Chapter 2: Getting a Job
Megha had managed the interview panel flawlessly, reciting policy and projecting confidence with the polished skill of a veteran. But she knew the performance was for show. The decision maker was not the HR manager; it was the man who now sat across from her in a penthouse office overlooking the city.
Kenji Tan, the owner of the Prestige Grand, didn't look up from the tablet in his hand when Megha was shown in. The office was all sharp angles and blindingly high-end materials—polished steel, onyx, and a panoramic view that seemed to put the entire city under his thumb. Megha stood perfectly still, letting the silence stretch, acutely aware of how small and vulnerable she was in this vast, powerful space.
Finally, Tan set the tablet down and looked at her. His eyes, though assessing, held no warmth.
"Megha Goyal," he said, his voice smooth, carrying the low, non-regional accent of someone who spoke multiple languages perfectly. "Your file is excellent. Top of your class. Perfect scores in guest relations simulations. But that is an intern’s file. I hire hundreds of those a year. Why should I invest a substantial sum in visa sponsorship for you?"
Megha didn't flinch. "Because, Mr. Tan, I don't see this as an internship. I see it as a life raft. And a drowning person is the hardest worker. Besides, as difficult as it is to find visa sponsors, you are almost assured of my loyalty and continued service."
He gave a slow, minimal nod. "Good point. But why would I want your loyalty or continued service? What if you are terrible at your job at keeping customers happy? What happens to my investment in your visa then?" He tapped the surface of the desk with an elegant, bored rhythm.
"My clients here—the guests—they don't care about your student debt or your visa clock. They want perfection. They want problems solved before they even articulate them. They want service that they can never get anywhere
else."
He paused, letting his gaze drop from her eyes to her perfectly tailored suit, a deliberate, slow inspection. "I need staff who understand what 'right' truly means when dealing with people who wield billions." He pushed a sheaf of papers—her sponsorship documents—a centimeter closer to her. "I need someone with the right attitude. How can you prove to me that you have what it takes to make even the most demanding customers happy?"
Megha took a steadying breath, her mind racing through the calculations of debt and duty. "I am capable of whatever my job requires, Mr. Tan. Whatever it takes."
Tan finally smiled—a thin, predatory curve of his lips. "Good. That's the only acceptable answer at the Prestige Grand. Now, how about you showing me what exactly you are capable of, and how far you will go to make a customer happy."
The professional veneer evaporated, replaced by the chilling reality of the transaction as he stood and walked around the desk to where she was sitting.
A thick, unwieldy bulge was noticeable in his tailored trousers. "Show me," he instructed, nodding towards his crotch.
She knew what he meant and reached for his belt. Her hands trembled slightly as she unbuckled it and unzipped his pants. He stood still, watching her with those cold, calculating eyes. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her, the weight of his expectation. She pushed his pants down, revealing his cock, hard and ready for her. She looked up at him, her eyes seeking his, and he gave her a small nod of approval.
She wrapped her hand around his cock. It wasn't as big as Erik's but was already glistening with pre-cum. Clearly, he had been mentally undressing her while he was interviewing her.
Megha leaned forward and opened her mouth, her tongue darting out to lick the head of his cock. Tan groaned, his hands finding their way into her hair, his fingers tangling in the dark locks.
She cupped his balls with one hand and started stroking him with the other as he drove his cock down her throat. He groaned again, louder this time, and pulled her head closer, forcing her to take more of him. She gagged slightly but didn't resist. She knew what he wanted, and she was determined to give it to him.
After about five minutes, he pulled out of her and made her stand up. He then turned her around and bent her over the desk.
He pushed her skirt up and pulled her panties down to her knees. He ran his hands over her cheeks, squeezing and spreading them apart as he started rubbing his erection against her pussy.
She heard the rip of plastic as he tore open a condom packet with his teeth and rolled it on. He positioned himself at her entrance, rubbing the head of his cock against her wetness, teasing her.
Megha bit her lip to stifle a whimper.
She felt so exposed, so vulnerable. But she knew what was expected of her. She had to show him that she could do whatever it took to make a customer happy.
Tan positioned the head of his cock at her entrance and pressed forward, filling her in one swift thrust. She gasped, thanking heavens that he had a smallish pecker. A larger one would have ripped her apart. She could feel the length of him, the thickness, the rock-hard stiffness of his cock as he began to move inside her.
He didn't start slow, didn't ease into her. He just started fucking her, hard and fast, his hips slapping against her ass as he pounded into her. She gritted her teeth, trying to adjust to the feeling of him inside her.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck" he grunted with every thrust, his hands gripping her hips so tightly she knew she'd have bruises later. Three minutes later, he stiffened, plunged all the way into her and groaned in pleasure as he came. He stayed buried in her for a few seconds, his body shuddering with aftershocks. Then, he pulled out, leaving Megha feeling empty and used.
"Good girl," he said, his voice smooth and satisfied as he buckled his belt and adjusted his clothes. He turned her around and smacked her ass, hard. "Now get dressed. You've got a job."
Megha nodded, her legs shaking as she pulled up her panties and straightened her skirt. She felt a sense of relief, but also of disgust. She had done what she needed to do, but she still felt dirty. When the door finally closed behind Kenji Tan, Megha was still seated, her hands resting flat on the cool glass desk. The sponsorship papers now had his signature, a sprawling, indifferent authorization that held the entire weight of her future. The air in the opulent office, moments before heavy with unspoken tension, now felt brutally empty. Megha’s mind, always so sharp and calculating, refused to process the last hour. Instead, it fastened onto the single, critical, undeniable fact: she had the job. She had her life raft. She had two months before the papers would be completely processed and she could breathe easy. She stood up, smoothing down her perfectly tailored suit, a professional mask already firmly in place. But she was a fighter and she would survive, whatever it took. When she left the penthouse, she carried the documents and the chilling knowledge that her loyalty to the Prestige Grand was not just a promise, but a proven contract, sealed in a way no paper could ever truly describe.