The Nation's Jackpot Girl (BWWM)

REYNOLDS CLOTHING'S COMPANY

(CEO: Marcel Reynolds)

Jocelyn's POV

"Another fucking day of being an independent citizen," I tiredly jerk up from the bed. Being independent is not as easy as I have always thought.

Here I am in this tiny apartment, wondering how I will cope without someone to depend on. It all feels new to me, and I am still trying to adapt to the situation. I smile because even if the apartment is small and needs a little spark, it gives me a sense of freedom I never had while living with her.

It was a good thing that I got a mail about being selected for the interview. It's been a few weeks since I decided to leave my mother's house and stay on my own.

My mother must have thought I was sick in the head. She might even be thinking I would come back groveling before her, but I'm bent on doing the opposite. I can't believe she chose that jerk of a man over me, her daughter.

Even if she didn't think of others, couldn't she have thought of me too? I wonder. If my mom had believed the truth of what I told her and had it my way, that slimy bastard who tried to take advantage of his stepdaughter would have been behind prison doors, on the cold stone floor for a long time.

Mom knew I was telling the truth, but she wasn't ready to face it. After all, my mom trusted him; all he could do was betray her like that. Men will never prove us wrong.

I should have known better when he always tried to get closer to me when my mum wasn't home or when he would give me those bawdy looks even when my Mom was present. I objected to his advances not once.

Who would have known that he had some cunning plans up his sleeve? I twist my face in raw disgust as I remember the last straw that broke the camel's back. I was in my room listening to music through my plugged-in earphones when I slept off on the bed.

I had forgotten to lock the door to my room. Maybe he passed and saw my door open then decided to peep inwards, and I still don't know. Seeing that I had fallen asleep, I guess he couldn't keep his dirty hands to himself and thought it was the best time to fulfill his nasty longing.

All I felt was a quick movement on my breast. I moved and opened my eyes immediately to see him on me. The shock in my eyes told him of what was coming.

If he didn't pin me down, I would have kicked him in the crotch or slapped him. I would never get over the sheer audacity he displayed that day. He was almost in the process of raping me when a knock on the door stopped him.

It was my Mom's knock. He immediately rolled off me, composed himself, and went to open the door. I couldn't hold my anger, and I went to the parlor to complain to my mom when she shut me up in his presence. He winked at me from behind her.

There and then, I knew I could not stay any longer with my Mom, who chose to support a man over her flesh and blood. I shake my head and sigh as I'm drawn back to the present.

I recently just graduated from New York University, where I had obtained a degree. I planned on getting a job once I had settled down well at Mom's, but the turnout of events spoilt my well-laid-out plans. Immediately after that happened, I called a real estate agent for an appointment.

On getting there, I was given a list of apartments within my measly budget range. The money I had on me wasn't that much as savings from my days back in the university. I gathered them together and paid for an apartment on the other side of the city. I packed out of her house the next day.

It was roughly an hour's ride to my Mom's place, but I vowed never to visit or step foot in her home again until she sent that swine packing. I wonder when that will be. I am left with no option but to draw my plans of searching for a job forward quickly. I hope fate smiles on me.

With this resolve in my heart, I jump to my feet and take out one of my well-ironed suit skirts, a pink floral shirt, my underwear from my cabinet, and my flat shoes.

The pink shirt is almost faded, but it is ironed and starched. I take my black handbag and put in a few of my belongings. Then I go to my small shelf by the corner of the wall to retrieve the file containing my documents. I open it to check if there's any missing, and it is complete. I put it in my black bag.

Then I stroll into the tiny bathroom in my room to have my bath. After my bath, I wrap a towel around my body. I use another to dry my jet-black silky hair. Having inherited a good set of solid genes from my parents, especially my father, my hair has a long smooth texture, unlike my mom's bob.

I also inherited some from my mother, like her skin color, which would later hinder me, her beauty, and her dang hot figure. I quickly towel my hair and my body. Then I use my lotion. I get down to my breakfast of cereal and milk. After munching it down, I take a little water and wash the plate in the kitchen sink. I wore my clothes and rubbed little makeup on my face.

