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The Art of Business I
“Is that really what you’re going to wear?” Mr. Williams voice cuts across the room like a butter knife slicing a scone; a little posh, and with as much authority as the British Empire itself once did.
Priya jumps and spins around, clutching her stack of papers against her chest. “Mister Williams! I am sorry, I didn’t hear you leave the office.”
Priya only just started working at the company this week. She’s embarrassed to be putting on such a poor show of awareness in front of her boss! It wasn’t easy to get this job — Priya had to really fight for it. There had been a dozen applicants just on the day she had been interviewed. She’s well aware that being the secretary for the head of the entire company – the personal assistant, technically – is not only prestigious, but also a great stepping stone. Her parents had been so proud when she told them! The first in the family to finish college. The first to work in such a nice office. Frankly, she’s amazed she got it — but that just adds to the anxiety which is attacking her from every angle. She’s never clumsy, and yet… something about the way her boss looks at her has her shaking. It’s not even an unkind look. It’s just… forceful. She supposes that’s how all top businesspeople are though. That’s how you get on the Forbes list.
Regardless, she’s determined to do anything in her power to prove that picking her was the right choice. Priya tries to collect herself quickly, offering the man a smile.
Mr. Williams, at least, doesn’t look bothered by her outburst.
“Easy.” Jonathan Williams is the founder and CEO of one of the largest import/export companies in the UK. And, the man who hired Priya, personally, earlier this week. “I wasn’t trying to scare you. I just couldn’t happen to notice that what you’re wearing…” He reaches out and tugs at the lapel of her blouse. “It’s a little old fashioned, isn’t it?”
“I …” Priya’s face flushes. “I don’t think so? I have a few shirts like this. I thought that it looked good for an office.” By the time she finishes explaining it sounds more like a question than a statement.
“Eh.” Mr. Williams makes a face. He doesn’t look surprised, but he also doesn’t look very happy by the answer. Which, in itself, is a surprise, actually. Priya knows that the blouse she’s wearing might be a little more brightly colored than some people in the office are used too, but she also knows it’s more than business appropriate. The blouse is a simple, button up affair of a material that does well to hide the breasts that she always felt were a little too large for her otherwise lithe frame. And, as her mother had always told her, the color accents her brown skin.
Uncertainly, Priya questions, “Should I not wear it again?”
“I suppose you can if you want,” says Mr. Williams. “That’s just not going to get you noticed by anyone. If you’re looking to succeed, you should try and dress like you’re not embarrassed by who you are. You’ve seen how Cindy dresses, right? You should try and find something like that to wear.”
Priya’s mind begins to fight itself. There’s nothing outright wrong with the way that Cindy dresses. It’s just that the other woman is far more revealing than Priya has ever considered, choosing to wear silky blouses with deep plunging necklines and skirts with high slits in the side. It has always reminded her of what someone might wear out to a club or a late-night party, rather than something that should be worn into your office job. Then again, all of the best businesses do things in odd ways — just look at Google headquarters. But it shows so much skin! Even having grown up in London, Priya’s very modest and traditional. She doesn’t like showing off any more cleavage than she has too, and she’s not a fan of anything too short, either.
Then again, she’s also not a fan of losing a job that can open so many doors either.
“I can try and find something else to wear from now on,” says Priya, just the barest hint of hesitation. It is for work, after all, and there’s nothing that Priya won’t do when it comes to securing her job. Especially considering that she’s so new to the office. If Mr. Williams wants her to dress differently, Priya will happily do that. She is his personal assistant.
Mr. Williams reaches out, using two fingers to lift up a lock of Priya’s straight, black hair. “You could do something else with this, too.”
“You want me to cut it?” Priya is almost offended by that. She doesn’t mind updating her wardrobe, but the thought of cutting her hair short is one that almost scares her. Priya has been growing her hair out for several years now; the silky black locks are almost down to her waist. In India, not that she even has many memories of her brief trip there as a child, it’s a sign of femininity and beauty. Her mother always said a good Indian girl doesn’t cut her hair!
She looks at her boos as he continues to finger her hair. This isn’t some backwater village in India though, and really, those are her parent’s bonus veren siteler ideals, not hers. This is London! She is working for a major international company.
