Not Safe For Work (All Calls Are Monitored Book 1) Read online

  EPISODE ONE

  NOT SAFE FOR WORK

  ALL CALLS ARE MONITORED

  J. J. HUNT

  Copyright © 2017 Joseph Hunt

  Text written under J. J. Hunt

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, copied, or stored in any form or by any means without permission of the author. Your respect and support of the author is appreciated.

  All characters, events, brands, companies, and locations in this story are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual people are purely coincidental. This book is satire based on experience of working in a corporate call centre.

  If you are under the age of eighteen (18), then you cannot read any further. This literature is of an adult nature, containing sexually explicit scenes and language unsuitable for anyone under eighteen (18).

  18+ ONLY

  ALL CALLS ARE MONITORED

  Not Safe for Work

  Books by Joseph James Hunt

  Prom Queen of Disaster

  Rumour Has It

  Welcome to Fling

  The #1 app on the market.

  Meet people and rent pleasure rooms,

  But don’t get too close; there are no strings attached.

  HAVE A FLING TODAY

  Episode One

  NOT SAFE FOR WORK

  Navigate the corporate minefield of FLING, an app for every kink and every taste. Whoever said you can’t sleep your way to the top was lying, at FLING, the only way to get ahead is by giving head, and a sex addiction is an occupational hazard.

  Join Max, Thea, and Ollie, as they join the customer service team, only to find everyone, including management, are batshit crazy.

  Rules of employment:

  Use the app

  No relationships

  Follow all orders

  It’s NOT SAFE FOR WORK to break the rules.

  Welcome to Fling

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  About the Author

  ONE

  Maxwell ‘Max’ Harris threw himself across the messy hotel bed, careful not to crease the shirt he’d ironed. He slammed a finger on the space key of his laptop, playing a video he’d paused. A cheerful jingle came from his speakers, louder than anticipated. Since offered the job as a customer service advisor at Fling, he’d watched their welcome video twelve times.

  The video continued in an American accent, with much needed pep for corporate customer service. “Here at Fling, we know our customers, it’s why we add new features, for you! Single, married, or DTF; down to fling! We have something for you! Our triangle of sex scheme, or TSS, allows you to swap and share lovers. A timeshare on sex for a slight fee! You can’t beat it, unless you’re beating yourself off, but we’d rather do that for you. Join Fling today and match with like-minded sexual partners in your area.”

  He tried not to watch, threading his tie into a giant knot as he spent focus on the screen. Everyone in the video smiled with the brightest white teeth, a contrast to their bronze skin; American ideals, but in London, England, he was far from the beaches of Florida or California.

  Max couldn’t place the accent from the video; all Americans sounded the same to him, unless they were from Texas, not because the Texan accent was strong, but because if someone was from Texas, they would make you aware of it within the first five seconds of meeting them.

  Max left his life at a moment’s notice in West Yorkshire, a humdrum life where he perfected an accent unlike his family members, and he was sure they resented him for it, not only did he want out of West Yorkshire, but he wanted out of any ties from there. His dream to live in London was coming to fruition, even if he was working forty-hour weeks in a call centre, it was step one. Step two was to land a role on a TV show he’d grown up watching.

  He gathered his dirty clothes into a bag, and packed another with the essentials; laptop, a pair work clothes he didn’t wear, he’d packed them as a first day option, and toiletries; taking the additional hotel soaps and shampoos with him. With his bags hooked over his arm, he did a final sweep, making sure he wasn’t leaving anything.

  The mirrored elevator doors gave Max a skewed look at himself. He straightened his tie and collar. He stood six-foot in his shiny black work shoes with a slight heel. On the 14th floor, he watched as the numbers flashed for the 3rd floor. He puffed and pulled at the cuffs of his shirt and jumper, stretching out creases he’d missed.

  Tapping his foot as the elevator found the 14th floor. Inside, soft jazz played. Max closed his eyes, keeping himself from looking at another distorted reflection of himself. He scratching as his chin, feeling for the sharpness of facial hair he’d missed while shaving.

  The receptionist stood from behind her desk as the elevator doors open. She pushed her blonde hair behind an ear and smiled. “Good morning. How was your stay?”

  Max approached her, placing his bags on the floor. “It was good, thank you.” He dug around in his pocket for the room key. “What time does the breakfast bar open?”

  Her shoulders and chest fell as she sighed, offering a sympathetic look. “Usually, 7 A.M., but it’s closed today.”

  He handed her the room key. “That’s fine.” Above the reception desk was a large notice, advertising services of the hotel, including extra nights and free Wi-Fi. “I paid for my room last night, how much would another night be?”

  She scanned the card. “At the current rate, it would be fifty-five pound.” She glanced up at the notice above her station. “That’s for our business members. I see you purchased parking, and another night would be ten pounds.”

  “I paid twenty-three pounds all in last night.”

  Her face brightened, staring at the computer. “I see,” she said. “That was our late-night rate, anything after 8 P.M. If you book now, it would be at full rate.”

  “And if I come back later?”

  “Absolutely. But only if we have rooms available.”

