Reed's Sex Academy

I look around the room in disbelief. “R-right now?”

I deem his silence as answer enough.

“I wasn’t aware this would be part of the interview process.”

“You’re aware now.”

I push my hair behind my ear and start unbuttoning the top of my white shirt with shaky hands. Once my bra is visible, I stop.

“Is this good enough?” I ask, knowing perfectly well that it isn’t but hoping that it might be.

He shakes his head and brings his hands below his chin, interlocking his fingers. The fact that he’s watching so closely is so perturbing that my hands are literally shaking as I fumble to unbutton more of my shirt.

That’s when it happens.

Tears start to well in my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. I can’t see the next button well enough, but my fingers graze it, and I unbutton it too. I find my way to the next one, and the next, until I throw my shirt on the ground, revealing the entirety of my bra.

A tear pushes past the others and falls down my cheek. He’s still watching.

I unhook my bra from the back and pull down a strap to the middle of my arm.

“Stop.” He frowns, his gaze leaving mine as he stands up and walks toward the window with his hands in his pockets.

“Isn’t this what you wanted, asshole?” I cry out, wiping my eyes with the back of my hands. I screwed up. I know I did. But I can’t let this be over. I can’t…

“Miss Beauvoir…stop. The interview is over.”

I rehook my bra and pick up my blouse as I head toward the door. A sense of deep shame settles into my entire being. I let him see how weak I am. How vulnerable I am.

Crying was the one thing I promised myself I wasn’t going to do today. After all, no one forced me to apply for this job. I came here of my own volition.

“Will you call me?” I ask before leaving the room, wiping away more tears. “Or…how does this work?”

“No.”

“N-no?”

“No. Clearly, you’re not cut out for this,” he says nonchalantly as if I didn’t just break down in his office. “If money is your problem, I’m sure any other job could get you that. Good luck,” he concludes, dismissing me.

I let out a shaky breath and turn to face him, the blouse still in my hands. I think of Bea and I decide again that I’m not leaving without getting this job.

“Please, sir,” I plead, cringing at the fact that my mind is a jumbled mess and I can’t remember his name. He’s probably just a few years older than me. I should be able to call him by his name.

“Oh? Are we switching from asshole to ~sir~? Maybe there is hope for you after all,” he says, his voice thick with sarcasm.

I swallow back another stream of tears and try to calm myself down.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… My sister needs me. She’s in foster care. I’m… This is my only shot at helping her.”

“Well, you kind of blew it, didn’t you? Besides, that’s not what you told me earlier,” he says, walking to the sideboard on the other side of the room and pouring a glass of something that looks expensive.

“Would it have changed anything?”

“No. But I would’ve appreciated the honesty.”

“Please. I…want this. I need this.”

“Miss Beauvoir,” he says as he hands me the glass, “you’re simply not ready for this kind of work. And I’m not in the business of bringing people into situations they don’t know how to control. It wouldn’t be fair to you. And it wouldn’t be fair to our clients.”

I take a shy sip of what tastes like whiskey. And then another, bigger one.

“I can learn. I’m a really fast learner,” I lie.

He sighs and signals me to sit back down. As soon as I do, the memory of mere minutes ago comes crashing down in my mind. I take another sip.

“Why are you pushing it? Why not get any other job?”

I keep silent, looking down at my boots. There’s an irrefutably annoyed sigh and the sound of a drawer opening. A brochure enters my field of vision.

“Very well, then. Take this. Visit the website and apply to train here if you want.”

I take it, slowly extending my arm toward his, though disappointment quickly washes over me. “Train…? I don’t think you understand. I can’t afford to study anywhere, let alone here. I don’t even want to imagine how much it co—”

He shakes his head. “We’d be the ones compensating you while training you to a professional level that matches our sponsors’ expectations. It’s not as much as the job would’ve paid, but this is all I can offer you at this stage.”

I don’t need to ask him how much that’d be.

First, because I’d take almost anything at this point. Second, because I can already see it at the bottom of the brochure.

$100,000 paid in two installments.

Six months.

Accommodation included.

Fuck. Me.

It’s one-quarter of what the job would’ve paid. But this money could change my life. It would give me enough to find a place of my own, and then I could petition to let Bea live with me.

“Okay.” I shift my eyes across his face and nod softly in gratitude.

“Okay.” He nods back, dismissing me. I can still feel his eyes on me as I turn to exit the room.

I smile to myself on my way out. For the first time in months, I have hope. Hope that Bea and I can finally be together. That we can stop relying on the help of strangers.