“You don’t need to go that far, but you could always start seeing a stylist. Someone that might be able to help you do more than just leave it hang like this. It’s a little childish, don’t you think?”
“I didn’t realize,” says Priya, honestly. There is some relief that he doesn’t want her to cut it. “I was trying to look professional. I thought that doing too much with it might seem frivolous.”
Mr. Williams grins. “Oh, don’t look so concerned. I wouldn’t ask you to pay for any of that out of your own pocket. The thing is, I need a personal assistant that looks responsible. Someone who’s going to impress our clients. That’s not you right now. But it could be! That’s why I hired you. I see so much potential.” He moves his hand, fingers brushing over Priya’s neck as he pulls it back. The touch makes her skin prickle. It’s a simple gesture, but it makes her thoughts drift for half a second. “I’ll get a company card sent out here. That way, you can see about changing your hair up some.”
“I — sir, are you certain? I don’t mean to make the company spend its money on me. My goal is to help the company earn more, not – “
Mr. Williams cuts her off by pressing his finger to her lips. His finger has the softness of a man of breeding and wealth. “None of that. It’s for work and you are my personal assistant so the company will cover it. Consider it an investment on my end. I have a good feeling about you, Priya. I think that you’ll be able to help me do great things for the company. I’m going to invest my time into you, and some of the company’s money. You can pay the company back by doing a great job.”
Quickly, Priya bobs her head in agreement. “Yes, Mister Williams. I will make sure not to let you down!” There’s a flutter in her chest. Perhaps she should be offended, but being told she has potential by someone this important? That’s a huge deal.
“I know that you won’t,” says Mr. Williams. He gives her one last charming smile before turning and heading back for his office. Priya tries not to let the encounter fluster her, but she finds that she’s overly aware of how she looks the rest of the day.
There is, in fact, a company card sitting on Priya’s desk by the end of her shift. There’s also a business card for a salon, and for a clothing boutique. She knows of both, having passed by on her way to work. She also knows how expensive they are, and those numbers have her fluttering her long, onyx lashes in a series of blinks. It’s out of the price range that Priya is able to spend — way out; not even “birthday treat” money. Even though it’s not her money, it’s still nerve wracking for Priya to think about stepping into the very much upper end salon. She is still the daughter of working class immigrants. She rationalizes that the company is paying for it, and that it could be considered part of her uniform. Looking at the card, she touches her hair, still silky and smelling of coconut from her shampoo but feeling a little less soft than usual.
The fact that she feels out of place in this part of town doesn’t matter. Priya tells herself, you’re going to feel out of place a lot at this company. You need to figure out how to work through it and maintain an air of confidence. This is good practice for that!
So she gets her hair done, and she goes into the boutique to find that the clothing has already been bought and ordered. She just needs to pay for it. These shirts are like nothing else that she’s worn before. Another wave of anxiety as she realizes that her new blouses, five of them, are so low cut and clingy that they will leave little to the imagination.
The next day, as she makes her way to work, it seems every male gaze is on her. She doesn’t have the largest of breasts, but their fullness is emphasized by the cut of the bra and the blouse. She finds herself trying to pull blouse over her cleavage, only to have to pull it back down as it exposes her abdomen. At least they won’t need ironing, she decides, since she’ll be tugging them out straight all day.
All day long at work, she’s overly aware of the fact that when she bends down, anyone could look in and see her breasts. She finds herself so nervous over this that she fumbles more… which leads to her dropping more things… and more bending down… until she’s wrapped up in a vicious loop. The only reprieve is when she has a coffee cup to hold in the way, but with wanting to get on to impress the others it never lasts long. And every time she lowers the cup it’s like unveiling herself all over again. Her cheeks color the shade of her new lipstick, a stark red that was left on her desk as a welcome gift from Cindy. She can’t not wear it, that would be rude, but each time it leaves a kiss mark on the white porcelain of the coffee cup she develops a longing to switch back to something more natural.
It might be the single worst day that Priya’s had at bahis work. Ever. Even her disastrous first job after graduating high school can’t compare to the sheer misery of today.
