Miguel’s new secretary ooh-la-la
(lol /j 💀)
Miguel O’Hara & y/n, any gender or non gender. Very casual writing style. TW Dark humor, dangerous situations, 18+. Y/n are sorta attracted to Miguel (why else would you be here?) but he doesn’t know you lol
This is a loooong read so make sure you have time or something. Also, there’s an illustration in the middle of the chapter! Enjoy
≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋
MIGUEL & YOU
ACT 1 | ALGORITHMIC LOTTERY
It's the year 2110.
You are maneuvering through traffic in a sputtery fashion, the lifter problem in your engine getting so bad it almost sounds like you got rocks under the hood. The podcast is going on about alligators in Nueva York sewers.
“Couldn’t be more wrong,” you mumble, “there’s CROCODILES in the sewers, not alligators.”
You aren’t looking forward to this interview. How the heck did you manage an audition for office secretary to the CEO of Alchemax?!
“I don’t know,” you say aloud to your other self, “but if I get the job, Imma upgrade to a better ride than this heap of Maglev shit…”
But there’s other bitches who want this position. Two of them you are aware of: Syd and Brody. Syd is a real suck up who will say any damn thing to get the position. She out-groveled you and got the lead PR accounting job you wanted. Suck-up Syd is what you call her around your friends. Brody on the other hand is opposite; he thinks he can strong-arm his way into anything and he pretty much has. He’s kicked people down, screwed people over, and there’s a rumor he filed a sexual harassment charge on his friend Ashton just to get the promotion before Ashton could.
These two skanks are gonna be tricky, but that’s the least of why you loathe this whole thing. You also heard that Miguel O’Hara is a hard ass. When he came into power a few years ago, he immediately fired the former secretary for talking about his father in a positive light. Then he proceeded to chew and spit out people who ever had the misfortune of being in that job position.
“Or maybe they just cut their losses after raking in half a billion,” your friend Speshall guessed the last time you seen her, “they prolly couldn’t take the heat for that long so they waited until they were set for life then said something stupid on purpose to get him to let them go. What a retirement plan! To work for the sexiest man of the year then have him berate you on your way out!”
She was always like this.
Anyway, now your car is not being validated in the automated parking center.
“What the HELL?!”
“Sorry, your credit has been declined.”
“Oh fuck me-“
You fumble your lanyard of data sticks. You are looking for the green one, which has a small amount of credit you procured from test playing phone games. You lean out of your car window to bring the green stick drive near the wireless reader.
“Sorry, we cannot accept credit from online gambling. Please use another method of payment.”
“Oh fuck you!”
≋ ≋ ≋ ≋
Now you are walking. You had to park where they don’t give a shit about where your money is from. Alchemax is trying to create a good precedent by not accepting dirty money, but Alchemax, as far as you know, does dirtier stuff for pay. Why the hell is “gambling money” any different?!
Scowling so hard, you almost didn’t notice there’s some douchebag trying to walk close behind you. He probably saw the lanyard of data sticks around your neck, so you fluff your scarf around until they are covered.
“I don’t have any money, muh guy” you say in your heaviest Nueva York accent along with this generations lingo.
“Oh I’m not afta you. I was tryna tell ya there’s this otha weirdo following ya. I’m tryna group up here.”
You know better than to look back. That’s what this fucko wants you to do. He’s probably a flasher, so you walk into traffic.
“Hey that’s dangerous, yo!”
You don’t listen. Cars flying past is not as scary as going up to see the freakin CEO of Alchemax.
No cars hit you, so now you have to face reality. You walk into the Alchemax Business Bureau building (one of hundreds), and wave your ID at the receptionist in the lobby. The receptionist is preoccupied with a lady who has one hand on her hip and the other holding out a holo watch. It’s projecting a screen with a giant hourglass animation flipping over and over.
“I don’t know why it’s so hard to get a damn cup of coffee around here, I just don’t!”
“C’mon it’s not necessary to bring security here, ma’am.”
He remains standing behind his desk and grimaces at you. You really need to get him to validate your ID so you won’t be stopped by security, so you pull up your phone and say to the woman, “you want some coffee coupons for Dunkin Donuts?”
