fell forward, without her making any attempt to preserve her modesty. She spent unnecessarily long displaying herself in that position, as if she had been taught to perform for others' visual enjoyment. I was momentarily distracted as a shiver of superiority ran up my spine, with the realisation that this was the girl's job as 'office eye candy'.

Balancing my computer on my lap was awkward, with the two clients gazing between my legs. I had no option but to let them part slightly for stability as I typed. Trying to concentrate on the words and not let the embarrassment distract me was all I could do for those few minutes. But at least I was a professional... in this office because of my brain and my abilities, not my physical assets, unlike the two unfortunate coffee girls...

As he concluded his points, he looked over at the two clients and asked. "Does that capture everything, gentlemen?" And then when they confirmed, he told me. "Go and sit at my desk and finish the memo. Nic, you check that she gets it right. Okay?"

I had my instructions, so rising carefully so as not to flash them again, I made my way to the other side of the room. He started chatting to the other men... I sat down at his desk, bare except for a computer on the one side and a pile of documents on the other, the one on top with a government stamp and CONFIDENTIAL in red text across the front. How could he have access to confidential government documents? Was that even appropriate?

"We'll be going to dinner at our private club tonight. I have no doubt you'll love the entertainment." He chuckled crudely, as if sharing a private joke. "Have you seen Brazilian dancing? Cabaret?"

My mind wandered at the way he said, 'private club', as if it were something special, only for select guests. I knew I was not being invited, but would Nic? I shook my head figuratively, realising those types of thoughts were not useful. They were distracting and self-defeating. I had work to do and the chance to impress. As I started typing the memo, I heard a mumbled comment from one of the men "No, but we're looking forward to it."

"Well then, let's have a preview... while we wait." Mr Melo said as he clicked his fingers again, obviously a trigger for the girls, because they immediately sashayed onto the carpet, rolling their hips and shaking their breasts in time to some imaginary music in their heads, fake smiles pasted on their faces as they began dancing...

I looked down, slightly embarrassed, but relieved I was no longer on the couch. Nic on the other hand, was still there watching them, an implacable expression on his face as if this was nothing unusual. I focused on the memo, expanding on what I had heard and ensuring it was clear and concise, relieved that I had something to distract me...

As I was near to finishing, Nic made his way over to me. Glancing at the dancing women, I saw that they were sliding their hands over their bodies sensually as if they were glamorous strippers in a club, rather than admin assistants in an office. Nic leant over me, putting his hand casually on my shoulder and caressing it softly, almost absentmindedly. I knew he was doing it intentionally and didn't like that he felt so entitled, but I was not confident enough in that situation to make a scene. And to my chagrin, it actually felt quite nice, almost supportive.

He scrolled through what I had written, correcting some technical details and my grammar, his hand sliding up to encircle my neck. I had a gut-wrenching flashback to him pinning me to the bed... I shook my shoulders to make him stop, but he ignored me and carried on massaging my neck as he gave me instructions. I hated that he was checking my work and was carelessly dominating me, but didn't do anything about it, couldn't do anything... preferring to just finish as quickly as possible and hopefully get out of there.

"We're done, Miguel." Nic said loudly as he swaggered back towards the sitting area, as if he had done it all. Why did he get to use his boss' first name?

I hated him and his male privilege, assuming he could take my work and make it seem like it was his. He had made some significant changes, sure... but it wasn't my fault that I didn't have all the facts, all the background, having been excluded and not briefed... I'd tried my hardest, but I just felt like a lowly secretary. I was even walking a few steps behind him, having taken a couple of seconds to close my computer and stand up... It just made me feel even more insignificant... more frustrated and more pathetic...

"Good. You sure it's all there, my boy?" The question directed at Nic, including him while making it clear who was in charge. Nic just nodded his head, seemingly unconcerned as he nonchalantly resumed his earlier seat, obviously leaving me hanging.

As I came up to the edge of the rug, I realised what had been going on while I had been working. The girls' skirts had ridden up from all their gyrating, revealing their stocking tops and even flashes of their miniscule panties, firmly cupping their crotches and disappearing between their buttocks. They either didn't notice, didn't care or weren't permitted to protect their modesty. And then I noticed that they were sliding their hands inside their blouses to provocatively fondle their breasts.

At first, I thought they were happily performing based on their enthusiastic motions and bright smiles, trained to entertain the men who were leering at their flagrant display. But then I saw a hint of something else in their eyes and wasn't so sure... but it was none of my business what they got up to...

"Would you like me to print the memo, Sir?" I tried not to look at them as I asked, focusing on Mr Melo instead. Only to see him watching me, an amused expression on his face at my discomfort. He said nothing, letting me stand and squirm for long seconds.

"Yes. Two copies. You can leave them outside with my PA." And like that I was dismissed, to leave these men to their 'entertainment'.

I felt dirty and compromised, but if I was honest also mildly intrigued and a bit aroused at the power these men had over the girls. I fled the room in relief, happy that I had a professional job, rather than the unfortunate girls who... who knew what they had to endure...

Nic came up to me later that afternoon as I was leaving the building, wearing a smug smile. "Miguel though you did a good job today. He said he would use you again."

"You didn't have to take all the credit, Nic. I was the one who wrote the damn memo." I could hear the petulant whine in my voice, but I was justified. Damn it!

"Hey, hold on, babe." He put his hands up in mock defence, using the endearment he had no right to. "He asked me to supervise..."

"Well, I could have done it. Without your supposed help." I spat back. "And don't call me babe."

"Sure. Sure... Truce?" He grinned at me, clearly not taking anything that I'd said seriously.

"Hmmm... Just give me a bit of credit next time... Please." Why did I sound so pathetic? Pleading... But it wasn't in my interests to fight him... he was clearly on the inside track, so I changed track. "And what's with those dancing girls?"

"Oh, the coffee girls?" He smirked. "Just a bit of client entertainment. Greases the wheels. The guys loved it."

"How can they do that to themselves... in an office." I didn't like his attitude or his entitlement. "And how can the company support it? How can you just stand here and say, it's okay?"

My stridency inflamed by the sense of guilt that I'd had in not being unequivocally outraged at what I had seen, the part of me that had been drawn to the powerplay... the little part that made me tingle between my legs. The part that was jealous of Nic's apparent access, and his innate sense of superiority...

"Everyone does it, Lucia. It's part of doing business." His voice had an edge of exasperation. "Anyway, they get paid. They're just whores. They come and go."

There he'd said it, what I had suspected all along. That's why the coffee girls acted like they did... they were bought and paid for. And before I knew it, an odd sensation rose in my chest, almost excitement. I swallowed... my throat becoming a bit dry as I wondered what it would feel like to have that sort of power over those girls... to be one of the elite... to order the lowly whores to do whatever...