Near the end of the day, Priya is so frazzled that being told Williams wants to see her is almost enough to make her cry. Heat prickles at her eyes, glittering orbs threatening to fall at any moment. She’s barely stepped into the man’s office before she starts talking, telling him, “I’m so sorry for how erratic I have been today, sir. I promise, I will get a handle on things.”
“Erratic?” His brow creases in a V shape that she’s sure is an arrow pointing to her unemployment. “No, no, you’ve got nothing to apologize over. This isn’t about you being in trouble.”
“Oh?”
He slides his chair back and stands up. “Actually, I wanted to commend you on stepping up the way you did. I’ve had a few assistants over the years who weren’t willing to give the office as much as they should have, but I can tell that’s not the case with you, Priya. It must be that wonderful Indian upbringing!”
“I want to make sure I do well for you,” says Priya, quickly, flushing again but this time with a comforting warmth. “I hope that I can make your days easier so you can focus on more important things!”
Mr. Williams smiles. It’s a charming smile, not just handsome but reassuring. He moves to stand in front of Priya, placing one hand on her shoulder. He is a handsome man. Tall with broad shoulders and a powerful chest. Chiseled features and salt-and-pepper hair remind her of the older James Bond movies she watched with her sister. All he needs is a Scottish accent. For a fleeting moment, she wonders if he has salt-and-pepper chest hair. She blushes.
“I’m certain that you’ll be able to do that and more, Priya. You’ve got exactly the sort of personality that I’ve been looking for. These clothes do you wonders. They make you seem far more professional. I would be happy to have you step into any meeting dressed like this.”
Priya lowers her head, a little embarrassed. She was never one to take compliments well. “I’m happy to wear whatever the office requires.”
“I’ll make sure to keep you only in the finest clothes,” says Mr. Williams, playfully. “But — that’s all. I just wanted to thank you for your hard work.”
That’s the first time Williams calls Priya into his office seemingly for nothing, but it’s far from the last. Over the next month, the man takes to calling her into his office sometimes two and three times a day. Often, it’s only for a few minutes, but other times, Priya sits there in the desk across from him, silently, for up to two hours as he makes telephone calls and reviews paperwork. She keeps her hands folded in her lap and works at paying attention, even though he doesn’t address her and doesn’t ask her to do anything in in particular. He clearly wants her to listen and learn.
The clothing continues to show up at regular intervals, tops and skirts that seem to get shorter and more revealing with each purchase — then again, the weather has been improving. The only conservative clothing are some paints, but even they are low-waisted and hug her curves like a second skin. Jewelry occasionally is included; necklaces and earrings that match the shirts she’s being given. It’s all clearly very expensive. Priya would never be able to afford this on her pay, even if she spent time saving up for it! And sometimes, slipped into the folds of the other clothing, there are silky bra and panty sets. Almost always thongs that leave little covered and bras that are of a sheer material. Always of colors that accentuate her skin.
Priya wants to ask about these, but the thought of bringing it up to Mr. Williams directly makes her stomach twist with nerves. It’s improper! But she doesn’t want to risk visible panty lines, or upsetting her boss, so she wears them anyway. Admittedly, they do give better shape to the clothes on top, even if she has had to learn to bend with her knees rather than lean over when things get knocked over. And now she’s settled in a little more, she realizes that her boss is as clumsy as she can be. He’s forever knocking things over as he reaches for papers. Sometimes, asking her to pick them up; other times accidently brushing against her as he does it before she can.
Near the start of her third month in Mr. Williams’ employ, Priya is called into his office. As soon as she steps inside, she freezes as she hears the sounds of moaning and soft bodies slapping against each other. Sounds of a sexual encounter coming from her boss’s laptop. Her face goes red, a hand flying up to cover her eyes — not fast enough to miss the expression on his face.
Mr. Williams laughs. “Relax, Priya. It’s just a video that one of my business associates sent me. Come look at this, why don’t you?”
Stuttering, Priya asks, “A- at the video?”
“That’s what I said.” Williams shifts, pushing his chair back so there’s room for Priya. His tone brokers no room for argument, so she takes a deep breath and shuffles over deneme bonusu to join him. The computer screen does have an email on it, and an opened attachment that appears to be the video in question. It shows another man dressed in a very nice suit, with a pretty waif of a woman in his lap. One of the man’s hands cups her breast over her clothing. It only takes a moment to realize that beneath her skirt, the man’s hips are pistoning in and out of her intimate area.