Then I take a brief look at myself in the mirror. I can not help but smile at the lady staring back at me. I have a second thought and pick up my jacket because it looks a bit cloudy outside. I step out of my apartment and lock the door humming Sia's song 'Unstoppable.'

It was rumored that a house was burgled down the street last week. I confirm if the lock is stable enough before leaving. I can't afford to lose everything in my apartment, thereby going back to square one. I can't imagine moving back to my mom's place until she decides to do my bidding.

My neighbor Jane, who seems nice, bids me goodbye as she's also on her way out. I smile at her and wave to her to have a great day also. I hope to win the job with my killer smile. Today's going to be a big day, I think. I walk down the street and take a cab.

"Reynolds Fashion." I alight at Reynolds Fashion Clothing company and pay the cabman his fee before he zooms off the road, searching for another potential customer.

I took a look at the gigantic building, and I was wowed. It is much bigger than I thought. It had such a fantastic outlook. Best in their game of fashion, they were even patronized by the Kardashians, Rihanna, Offset, Cardi B, and the likes.

They produced quality and nothing else. Bags, shoes, boots, clothes, name it. The building should have been a tourist attraction for visitors to New York. I climb the steps, gradually moving towards the building.

I am being checked in by a bulky stern-looking man in security clothes. He uses a baggage scanner to check the contents of my bag. After checking it, he gives it back to me.

"You can go ahead." He said.

The sliding doors open as I press a button. It ushers me into an ample open space in the lobby. I'm amazed at such an ample space being wasted for an entrance. I picture my cubicle, and it would at least fit into 20 portions of this sprawled-out lobby.

Decked in fascinating floor murals, the floors shine like heaven's floors. Working here would be a tremendous experience, no doubt. It would also be a plus on my resume. I approach the receptionist behind her table doing her day's work.

"Hello, good morning. I am Jocelyn Gbone Dizon, and I would like to see the boss." She looks at me quizzically.

"For what exactly?"

"I summited my entrance resumé online and was among those selected for the job interview." She looks at me once more with her naturally plain makeup.

She seems so thirty-five, looking all suited up with her hair up in a quiz bun. She stands up from her seat.

"Follow me." She leads me into another enormous lobby, where we pass some workers arranging clothes on a mannequin.

They give me an awkward look. I wonder what's going on. We take the elevator to the last floor. I look down from the previous floor, and a spine-chilling feeling overwhelms me as I compose myself.

Growing up, I was afraid of heights. Maybe working here at Reynolds would help me overcome my fears. We get to a door. 'Marcel Reynolds,' boldly imprinted on its surface. She knocks.

After a "Come in," she opens and leads me in. He's rounding off something with another worker who he asks to leave. He stares at us in surprise while the receptionist states my mission.

"You can go, Mrs. Giovanni. I'll take it up from here." His voice was as calm and electrifying that it sent goosebumps to my skin.

Marcel's POV

After Mrs. Giovanni left the office, I stared at the dark-looking lady before me. She dressed pretty well; she has a good fashion sense.

She knows how to merge colors. But I've never worked with blacks before, so who accepted a black's resume? I wonder. I am pushing the thoughts to the back of my mind.

"I am Marcel Reynolds, CEO of Reynolds Clothing. Nice meeting you," I introduced myself to her though she must have heard of the name more than ten times.

That's the advantage of fame. It opens doors for you and introduces you to strangers. This has happened a lot of times. I fake a broad smile as I extend my hand for a brief handshake.

For a brief second, she stares at me before taking my hand in hers. She smiles at me and takes my hand. Even if that sickens me, I still have to do it for formalities.

"I am Jocelyn Gbone Dizon. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Marcel Reynolds finally." I motion for her to sit down in front of me. She draws out the chair and takes her seat as I also take mine.

"Can I have your resume?" I inquire. She brings it out from a file of documents and places it in my stretched hand.