  He pulled his bags back on his shoulder. “Great! And the carparking is on the underground level?”

  “Sure.” Her smile forced her eyes to squint. “Have a great day!”

  Nothing would bring Max down, even thinking about sleeping in his car overnight, which he assumed he’d end up doing. He’d saved enough money to stay in a low-budget hotel for at least three weeks, and only if he didn’t eat. His stomach growled at him, and without coffee, it continued roaring away. He resorted to some old granola bars in the car glovebox, a chance encounter, there was one left.

  Oliver ‘Ollie’ Lee lived with his new friend, and work colleague, Theodora ‘Thea’ Clarke. They’d yet to see how their now jobs would look up close. From the London-based Fling HQ, they’d captured glimpses of neutral décor in offices and the Pantone chart of beige in the reception area, but nothing as spectacular as they pink and blue from the app.

  They sat at the breakfast bar in their apartment with a laptop playing the introduction CD about their new workplace. They lived above ‘Wine N Beer’, an alcoholic beverage shop, and after listening to the CD, Ollie wanted nothing more than to pour vodka on his Cornflakes.

  “Howdy do, I’m Thea, and how can I help y’all.” Thea spread jam on a slice of toast, shaking her head as Ollie played the CD again. “I hope they don’t make us speak like that.”

  “It’s more like, hey y’all, my name is Ollie, and how can I service you?” he mimicked.

  “Service?” Thea asked, chomping on her toast.

&
nbsp; “To help.” Ollie pressed his laptop shut. “Is it racist?”

  She swallowed hard on the food. “Americans are not a race. Are they?”

  He shrugged, spooning cereal into his mouth as stray pieces fell from the spoon and on his jumper. He batted at it with the back of his hand, thumbing at the milk.

  The email told them to dress business casual; the worst dress code possible, not because it meant there was a smart element, but because of the casual, and almost every idea of casual was different. Ollie wore a shirt without a tie and a thick knitted jumper, along with black jeans and a pair of brown brogues. Business casual for a girl was more of a minefield, but to always follow the golden rule; below the knee. Thea worked internships before, she knew the ropes; dressed in a white blouse with a black jacket and matching black pants.

  “Are heels sensible?” Ollie asked.

  Thea combed her fingers through her hair, looking at Ollie through the mirror on the wall. “I’m not playing football or going running,” she scoffed.

  They lived in Kingston upon Thames, an area of London, and near the Beechwood Business Centre, their new work place; ten minutes by car, fifteen minutes by foot, and seven minutes by tube.

  The Beechwood Business Centre was a seven-storey office block. On glass beside the entrance, in all its glory, the names and logos of the companies. PROT3ECT, an insurance company with a tagline reading more like a rejected Terminator plot ‘you’re broken; we got your back!’ and CHOC-A-BLOC, a logo decorated with a swirl of icing and the tagline, “why one? You can have several”, the holy words of emotional eaters. FLIRT had the largest sign, with their tagline, “get laid today” – simple and straightforward.

  Ollie and Thea entered the building with giant smiles on their faces. An elderly woman sat at the reception desk, she presented them with the visitor log for Fling.

  “Scan these beside the elevator, floors five and six. Six for the reception of Fling.” She handed them their visitor passes. “Good luck.”

  They rushed off.

  Thea wiped her sweaty palms down her pants. “I don’t know why I’m nervous.”

  “New job nerves.” Ollie scanned his pass and the elevator dinged.

  The interior of the elevator was completely mirrored. As they turned, their reflections reflected on other mirrors. Ollie noticed the milk stain on his jumper in the new fluorescent lighting.

  Straight to the sixth floor. Bright and spacious, all the furniture as they’d last seen, white on beige, with no blinds or curtains to restrict the light. They joined Max, already seated in the waiting area before the receptionist’s desk. Max sat with his head back, looking at the panelled ceiling. He rubbed his hands across the white leather chair, chewing on his bottom lip.

  A squeal broke from the receptionist. “Two more newbies!” A slender woman jumped from behind the desk. She wore a black and white striped t-shirt beneath a white jacket, buttoned at the middle. “I remember you two!” She tucked her mousy brown hair behind her ears and gave Ollie and Thea her jazz hands, waving hello.

  They strode to the reception desk.

  “I’m Oli—ver, I’m Oliver, but I prefer Ollie.”

  “I know, I know.” She gestured to the seats. “Need anything?” She looked them over. “And Theodora.”

  “Thea,” she said with a smile.

  They took seats close to Max, returning to the quiet again as the receptionist sat behind her desk. “Oh,” she squealed once more. “I’m Rosie, and I’m the receptionist, obvs!” She pointed the badge on her jacket lapel. “You’ll be welcomed into the family in just a tickle.”

  “I’m Max,” he spoke up, shaking hands with Thea before standing to shake hands with Ollie. “Just us three?”

  “They interviewed so many people,” Thea said, looking around the large empty reception area. “I don’t even have much customer service experience.”

  Max slapped his hands on the arms of the leather seat. “This is such a nice place. I’ve worked in customer service before, but this is one of the nicest call centres I’ve ever seen.”

