Demon’s Choice (Club Decadent Skies #4)

Chapter One

Xia

CyberCo Tech Enterprises, The Oliver Tech otherwise, I would’ve lost that too. ”

The reality was, she still might... if she didn’t find a job soon.

Walking through the revolving glass doors, Xia’s mind drifted back to her glory days at GlobalTech Solutions.

She had swiftly climbed the corporate ladder after completing her MBA from Tulane University, where she graduated summa cum laude.

Before that, she had earned her Bachelor’s in Marketing and Communications from LSU.

At GlobalTech, she led the marketing team that had launched its revolutionary cloud computing platform.

The campaign had exceeded targets by 200%, earning her the coveted Marketing Excellence Award.

Under her leadership, the team had secured three Fortune 500 clients and expanded into international markets.

“Please clear your desk at the end of the day. Unfortunately, we’ve had to make some tough decisions. You were one of them, and we can’t afford to keep you on. You’ll receive the same severance package as the rest of the staff, but this is officially your last day.”

The words still echoed in her head. No warning, no prior explanation beyond corporate restructuring. Just a cardboard box and a severance package.

The following months became a blur of interviews. Tech startups said she demanded too high a salary. Mid-sized companies feared she would leave when something better came along. Small businesses couldn’t match her level of expertise.

“We’re looking for someone with less... experience,” they said with polite smiles that didn't reach their eyes.

The late-night drinking spree two weeks ago with her best friend since school, Cheri Butler, blared through her mind, mocking her for even considering this move, but as the saying went, desperate times made for desperate measures.

Xia wobbled on the barstool as she reached for the shot glass.

Neither of them made a habit of drinking like this, but tonight the demons were winning.

She noticed the slight tremor in Cheri’s usually steady hands.

There was darkness lurking behind her friend’s forced smile.

Something was off. She made a mental note to ask about it when they were both sober.

“People are fucking assholes,” Cheri growled, slamming down her fifth tequila shot.

Her normally perfect posture gave way to a slight slump.

“You’re a brilliant market strategist.” She jabbed her finger in Xia’s general direction, missing twice before managing to poke her nose. “But I’ve got a solution.”

Xia giggled as the room spun slightly. “Shoot. I’ll take anything at this point; I’m that desperate.” She squinted, trying to focus. “Except clean bedpans. No fucking way, not even for the most sought-after Trauma Specialist in New Orleans.”

Cheri straightened, suddenly serious. “No bedpans, but those people? Salt of the earth.” She hiccupped. “We should all aspire to be like them.”

“Well s-said, sister.” Xia’s tongue refused to cooperate. She gripped the edge of the bar to steady herself. “Still waiting on this solution of yours.”

“Right! So, Club Decadent Skies.” Cheri’s eyes lit up as she leaned forward conspiratorially.

“You know I joined as a member of the club recently. Not that I’ve had time to go on one of their sky trips,” she said with a pout.

“Their GoldenEye Airbuses fly from New York, Miami, and L.A. And now?” She paused for dramatic effect.

“They’re launching a new club from New Orleans!

” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Finally, I’ll be able to get value from my membership. ”

Xia’s head dropped to the bar with a soft thud. “Nice one... rub it in, why doncha? You told me what those memberships cost. I can’t afford it. Not anymore. You know that.”

“No, no, listen!” Cheri grabbed her shoulder. “I heard they’re hiring! Inflight staff positions.”

“What kind?” Xia lifted her head. “I’m not becoming some club sub.”

“Of course not. They’re looking for bartenders, waiters, coordinators, flight attendants...” Cheri’s voice trailed off as she tried to remember more positions.

Xia’s face crumpled along with the brief hope that had flared inside her. “I need a real job, Cheri. Part-time won’t cut it. Two more months and the car goes up for sale.”

“But that’s just it.” Cheri gripped both her shoulders. “They pay top dollar, danger pay for flying, and double the rate for weekend trips.” She waited until Xia met her eyes. “You can still job hunt, but this could keep you afloat.”

“Danger pay?” Xia’s eyebrows shot up.

“Something about liability insurance for working long hours in the air.” Cheri shrugged, nearly losing her balance. “The owner is a friend of my cousin, so I can put in a good word for you. Just promise you’ll think about it?”

Xia looked around the impressive lobby, with Cheri’s words keeping her from turning tail. The tequila had long since worn off, but her situation hadn’t changed, and the reality of her future remained stark.

“I can’t believe I’m here without knowing what position I’m applying for,” she muttered as she checked her reflection in the elevator’s mirrored walls.

The chic business suit was probably not the right choice for the kind of job she was being interviewed for, but it was too late now.

“Six years of higher education, multiple industry certifications, and here I am, potentially on the cusp of becoming a mixer of drinks.”

Bartending had helped pay for her college tuition. It was as noble a job as any student could wish for. It had paid well, so she shouldn’t be scoffing at it.

“But fuck me... where’s the challenge in that? My brain needs strategic stimulation.” Her lips thinned as she walked down the hallway in search of the CEO’s suite. “There’s a perfect job out there for me. I know it. Patience is all I need. Soon, all this will be forgotten.”

The modern architecture of the building took her breath away. Floor-to-ceiling windows flooded the white marble floors with natural light, creating an almost ethereal atmosphere. Sleek aluminum accents complemented the minimalist white furniture scattered throughout the lobby.

Following the directional signs, she located the CEO’s office suite on the top floor and headed toward the elevator, deliberately keeping her mind blank on the ride up.

The moment she stepped through the heavy oak doors of the suite, the stark contrast hit her.

Gone was the modern aesthetic, replaced by old-world elegance.

Dark hardwood floors stretched beneath her feet, while masterpieces by Monet and Van Gogh adorned the walls.

The natural light filtering through tinted windows cast a warm glow over the traditional furnishings.

An attractive middle-aged woman looked up from behind a massive oak desk as she approached. “Good morning,” she smiled warmly. “May I help you?”

“Morning, I’m Xia Foster. I have an appointment with Mr. Oliver.”

“Ah, yes, Ms. Foster.” The woman consulted her computer screen. “I’m Mr. Oliver’s executive assistant, Vee Harris. Please take a seat. Mr. Oliver is finalizing another interview and will be with you shortly.”

Xia sank into one of the leather armchairs, immediately curling her fingers together in her lap. “Get it together, woman,” she muttered. “This is ridiculous. You’ve been to tens of interviews and never once were you this anxious. It’s just a stupid bartending job at best.”

But the nervousness persisted, gnawing at her empty stomach.

When was the last time she ate a proper meal?

She glanced down at her suit. It was now hanging loser than when she bought it seven months ago.

The forced diet had melted away thirty pounds, transforming her from overweight to what fashion magazines might diplomatically call curvy or chubby, as she phrased her newly shrinking figure.

Dark circles lurked under her eyes, which she carefully concealed with makeup.

Sleep had become a luxury she couldn’t afford, and her nights were spent tossing and turning, worrying about bills and her dwindling savings.

Stress and irregular meals induced headaches that were now constant companions.

“The reality is, if I don’t get a job,” she said sotto voce as she smoothed her skirt for the hundredth time, “I’ll either be homeless or a size zero. Neither option appeals to me.”

Heavy oak doors swung open as Rex Oliver strode into the reception area.

He dominated the space with his presence—all six-foot-three of solid muscle barely contained by a charcoal Tom Ford suit.

His clean-shaven head and strong facial features gave him an intense, almost predatory look, softened only slightly by a well-groomed stubble along his jaw.

Dark eyebrows framed deep-set onyx-colored eyes that held an unnervingly direct gaze as they assessed her.