“What?”
You open your savings app and hastily air-swipe several coupons to her holo device like someone flicking bills at a stripper. She stops to look at them.
“A regular frap for half off? Oh woooow, how- will they really honor this?” She asks.
“Yeah! It’s good for two more days, so you may wanna hurry over to the kiosk at the west end.”
“Really?”
“They sell all brands of coffee, they’ll honor it.”
“Well, nevermind, then,” she says curtly to the receptionist as she turns her shoulder away, “Didn’t want hours-old coffee anyway.”
She turns on her fancy heel and trots away. You grin stupidly at the receptionist who rolls his eyes and snatches your ID card from you. He swipes it near his card reader then flicks it back without a word.
After a nod, you swiftly leave down the lobby to the elevator area. You round the corner and see an open elevator closing. It's the only one since the other two are under construction. You rush forward as fast as your legs will allow.
"Wait wait WAIT WAIT!"
The doors are closing and you see the face of Suck-up Syd with her smoky eyes and faux fur capelet. She smiles and does nothing as the doors close.
"Shocking typical," you grumble. But you know where the other elevator is. You take off to the other end of the building for the second set of elevators.
You make it onto the elevator with two other people, some white chick and an Indian dude. The lady sees your pass.
"Going for the secretary job?" She asks.
"Yeah."
“Me too. If I don’t get this, I’m going to jump from this building,” the lady jokes.
“If I get this, I WILL jump from this building,” you add.
“Either way, it's gonna be job security for the custodian department,” the Indian guy says. All three of you chuckle politely.
The elevator lets more people in. You check your phone. You are fucking late by 20 minutes, but so is the lady who wants this job or else. You assume it would have taken a while anyway, since there was about 15 people going in for this very same job. Could it be you?! Could you land this job?! What if your mom was wrong?! And what if O’Hara says yes? What if you are set for life?
The final floor of this elevator is reached. You wobble on your way out. The lady doesn’t move.
“Actually, I can’t do this. I’m going home.”
The elevator doors close and she goes back down. You hear a faint byeeeeeeeeeee as the elevator descends to lower levels. You pay no heed and follow the Indian man into the massive hall.
There’s already chaos. One guy is being escorted out of the lobby by his shirt collar, and he's spouting obscenities. Some lady had dropped all her paperwork and she’s too numb to pick it up again. Two ladies near her are sarcastically wishing each other luck, one of them is Suck-up Syd. She looks 10x more desperate today with her tight-fitting outfit and belt buckle the size of a plate. Her overly fake smile gives you no esteem or hope. You almost sit but realize there’s barf on the chair.
Okay, surely everyone is overreacting in here.
“Man I’m not scared at all. There’s a trick to facing down Alpha males,” says a guy who you didn’t ask.
“Ah, cool.” you say through a grin. It’s Brody. You don’t even have to see him to know he’s there with his overwhelming presence of snobbery.
“See, as a Sigma male,” he continues, leaning on the back of the barf chair to talk to you, “I don’t adhere to the Alpha’s orders. That’s how the pack survives! One guy is an outlier so like if the Alpha fails in his role as leader, the Sigma will show by example and the rest of the females and Betas will follow him-“
“BRODY!”
You and Brody see Ashton in the doorway you came from. Ashton beelines across the room with his briefcase raised high. He brings it down on Brody with a loud clunk and they grapple and exchange blows. You go ahead and sit down perfectly still.
"Oh my GOD!" Suck-up Syd muses. She only sees this as two less competitors. You wince as the men start yelling obscenities at each other in their struggle. The guards who took out the last guy come back in and see this happening and they both huff angrily.
"Next!"
"Ah, that's me!" Syd says, “you guys are welcome to leave, I probably got this in the bag.”
She gets up and thrusts her capelet onto the lobby assistant.
.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙˙ॱ⋅.˳ ˳.⋅ॱ˙˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.
Four hours pass. Brody and Ashton were escorted from the building, those bozos didn’t even get an interview, but it was funny watching Brody get dragged down to hell by a demon he wronged.