This job is not what I would’ve chosen for myself. But after my mother got reported for drug abuse and Bea got taken away, I was well aware my life as I knew it was over.

Any dreams and hopes I might’ve had for myself were gone. But that’s okay. As long as she’s safe, as long as we still have each other, things will get better. We’ll get through this, and then we can move on.

***

It’s 10:05 p.m. And I’m late.

When I submitted my application this morning, I didn’t expect to get called in so quickly.

But I suppose I can’t complain about it. The sooner I start, the sooner I get my money.

The application was sketchy. The website was just a black screen with a large, red button that said “Apply.”

It asked for my name, date of birth—with the caveat that they were only accepting students between twenty-two and twenty-six years old—and experience level. It didn’t say what they meant by experience level, but I could put two and two together.

I selected Beginner from the drop-down menu. That way I would be covered in case they asked me to do something I’m not ready for yet.

There were terms and conditions, which I accepted without reading—because let’s be honest, nobody ever reads those.

And then the button to “Submit.” I wavered, but only for a moment. One hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money. I promised myself that once I got the cash, I would be out. No contracts. No jobs in the industry. Just complete the training and get out.

The cab leaves me right in front of the Academy. I dust myself off and try to straighten the subtle wrinkles on my black skirt before I go in.

A gust of wind makes my thighs tremble, sending shivers down my spine. It’s cold. And I’m not exactly sure where I’m supposed to go.

I check my email and follow the instructions. Building number two. Top floor.

I go through the gate at the entrance and a bald man dressed in a black suit steps in front of me. I gasp. I almost didn’t see him in the dark.

“Name?” he sneers.

“It’s…Evelyn Beauvoir.”

He touches the side of his earpiece, repeats my name to whoever is on the other line, and nods.

“Wait here,” he tells me, and the two of us stand in awkward silence.

A minute later, a beautiful blonde opens the door. She’s dressed in a red cocktail dress that reveals her lush, well-defined cleavage. Stilettos show off her pedicured toes, and expensive jewelry sparkles around her neck and fingers. She exudes pure elegance.

And, for a moment, I almost hope that will one day be me. But I quickly wave the thought away. The last thing I want to do now is get my hopes up. I have no idea what to expect.

“You must be Evelyn.”

Her voice is deep. Calm. Confident.

“I’m Arielle,” she continues, extending her hand to touch my lower back. “You look cold. Come, let’s get you inside.”

I nod and follow her into the building, leaving the bald man behind.

“So…uh…what’s the deal with this place? How does it work? I couldn’t find much information online,” I ask her.

“Our clients are very discrete. They sponsor the Academy, and they prefer for it to be more…”

“Underground?”

“Yes. Exactly.” She smiles.

We’re standing in the lobby, and my eyes go wide. Building number two is nothing like the one I was in this morning.

No receptionist.

No waiting room.

No official vibe to it.

It’s more like someone’s personal, lavish mansion.

A quartz chandelier hangs in the large, open vestibule. Black, welded railings fall gracefully along two curved staircases, one on the left, and the other on the right. Intricately carved arches lead to other rooms.

I realize my mouth has been open in shock when Arielle asks if I’m okay.

“I just…wasn’t expecting this,” I tell her.

“I know what you mean. I didn’t either.” She smiles again.

I like her.

“Our clients have money. But Mr. Reed makes sure it is invested in the right places. The students’ comfort is our main priority.”

You don’t say.

By the way she’s talking about this whole thing, it seems like she has an important role here. But I seriously have no guesses.

I don’t even know what’s going to happen at this academy. The lack of information I’ve been given fills me with anxiety. So, I do what anyone would do in this situation.

I stall.

“So…do you work here? What do you do, exactly? Were you a student too?” I ask.

“Lots of questions.” She giggles. “I’m probably not the best person to answer them. But I assure you Mr. Reed will be happy to give you all the details you need.”

I follow Arielle upstairs and she knocks on the only door in the hallway.

“I’ve got Evelyn here,” she says, peeking into the room.

Inside, smoke floats through the air. When it reaches my nostrils, I inhale deeply, clinging to the deadly scent of nicotine.

There’s also that sophisticated scent again. The same one from this morning. Musk and oak, and something I still can’t put my finger on.

He’s by the window. He’s wearing the same black suit from earlier but the jacket has been tossed aside and the shirtsleeves are rolled up. His dark hair is mussed, like he’s been running his hands through it. But he still has the same arrogant, egocentric attitude.

He takes one more deep pull from his cigarette before putting it out and signaling me to take a seat for the second time today. Except, this time, I’m pretty sure things will go in a completely different way.