The Background Check out-Part 2
David wore the wolf shirt.
He told himself it was coincidence. That he'd grabbed it from the clean laundry pile without thinking. That Amanda,VelvetRope, had been joking. A bluff. A power play to make him squirm.
But when he stepped into the elevator at 8:47 AM, his collar felt tight. His reflection in the brushed steel doors stared back with something too close to hope.
She doesn't know, he reminded himself. She can't.
The elevator stopped on three. A woman stepped in, dark curls, glasses, a lanyard he didn't recognize. She glanced at his shirt, then away. No smile. No sign.
David exhaled. No
By 10:15, he'd convinced himself it was a prank. Some anonymous troll who'd reverse-searched the photo. By 11:00, he was relaxed enough to eat lunch at his desk.
At 11:47, his personal phone buzzed.
The shirt looks better in person. But then again, everything does when the owner has no idea who's watching.
He looked up. The break room had three other people: two guys from IT arguing about keyboards, and a woman with auburn hair reading a paperback at the corner table. She didn't lift her eyes.
Who are you? he typed.
That's not how this works anymore. You don't ask questions. You don't look around like a frightened rabbit. You sit there and you wait for me to tell you what comes next.
His hands were shaking. Please. Just tell me who
No.
The message hung there. Then another.
You wanted the fantasy of no control? Congratulations. You're living it.
David's vision tunneled. Across the room, the auburn-haired woman turned a page. The IT guys laughed at something. The fluorescent lights hummed.
What do you want?
First? Payday.
Not huge, $200. But the message attached made his stomach drop.
Reimbursement for my time. You think domination is free? You think I sit here crafting your fantasy out of the goodness of my heart? No. You pay for the privilege of being owned.
He could refuse. He could block her. He could walk to HR and confess everything like an idiot and burn his life to the ground.
Instead, he sent the money.
Good boy, came the reply. Now for the fun part.
Stand up. Walk to the water cooler. Fill a cup. And when Susan from Marketing walks past, spill it on her notes.
Susan was three cubicles away. Blonde. Loud. Terrifying in a cheerful way.
I can't do that.
You can. You will. And here's the trick, David, you're going to apologize so sweetly, so profusely, that no one suspects a thing. But you'll know. And I'll know. And Susan will pat your arm and say "Don't worry about it!" and you'll feel that hot little twist in your stomach that you pretend to hate.
That's the payment I really want.
He stood up. His knees were liquid.
He walked to the water cooler. He filled a cup. Susan was coming around the corner with a stack of printouts. His hand moved without permission.
The water splashed across her charts.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I'm such a klutz"
She laughed. Patted his arm. "Don't worry about it! It's just the weekly report. I'll reprint."
Don't worry about it.
Exactly as she'd said.
David walked back to his desk in a daze. His phone was already buzzing.
How did that feel?
He typed the truth before he could stop himself: Like falling.
Good. Because we're just getting started. From now on, you don't make a major purchase without my approval. You don't go to lunch without my permission. You don't close your eyes at night until I tell you you're allowed.
And every single day, you'll look at every woman in this office, Jessica, Susan, the auburn-haired one with the book, the redhead in legal, the quiet intern who never speaks, and you'll wonder which one of us owns you.
David stared at the screen. Around him, the office hummed with ordinary life. Phones rang. Keyboards clicked. Somewhere, a woman laughed.
He had no idea who.
And that was the point.
Yes, he typed.
Yes what?
Yes... I don't know what to call you.
Try "Ma'am." And try harder.
Yes, Ma'am.
Better. Now get back to work. I'll text you when I need more.
He set down the phone. He picked up a spreadsheet. And for the first time in his life, David smiled at his desk—a small, terrified, secret smile.
The day had just begun.