  Rosie gasped She launched over the desk and jumped between the three of them. “It’s not a call centre.” She threw her head back and spat out a single laugh. “No, this is Fling, we make dreams come true, we make people believe good sex is out there, and we make sure they find it, this isn’t a call centre, this is the future of pleasure.”

  A whooshing from the double doors behind the seats pulled their attention. An oval-faced woman, wearing a tightly cinched red corset over her clothes, providing her with a similar shape to the number eight. “Good morning, my little cherub-faced darlings!” The expanse of her voice ate into the space around them, hitting at a sharp nasal tone.

  They squinted, her voice was coarse against their eardrums. They smiled and bobbed their heads at her, each of them standing to her attention.

  “I’m Candice Waterhouse.” She wobbled. Her thick curly black hair, sprouted and scooped up in a bun on top of her head, shook but stayed in place from the heavy-duty hairspray. “And if I’m sweet on you, call me Candy.” She winked.

  Their eyes, collectively, were too busy by how she’d dressed to notice much of what she’d said. Distracted by the corset as it boosted her bust and sat her weight heavier on her hips; they didn’t know where to look. Her long flowing black dress-skirt gave her the appearance of a live-action role player, or a day walker.

  “I see you’ve met, Rosie,” she said. “The best receptionist we could ask for, an absolute star, if she wasn’t here, we’d die!”

  Rosie laughed. “And without Candy, we’d fizzle.”

  Max, Ollie, and Thea glanced at each other, unsure about their new surroundings, from what they lacked in décor, they made up for in wacky employees.

  “Come along.” Candy gestured with her hands, pulling them forward. “Come along, children.”

  Candy turned 27 a month ago, making her only four years older than Thea and Ollie, both 23, and six years older than 21-year-old Max. And yet, they would all think she were almost twice their age, if not, then in her thirties.

  She led them through the double doors and across a long corridor, it was full of doors and glass window panes; each window blacked out, and each door with a gold name plaque.

  “These are finance, admin, marketing, pre—” Candy drawled off into a yawn. “Pretty much, the worst places, but you’ll be with us.” They reached a second set of double doors. She scanned her key card across a sensor and the door bleeped, opening for them to see. “This is the best place you’ll find yourself, among other information specialists.”

  “Information specialist?” Thea questioned quietly, overhead by Max and Ollie as pulled their faces like schoolboys behind Candy’s back.

  More offices lined the outside, and instead of the blacked windows, light shone through freely, brightening the large centre, the hub of action. Around the half-walled control room in the centre were desks, computers, and chairs; at a quick glance, over a hundred of them, but if counted, there were only fifty.

  Candy sniffed the air. “Smells like home, right?” She chuckled, scooping an arm around the newbies. “I’ll show you around later.” She directed them away and into a bright room full of computers and desks.

  “Smells like paper,” Max whispered, taking it all in before Candy pushed them inside the room.

  Candy stood at the front of the room and held her hands high above her head. “This is my flingshot to success studio.” She took a bow, but there was no clapping to warrant it. “I’ll teach you everything you need to know in this room. Look around.”

  Along the exterior wall, it was pure glass from floor to ceiling. There were two lines of desks, each with four computers, and at the front of the room there was Candy’s desk with a larger computer hooked up to a projector on the ceiling. The interior wall was also made of glass, three large single panes of glass, and inside those glass panes were venetian blinds.

  “Nice view.” Ollie pressed his face
against the glass, looking to the ground.

  Candy snapped her fingers. “I have your key cards. You can return the visitor passes. These will give you access to the fifth and sixth floor, but the fifth floor is for IT and servers, don’t go down there, they’re private people.” She laughed and threw a hand to her chest. A button on her corset popped, flying across the room. “Oops! Guess my boobs gained the five pounds I lost.”

  They didn’t know whether to laugh or ask if she needed help, so they did neither.

  “Take a seat, take a seat, there’s plenty of space.” She gestured to the computers around the room. “Second thought, stay on the first row. I’ve got undiagnosed ADHD, if you’re all spaced apart I won’t be able to pay attention to any of you.”

  They sat on the front row, Max, Ollie, and Thea, in that order. They’d barely uttered more than a few words to each other, but they knew what they’d been thinking with their sideways glances.

  “I’ll be riiiiiiight back!” She galloped out of the room on an imaginary stead in her grasp.

  Ollie slapped his hands on the desk. “Whoa. That’s intense.”

  “She’s intense,” Thea added, pawing at the cuffs of her blouse. “I mean, she’s wearing a corset.”

  “Aren’t they supposed to go under the dress?” Max asked.

  Thea threw her hands up over her head and pushed her hair back. “I’m having second thoughts. Maybe this isn’t for me.”

  “Looks like she’s about to attend a fancy-dress competition. One of those fayres in the middle of the forest,” Ollie chuckled.

  Thea wiggled her eyebrows at Ollie. “You know all about those?”

  “It was a society at university,” he said, “trust me, I don’t know anything. I’m sure you had them at university as well?”

  “I didn’t go to university,” Max said.

  They turned to him, creasing their brows in concentration as they stared.