Suck-up Syd walked out in tears and a forced smile. You felt bad for making fun of her in the past. She’s just kinda desperate and a little pathetic. You assume groveling doesn't work on the boss.
Other people came and went swiftly. The cheerful Indian man from earlier left looking surprised at his failure. The lady who dropped all her crap earlier apparently already had an interview and was reeling from her bad luck. You understand their disappointment since being chosen for this position was like winning the lottery, except you don't know if you won or not.
“Next!”
Your stomach twists but you refuse to be like them. This is just a job. You’ll be answering phones, emails, and possibly even mailing some dry cleaning. No big fuckin deal.
You thank the lobby assistant but she ignores you and walks away. She is just doing her job. She looks very tired of everyone else’s shit and is probably glad it's over. You walk to the elevator where the second to last person is taking baby-steps, talking on his phone with someone nursing his wounded pride. That could be you in a minute.
I'm probably not gonna get it either, you think, but I'm going down with some dignity.
You work yourself up as you step into yet another elevator, this one glass paneled. You stare across Nueva York as you ascend, contemplating your future. So what if you don't make it? You will simply fall back to your job and go about your life. Your mom will say she's right about the invitation being a fluke. You will go back to paying off debts and supplementing your food budget by testing mobile phone games during work hours and before you go to sleep. You see your own reflection, no longer as young as you used to be, and you sigh.
The glass doors open behind you. You walk through another set of foggy glass doors. Despite your self pep talk, you are still not looking forward to this. You've seen pictures of Miguel O'Hara before; over 6 feet tall, wide shoulders that could support an ox yoke, and a presence so large one would think he could go toe to toe with Godzilla. How will the interview go? You imagine fire. You expect a demon sitting behind a black marble desk in the darkness, a horrendous mob boss wearing Scarface attire, spitting fiery facts and passing cruel judgment, his horns ascending at the heavens with searing indifference and contempt for mercy. You expect a fax machine in the corner that will print out your death.
This is not what you see.
There he is, in this meager temp office sitting behind a tiny desk covered in empty water bottles. His shoulders are wider than the desk, but he's scrunching them in to seem normal. He's wearing a regular dress shirt, no tie. No fancy jewelry either, just some off-brand oversized watch on his left wrist. He looks disappointed already, but not at you. He’s squinting down at some of the tiny desks’ interactive holo-projections. You see your name on one of the files he’s peering at through comically large anti glare glasses.
You don’t sit. You are too stressed. He hasn’t noticed you. He picks up one of the water bottles and carefully opens it with his monster hands. They look travel-sized compared to him. He sips it and notices you.
“Hello!” You greet.
He finishes it in two gulps and sets it down slowly, as to not disturb the other bottles.
“Okay I don’t have a lot of time left, so let’s cut through here… you work for the guys in the PR department-“
“Ah yeah, they are a very friendly bunch down there! That is until you get to know them!” You blurt out. He looks up at you with tired eyes and swipes through the files without looking at them.
“Says here you were demoted from vice head PR accounting a while back, but you attached a note saying you have an alibi? Let’s hear it.”
“Uhhh.”
“C’mon I don’t have all day.”
“There was a payment discrepancy, uh, I was given a raise but I noticed my boss didn’t update it for a whole month. He was on vacation and wasn't answering my calls, so... since he left the finances to me I updated it myself… And I got into trouble BUT it was technically not embezzlement, so I was given an ultimatum to either move to a lower department or get fired, so-“
“Self-reliant. Got it. There's a note from your current department head saying she's been notified anonymously that you've been paying for Alchemax home services with gambling money, what do you have to say about that?"
"I- that is a th- thing with SoloGameMedia, ah, they are a parent company to a gambling franchise, therefore every transaction from them is registered as gambling profit- but I test games with- from them directly! It's a side hustle- thing, I- that, I DO NOT playtest games during work hours! Only on-"
"Why do you think I should hire you?”
You are caught off guard by the most basic interview question.
“Hhhhhh WELL… because you need a secretary now?”
