Chapter 53 Look Up
In Boston, at The Club, Emily ushered Jasmine inside, securing her a relatively easy job as a receptionist.
With her striking features, fair complexion, and fine figure, Jasmine was a standout at the reception desk.
"Being a receptionist is all about image, but it can attract trouble too. If a drunk patron bothers you, don't engage—call me, got it?" Emily, now the Sales Director, had the clout to protect Jasmine.
Jasmine nodded in understanding, "Alright, I got it."
Her gaze flitting momentarily to her phone, Emily rallied a group of attractive girls to entertain the guests.
"Anderson, long time no see! What's your poison tonight? Drinks are on me."
The portly man grinned and wrapped an arm around Emily's waist. "You treating me? I've brought some friends tonight; fetch a couple of sharp ones to join the fun."
With a knowing smile, Emily followed Anderson into the elevator.
Jasmine, positioned at the reception, reflected on the HR department's briefing, committing to memory the faces of key patrons—wealthy clients who couldn't be affronted.
"Where are you from? Being this attractive and staying up front seems like a raw deal," Chloe, the other receptionist, said with a smile.
Jasmine returned the smile, "I'm from out of town."
"A fellow out-of-towner, huh? I'm from Fairtown; beautiful scenery there," Chloe spoke with a bright demeanor; she wasn’t conventionally beautiful but her smile was infectious.
"You know, being a receptionist only pays just over four grand. There’s no commission. With your looks, a bit of socializing over drinks—nothing seedy—and you could clear twenty or thirty grand a month," Chloe remarked upon seeing Jasmine silent, curious why she wouldn't consider being a hostess.
Jasmine shook her head, "I'm allergic to alcohol."
"Oh, that's too bad. But it's alright—we make less, but it's easier work," Chloe said with an understanding nod.
Jasmine glanced at the girl, whispering, "How long have you been here?"
"Me? Been here since I graduated, so nearly four years now." Chloe stealthily passed a piece of gum to Jasmine.
Jasmine murmured a quick thank you as she inquired in a low voice, "Have you seen Henry from SHC Group in the four years you’ve been here?"
The young girl's eyes widened with recognition. "Seen him? Of course! Our club is backed by SHC Group; didn’t you know that? When Mr. Patrick has friends to entertain, this is where he brings them. He's our top client. Didn’t Ms. Blanche fill you in during your orientation?"
Jasmine breathed a sigh of relief and shook her head. Emily had brought her on board, and HR gave Emily the respect she deserved as the sales director, skimping on the usual detailed briefing.
“The manager just notified me that we have a VIP coming tonight, so we both need to be in uniform. I’ll pick up the outfits in a bit,” the girl added.
Jasmine nodded, somewhat reassured. Landing a receptionist position had been a stabilizing moment for her; the company also provided housing. Since Emily was the sales director, she had a private apartment, so being closely associated with her had its perks—Jasmine got to share it.
She calculated that if she worked through this month, she could pocket a paycheck of over three thousand dollars on the fifteenth of the next. She'd save five hundred for herself, and the rest could go to Richard.
Jasmine wondered how Justin was doing. She missed her son terribly, but couldn’t bring herself to call, fearing that hearing his cries would make her yearn to return.
"Jasmine, go get changed. You're tall and slim—I got you a size small. Check if the hem is too short; here are the shoes," Chloe, the other receptionist, said as she handed Jasmine a pair of crystal high heels and a dress. Even receptionists at a high-end club had to meet a strict dress code for a consistently polished look.
"Don't forget to do your makeup. The makeup room is over there. Feel free to use my cosmetics," Chloe, already makeup-ready, looked completely transformed.
Jasmine paused for a moment at the mention of makeup. She realized she had no idea how to apply it. Five years in prison meant no need for cosmetics, and even before that, stage makeup had always been the makeup artist’s job.
She changed into the outfit in the makeup room, feeling awkward as she examined herself in the mirror. The dress was long-sleeved but clung to her contours, highlighting an almost perfect figure...
Her neck was elegantly long—the product of years of ballet training. Her face was attractively small and her complexion fair. Her black hair was tied low behind her ears, and although her lips looked pale, she was nearly flawless—to a point.
Especially those legs.
Jasmine was 5 feet 6 inches tall, not exceptionally so, but her proportions were ideal. Her long legs were striking, except for the bruises that had not yet faded. The dark blotches were a stark reminder of her recent past.
Taking a deep breath, Jasmine tugged the hem of the dress down. But her legs were just too long; the high slits of the dress, cutting up to the thigh, left little to the imagination.
"Jasmine, you ready?" Chloe swung the door open, only to freeze at the sight of Jasmine. "Wait, do you take dance classes or something?"
Speechless, Jasmine shrunk into herself with unease written all over her.
"What's with the bruises on your legs?" Chloe whispered, eyes falling on the marks marring Jasmine's skin.
Jasmine looked down and bit her lip, staying silent.
Digging through her bag, Chloe pulled out a new pair of flesh-toned stockings. "Here, put these on."
"Thanks..." Jasmine murmured as she took the stockings. "I'll... I'll buy you a new pair tomorrow."
"Don't be such a stranger. With your looks, just slap on some lipstick and let's go. Ms. Blanche said the big shot’s arriving soon and we're on greeting duty."
With a nod, Jasmine slipped into the stockings, stepped into the unfamiliar high heels, and applied some lipstick Emily had given her. Her complexion improved instantly, and she cautiously made her way out.
"Well, aren't we minimalist? Just lipstick?" Ms. Blanche, who oversaw the receptionists, gasped at Jasmine's appearance. "Such a shame, such a waste to have you just standing by the door greeting guests."
Jasmine bashfully lowered her head.
"Hurry to the entrance, the chamber of commerce's gala is about to start. We're swarming with VIPs lately, so everyone be on your toes!"
At the mention of the gala, Jasmine’s anxiety spiraled, and her breathing became erratic.
Approaching the entrance unsteadily, she seemed paler with each step.
Six years earlier, she had attended a gala just like this one in Silverlight City—a nightmare for Jasmine. Her facade as an heiress had crumbled, and the crowd mocked and denigrated her, treating her like a court jester at a grotesque feast. It was exactly the spectacle Evan had longed to see.
"Jasmine! The guests are arriving, what's wrong?" Chloe whispered, noticing Jasmine wasn’t herself.
The receptionists were at the forefront, and a distracted Jasmine trailed behind.
"Mr. Patrick, please, this way," Ms. Blanche guided with practiced ease.
"How's the club's reorganization going?" Henry’s assistant inquired. "We don't want to cause Mr. Patrick any inconvenience during the dinner."
"Don't worry, we've been on a hiring and training spree lately; there won't be any issues."
Henry continued into the club, his face stoic, without so much as a glance at the receptionists lined up by the entryway.
In the social echelons of Boston, the Patricks held sway much like the Douglases did in Silverlight City.
The moment Jasmine laid eyes on Henry, she was seized by panic and instinctively lowered her gaze. Now that Henry was actually before her, she was at a loss, uncertain of how to approach him. She knew asking him directly could very likely cost her the job.
Henry stepped forward, then abruptly halted and backpedaled until he was standing in front of Jasmine. She flinched and tried to duck away, but Henry reached out, stopping her. "Look at me," he commanded.
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