Upon entering the company's interior, Ortega was met with a glamorous spectacle. The sleek and modern furniture was tastefully arranged throughout the space, complemented by intricate lighting fixtures that imbued the ambience with sophistication and elegance. The walls were adorned with exquisite artwork and large mirrors, reflecting the fashion-forward atmosphere.
Ortega couldn't help but notice the state-of-the-art technology strategically integrated throughout the showroom. TV screens displayed the latest fashion campaigns, while security cameras discreetly ensured the safety of the high-end merchandise. Humanoid mannequins stood gracefully modeling the latest collections, adding a dynamic element to the space.
As he stepped through the rotating entrance doors, his eyes scanned the area in search of a receptionist. Eventually, they rested on a peculiar-looking lady sitting behind a magnificent mahogany desk. Her dull and lightless voice welcomed him as she went through the digital records, her eyes looking heavy, and her expression worn-out.
"How can I help you?"
"I'm here for my interview... uh, Madame... my name is Ortega Dike," Ortega replied, fiddling nervously with his tie. The lady finally raised her head to face him, her expression still unchanged.
"Take this," she said curtly, handing him a sticker with the number '8' written on it. "Then head to the elevator; the waiting room is on the third floor. Stay there until it's your turn."
Just as he was about to leave, she interrupted him with a serious tone, "Look, I'm still young. So, let's just clear one thing up: Don't ever call me 'Madame' again. Okay?"
As soon as those words left her lips, accompanied by an icy gaze, Ortega shuddered involuntarily. It was evident that she was not someone to be trifled with. He immediately corrected himself, blurting out, "Yes, of course, I understand."
Feeling her piercing gaze on him, Ortega hurriedly nodded and turned to leave, eager to follow her instructions and make a good impression during his interview.
He was in a state of urgency and approached the elevator in a rush. However, when he got there, he was overwhelmed and confused by the many buttons and did not know how to operate the machine. He asked some passersby for help, but everyone ignored him, too busy with their matters to care about his problems. The panic of being late hit him once again, and he began to sweat profusely as his finger wandered indecisively from button to button. It took him quite a long time to finally decide, and just as his shaky index finger made for a green button on the right, a firm hand pressed it before him, causing the elevator to glide open.
Ortega turned around to see who pressed the button and was surprised to see a tall, beautiful woman in full business attire standing next to him. However, the woman had a severe aura about her, and her voice sounded like she meant business when she asked, "You seem unsure. Is there anything the matter?"
"N-no Miss! I'm only confused as it's my first time here," Ortega replied, tensing his shoulders and adjusting his tie.
Without another word, the woman entered the elevator, her heels clicking softly on the polished floor, and Ortega followed, trying to avoid any unnecessary contact. The door closed with a soft whoosh, sealing them both inside. There was a faint, metallic ding as the elevator began its ascent. Ortega felt the slight vibration as it started moving upwards, the sensation adding to his unease.
A soothing melody played in the background, the elevator's attempt at creating a calming atmosphere, but Ortega still felt suffocated by the woman's imposing presence. She stood tall and confident, her posture erect and commanding. Her sharp eyes, a striking shade of purple, glanced at the elevator's timer as it counted the floors up.
She exuded an aura of authority and allure, and Ortega couldn't help but notice her sultry frame. Her figure was slender yet shapely, clad in a tailored business suit that accentuated her curves. He wondered fleetingly if she was a supermodel or perhaps a high-powered executive.
Refusing to be drawn into staring, Ortega focused on his reflection in the polished steel walls of the elevator. His own reflection stared back at him, the early morning stubble on his jaw, and the slight wrinkles under his eyes betraying his tiredness. He adjusted his tie, feeling self-conscious under the woman's sharp gaze.
The elevator continued its ascent, the silence between them thickening with each passing moment. Ortega fidgeted slightly, unsure of what to do or say. The woman remained stoic, her attention seemingly fixed on the floor indicator above the elevator doors.
As they neared their destination, the tension in the confined space seemed to heighten. Ortega found himself eagerly anticipating the moment the elevator doors would open, providing him with an escape from the woman's overpowering presence.
Finally, with another soft ding, the elevator slowed to a stop, and the doors slid open. Ortega stepped out quickly, feeling a rush of relief as he left the woman behind. He hurried down the hallway, not daring to glance back, his heart still racing from the encounter in the elevator.
Ortega walked into the waiting room and was greeted by the stares of young men and women who were all dressed in corporate attire. The room had several working air conditioners and was well-ventilated. Nervous about the scrutiny he was receiving, he quickly made his way to a seat.
As Ortega calmed down, he noticed that the atmosphere in the room was tense and oppressive. Everyone looked their best, with the men wearing posh suits and the women dressed in clean and elaborate work attire. Ortega was the only one who stood out because of his poor dressing, which made him feel inferior.
He checked his watch, which read thirteen minutes past eight. His interview was scheduled for 8 o'clock, but it appeared that the person before him was still being interviewed, which had eaten into his time. He was grateful for that variable because it had saved him from being fired for coming in late.
While he waited for his turn, Ortega decided to go through his prepared answers. He took out his jotter and began to revise his notes.
A minute or two had passed and the door opened. A sharply dressed lady stood at the entrance, she wore glasses and held a tablet against her body. Everyone turned to face her as she called the number '8'. Ortega held his breath and stood up, confirming his presence. The woman then gave a curt nod, beckoning Ortega to follow her. Together, they walked into a private, quiet enclosed meeting room down the hallway.
Ortega's heart raced as he walked into the room. The sight that greeted him made him freeze in his tracks. All the people in the room were women, and they were all stunningly beautiful. But what really caught his attention was the woman in the center. She was the same one he had met just a few minutes ago in the elevator, yet she looked different somehow. More powerful. As if she held the fate of the world in her hands.
"How was this possible?" Ortega wondered, feeling a knot form in his stomach. Hadn't he seen her stay behind? Suddenly, the pressure of the situation hit him like a wave. He had come here to apply for an internship, but now he wasn't so sure he was ready for what lay ahead.
"Ortega Dike, graduate student here to apply for an internship... Let's begin, shall we," he heard the woman's cold voice say. As he stepped into the room, he realized that the challenge ahead of him was going to be very daunting.