He’s already looking back down at the files again. You can see NYPD files, apparently he’s now looking at your small criminal record. You also notice his shirt is unbuttoned on the top. For curiosity's sake, you discreetly raise up on your toes to see down his cleavage. It's deeper than you expected. One mighty flex and that shirt will send buttons flying everywhere. He looks back up as you quickly drop back down on your heels.
“Yeah. Mmm. Ok. So you are way in over your head in college and credit debt, you have been gambling as a means to get by- really don’t care about that, and you did not dispute your boss's ultimatum when you had the chance."
"Wait, what?"
"Four years ago, when your boss gave you the ultimatum to get demoted or get fired. His proposal was ILLEGAL."
Your gut twists.
"That- that was illegal?!"
"You had six months to report him and you didn't. Why?"
"Be- because I just thought he was being fair, I-"
"I'm sorry, but you got screwed."
He looks sincere behind those nerdy lenses with his pout lips. You really want to throw something right now.
“I… oh…”
"Look, the most I can do is re-open your case," he says as he pushes his glasses back up his nose bridge, "You might get a small settlement out of it, but even that isn't guaranteed."
"So... I'm not getting the job?"
"How do you expect to get hired with such an unexceptional history of white collar crime and a meek attitude that's gotten you nowhere? Hey Lyla? Is this all we have?”
An AI assistant pops up from the interactive desk.
“This is the last one, sir.”
“Okay, cool. Look I’m sure you’re actually great at your job, but I have places to be-“
“Wha- well so do I!”
“Uh huh, nice talking to you,“ he scoots his chair back and hits his knee on the tiny desk, sending empty bottles scattering all over the room. He cringes.
“Well if I’m so unexceptional, why was I accepted for an interview?!”
“I’m gonna guess because of some algorithmic lottery? Probably to do with the amount of experience you have in your department, I dunno,” He guesses as he attempts to gather the bottles by sweeping them under the desk with his shoes, “If you wanna blame someone for the short interview time, thank those other time-wasters who came before you. I gotta go.”
“Now WAIT a… minute”
He stands up from his tiny desk as you say that. He’s towering over you with a tired expression and loose strands of hair about his face.
“What?” He asks, all friendliness gone.
“Can we continue this interview at a different time? You obviously haven’t found a secretary you want, but you still need one, right?! I could be the one you need even if I’m not the one you want!”
It takes every inch of your being to not slap yourself on the forehead. He is scrunching his nose, squinting down at you with mild contempt. You get a good look at his sharp, broad temples and cheekbones, complete with a hardened jaw. His thick dark lips are pulled to one side in annoyance and are accentuated with a pair of jowls that look poised to bite at any time like some kind of deep sea angler fish. His eyes are very dark. They almost look red…
His expression goes blank as he sighs.
“Okay.”
“Great! Ah, when?!”
“Tomorrow, same time.”
“Grabsolutely- Great- fantastic! I won’t let you down!”
“Uh huh.”
He leaves. You assume you should leave too. You awkwardly follow him. He grabs his coat off a nearby chair, and you get a brief display of his amazing body shape as he flips the coat over his shoulders. You avert your attention to the floor, already feeling disrespectful after having looked down his shirt. Now you are both in the elevator. You are doing all in your power not to pass out over your small lucky break.
O’Hara pretends you aren’t there as he looks at his phone and chats with his AI assistant.
“Lyla, push the evening meeting to tomorrow as well, except an hour earlier.”
“Roger that!”
“I need coffee.”
“Roger that also!”
“Please, PLEASE tell them to not add cream. I really hate when they do that.”
You wanna ask him if he’s lactose intolerant but you already pushed your luck today.
Apparently he is exiting the building in the same way you are going, but he's booking it with long ass strides and it's difficult to keep up. You both end up on the same elevator again, this time with other people. He awkwardly acknowledges you with a blank smirk and brow raise, then promptly looks back down at his phone. Everyone else is trying not to bother him.
"Hello, Mister O'Hara, I didn't realize you were here! Hi!" says a lady who is shooting her shot at a social connection (she totally knew he was there.)
"Ah, hey. Miss...?"
"Stacy Brian! We met at the Student Festival earlier this year."