“That’s indecent!” Priya bursts out. If there was enough fabric to clutch at on her skirt, her hands would be wringing it into knots. As it is, the best she can do is curl her toes in the uncomfortable shoes that landed on her desk yesterday — a little token of thanks for her help on the Dobson file last week.
“That’s business.” Mr. Williams pats his thigh. “Have a seat.”
Eyes widening, Priya asks, “What?”
“Have a seat,” repeats Mr. Williams, this time with a hint of command. “I’ve been thinking about having you sit in on a few of my meetings, but before you can do that, you need to be familiar with the men I work with. It’s important.”
Priya swallows hard. She takes her job very seriously. Is this office banter? A test? Daintily, she perches on the very edge of her boss’s thigh. William settles a large hand on the curve of Priya’s hip and shifts her into a more comfortable position. Thankfully, it rests there.
“In business, you have to understand your clients.” He continues, “This is George Obrent. He’s a lazy son of a bitch, but he’s one of our top investors. My firm does anything to keep him happy. If you show up to these meetings, you’ll be expected to do anything to make him happy, too.”
Surely — he doesn’t mean?
Before Priya can dwell on it for long, Williams closes the video. He pulls up a different email, this one with several pictures attached along with a video. He skips the pictures and pulls up the video instead.
This one starts in the middle of a clearly very rough sexual encounter. It looks as though the young woman, shirt hanging open, is crouched underneath of the man’s desk. His black, slacks open, member buried so deeply into the young woman’s throat that the audio is nothing but her choking on it; the outline clearly visible along the front curve of her neck, mascara running, a hand tangled in her hair. It’s vulgar and Priya twists away slightly, revealing a little too much of her chest. Mr. Williams doesn’t seem to notice. If this is some sort of joke it isn’t funny. The thing is, she needs this job, and if she gets fired — well, she can’t afford to pay back what the clothes and cuts and everything cost. Priya can barely afford the coffee they drink; imported and full of decadent tones. Besides, there are some pieces she couldn’t even take back since Mr. Williams knocked that drink on her the other day. It doesn’t even bare thinking about how much it made the sheer blouse cling to her, revealing the bra underneath. And, that awkward moment where he tried to dab it off for her. A moaning makes her look back at the screen.
As if this is normal, Mr. Williams continues, “This is Eric Howell. He’s not our top investor, but he’s our most consistent one. He’s been with the company since we first started up, and our success can be credited to his, ah, more ruthless managing of things.”
“Sir,” says Priya, but she has no follow up.
The hand on her hip slides down to rest on her thigh, fingering the hem of her skirt. The pale fingers caress her skin. Priya pulls in a sharp breath.
“One more,” says Mr. Williams. Another email, another video. An older black woman, bent over a desk. The man behind her, broad shouldered and over weight with thinning hair has a hand on the back of her neck, holding her still while he does obscene things to her. His motion drives into her at a brutal pace that has Priya’s legs nipping together.
“And this is Robert. Bob, as we call him. He’s newly invested in the firm, but he’s got money that he wants to invest. A lot of money.”
His hand slides along her leg, gently pulling it open. Then, as she remains frozen on his lap, it moves between her legs until his fingers press over the black silk of her panties. They slide over the fabric, feeling out the bump of her private area, pushing up into the indent of her intimates. The fabric is shamefully dampened. Gasping, Priya buries her face in her hands.
“Sir?! I …This is not right,” she tells him. His fingers continue their gentle ministrations.
“This is business,” says Mr. Williams, fingers still rocking in a motion that makes her catch her breath. Her panties become wet and she can smell herself in the room. “You want to help make my work easier, don’t you? You want to be part of the greatest company in London?”
Priya doesn’t know what to do. This job is important to her. It was hard to find work — a young woman like herself, fresh out of college, with little experience and even less skills. And she really is the sort of person that wants to do her best at every task, that wants to see the company, as a whole, get better and thrive. That was what her parents had ingrained in her whole life. The thought of her parents makes her flush. She’s gripped by paralysis, scared to move and potentially feel what else is growing on him. All she can do is whimper.
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