Author's Note: This is part one of a two part story. There were many others in the same setting that I had posted to message boards/websites that no longer are operational. A few were saved as I emailed them to myself as part of the upload, this is one such example. I'm re-posting them now as there seems a better community for them and I'm curious of their reception.
Standard disclaimer: Transforming/altering a person's mind/temperament in real life is impossible and morally corrupt. This is in no way an endorsement of such behavior. The characters and setting are entirely fictional, save for the town of Atlantic City itself which doesn't have any mythical hotels, just bankrupt ones.
Questions and comments always welcome through my profile.
*****
Slamming the trunk lid of her car and pivoting toward the elevators, Cheryl Lonsdale made her way through the surprisingly clean parking garage. Travelling for 100 or more days a year had its way of desensitizing a person, and her routine was set in stone as far as checking-in was concerned. Still, the Atlantic City destination was always one of her favorites - never hurt to get a little gambling in on a "work" trip.
This year was the newly built "Atlantisea" resort, complete with four towers cornered like a castle and a large domed structure in between them all, which comprised the casino floor, restaurant areas, and meeting space.
Idiotic name
, she thought to herself as the elevator descended to the lobby area.
Were they going for Fantasy? Atlantis? Just the Atlantic City name in general
? Regardless, she did have to concede the place looked upscale and well-built.
The lobby brought more surprises, in that it was humungous, directly adjacent to the casino floor, and outfitted with a check-in counter that appeared designed to accommodate 15 desk clerks. Despite that, a lone brunette in what appeared to be her late teens, and a man Cheryl assumed to be the manager were the only two present. Their shared laugh as she approached indicated two people who were very close, potentially inappropriately so, she thought. At 29, Cheryl knew the look of a girl with a crush when she saw one. That said, to his credit, the manager appeared to either be willfully ignoring it or just didn't care.
The manager took a step back and gestured theatrically to the desk clerk as Cheryl approached. The man appeared to be in his early thirties, with jet-black hair and green eyes. His complexion was only accentuated by the choice to wear a black suit with a green tie and white shirt, and Cheryl had to wonder to herself whether that was intentional. He wore no name tag or ID of any kind, but was striking and therefor memorable, she supposed. He looked to be about a foot taller than Cheryl, which placed him around 6'3". He seemed some combination of thin and fit, much like Cheryl herself, although obviously his chest wasn't packing the D-cup artillery that Cheryl carried around each day.
Were I not here for work, that would definitely be worth pursuing
, she thought.
What am I thinking? I just need to get my keys, grab a drink from the mini-bar, and sleep until my first meeting. Get a hold of yourself.
"Checking in?" asked the front desk clerk, snapping Cheryl back to reality. She noted her name was "Carla". Cheryl provided the necessary details and was informed that she would be in the "West Tower", then handed her key packet. She asked the difference between the towers and the manager stepped back up to the desk.
"All of our rooms are more-or-less identical in size and shape between the towers. The only differences are the décor, mini-bar, refrigerator, those sorts of things." He smiled in a way that was half amused, half impatient. Cheryl decided to force him to continue talking.
"And is mine the best or the worst, then?"
The man ran his eyes over her body so conspicuously that Cheryl was half tempted to light into him. He seemed to take in the professional slacks, blouse, and her youthful-yet-serious ponytail in seconds, though he lingered on her chest long enough for her to know what had caught his eye. "Given your age, obviously corporate background and what I would guess is a somewhat refined taste..." he winked here for emphasis, and Cheryl began to question why she found this man attractive. "I'd say the West Tower's accommodations will suit you just fine. You'll also find a little lobby bar just off the elevators that you may find worth your while." Another smirk, this one less dressed-up and more obviously impatient. Cheryl took the hint, nodded her thanks, and moved along.
She found the bar before the elevators. Sitting down and ordering a G&T, in classic corporate style, she noted her surroundings more thoroughly - this was definitely the business tower as the strange manager had said. Most of the clientele were men, save for one obvious prostitute at the end of the bar leaning into the ear of a man pushing seventy. Her breasts were practically out of her top and her obviously bottle blonde hair was showing some roots. He didn't seem to care. Beyond that, it seemed to be all wealth and suits just relaxing at the end of their day. She absent-mindedly wondered how many of these men were here for the same conference as her.
"HEY -" Cheryl turned toward the shout and saw it was the older man, sans-prostitute. "How about you?
"Excuse me?"