"Oh, right, right! Miss Brian, how are you?"
"Doing well! I didn’t know you wore glasses!"
"Oh- I totally forgot these were on my face," he admits while taking them off and trying to find a place to stash them, "I actually don’t wear glasses, it's- um, I have issues with bright computer screens."
You discreetly watch him in the elevator wall reflection as he quickly swaps the lenses out for a pair of red sunglasses. The elevator doors open and everyone flows out into the foyer. You realize you never got his card.
"Hey one more thing, sir!" You call out to him.
"What?"
"I don't have your number! What if we need to reschedule?!"
"Ah, right. Get your phone out, please."
He turns back around and searches for something on his phone. With a swift flick of his hand, he air drops his ID and number to your device.
"Thank you!"
"¡De nada!"
He swiftly leaves through the front doors and trots down the steps. You watch this huge marvel of nature hail a cab. The automated transporter car is so small that he has to bring his shoulders in tight to fit through the doorway. This seems to have more to do with him not wanting to snag his nice jacket.
A man of this position and wealth... hailing a cab? Must be in THAT much of a hurry. You look down at the data he sent you. His ID photo looks like they took his picture after pulling an all-nighter, and his half-hearted smile reveals his crooked teeth. But somehow he still looks great in an unconventional way.
•°《💀》°•
You drive home, feeling both anxious and also deflated. Miguel O'Hara was a mixed bag of what you expected. Speshall hyped him up as a sexy hunk of the year and Brody felt so intimidated that he went on an unwarranted Alpha Male rant, but the guy was so awkward with his tiny desk and water bottles and weird glasses, and he was whining to his AI helper about his coffee. He’s a large… finicky… lactose-intolerant nerd, but he's also got the moxy to move mountains. What’s more, now ya gotta think of what to say to him in the next interview. What could be expected of a guy like that? What if he cancels the meeting and your chance is lost forever?
Your car makes it home and you sit in it for a moment. Speshall left you a text asking about the interview.
Went weird, you text back.
"Welcome back, tenant 27," the AI apartment valet greets.
You open your car door and notice you've been parked over the grates again. You remember when you last dropped your phone in this spot, the fucking thing went right in between the grate holes and you couldn’t get it back for a week. You have the presence of mind to upload the latest bit of information (O'Hara's phone number) to your data cloud.
You walk through the parking garage. You know all the safe routes. It didn’t matter who you were, Nueva York was never safe at night.
You hear footsteps to your left but it’s just a couple of people walking together, a man and woman trying to huddle. The garage opening is just ahead. You go ahead and march out, not looking back.
You step out into the warm breeze of middle-class Nueva York. The wind is artificial, billowing from the hydro-electric plants that keeps this city running. It took you forever to get here, a lot of cheap-skating, white lies, and debt piling to maintain this life, but you are here! Unapologetic holo screens buzz near you as you walk, begging you to spend money as they light up the way to your apartment. There's no point in tapping their "no" buttons since that just wastes your time. The screens showcased brand-new cars, beautiful clothes, and radiant health. If you had more money, at least some of that could be yours. You hate that people roll around in all the wonderful things this world has to offer while you have to make do with decade old clothing and over-processed food. Where the hell is everyone getting it all from? When the hell will you get yours?
“Hey! Wanna buy a shared data cloud?!”
You are now being bothered by a salesman. You say nothing and keep walking. Even saying no opens more dialogue. He gives up but another comes at you.
“Wanna be a part of the elite task force that edits any and all articles about Thor?! It’s a paying job! $100 an hour!”
As dystopian as it sounds, $100 an hour won’t get you far in Nueva York, not in this era of quadrillionaires.
“Hey, I saw ya on da street earlier! Ya walked into traffic!”
You accidentally glance over at the familiar voice talking about the familiar subject. He’s got you. Your eyes are fixated on a creepypasta face, his irises flashing in a hypnotic pattern. This was way worse than the idea of the guy being just a flasher.
He’s a black market demon. The worst street hawker known to man.
You can’t remember much else besides him taking you by the hand and leading you away.
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Next: ACT 2 | BLACK MARKET DEMONS