I received it and perused it. Her resume is top-notch, and so are her grades. I concede, but I still won't give her the job. I don't accept blacks in my establishment. It has been my rule and will always be.

Call it discrimination or whatever you like, but this is my business and what I do concerns me. I will do as I wish. I wrap off my thoughts and compose myself.

"What can you offer us here at Reynolds clothing?" I ask the following question snapping her out of her reverie.

She was sizing up the office with her eyes. I have to stall the conversation before dealing my fatal blow to her. This has to look like a typical interview, or she will quickly suspect. I rest my back on my chair, watching her gesticulate.

"I'm sorry I was distracted for a bit. Your office is stunning." She says. I smile.

"Thank you." I can't help but agree with her. The money I spent on this establishment is enough to make it glow.

I had to import rare materials to brighten up the mall and differentiate it from other shopping malls. I had to make a mark in the game to beat others. She continues.

"I graduated from NYC with an A- grade in business administration and management, and I interned at Glasgow group of companies. My experience in the field would have a great impact on the company. I assure you that you won't regret giving me this great opportunity." She looks like she can handle the job very well without any issues.

Her resume also speaks volumes. What a catch! I wish she were white, and then I'd given her the job without a rethink. I pose the following question with mischief twinkling in my eyes.

"Have you ever worked in any fashion company before?" Having checked her resume before, I knew that this would be her first experience, but I needed to keep the conversation smooth. I glance at my wristwatch, my latest obsession, while one of my sports cars was my former.

It cost me over a Billion dollars and shipping to get it down here. A bar of 18-karat white gold with diamond stones on it. It was an expensive, limited edition. In this 21st century, Fashion is a trend, and money is like its fuel. You don't have to make a noise when you enter a room. Your fashion does the speaking for you.

All you need to do is to let it announce you. One's mode of fashion can distinctly set them apart from the crowd. Fashion is a voice of its own. This is one of the main reasons I was inspired to delve into the fashion line. In generations to come, fashion will never die.

This line of business will continue to boom as long as humans remain on the surface of the earth, and as long as fashion never dies, money will never cease to enter.

That is why I do not run out of customers. Day in and day out, the mall is always entire. She looks at me with her eyebrows in puzzlement; however, she still replies to my odd question.

"No, I have never worked in a fashion company, sir. This would be my first, but if you would be willing to give me a chance. I will never disappoint you. You have my word for it." She says. I spun in my swiveling chair as her eyes bore into me. Someone knocks on my door. Our attention is both shifted to the door.

"Who is there?"

"It's Mr. Eric, sir," one of my numerous workers replies.

"You may enter," I answer. He strides in with a file in his hand.

Eric stops to stare at her. I know that questions are forming in his head, so I clear my throat. "Are you here for analysis?" He nods in the affirmative.

"Could you come back later, please, as I am occupied now?" He looks back at her and leaves the office.

I'm lost on what next question to ask her. I need a business administrator since the former person left some months ago. I had interviewed so many people, but none had matched up to my expectations.

Tatiana had left after getting married to an Italian man who insisted they live in Italy. She had no choice but to do her husband's bidding. She was an outstanding worker who performed her duties with enthusiasm and zest.

"Your resume is topnotch, and so are your grades too. You will do a good job here at Reynolds..."

I can see the smile creasing on her dark features. I drop the remainder of my speech to her surprise.

"I would have loved to employ your services, but you are not just what I am looking for. I hate to break this to you, but you can't have the job." Her eyes widen in utter shock. She stammers.

"Bu-but, sir, please help me. I need this job. I promise not to let you down in any area."

"I'm sorry I can't give you the job. I'll pass." I remain firm on my decision. Her face frowns in confusion as she asks.

"If I may ask, why can't you give me the job?" There's no reason I can give her, so I say.

"Nothing." Her face sags in frustration. She gets up and fetches her resume from my desk. She puts it back in a folder.

"Thank you!" She said with a cold stare before turning around to leave my office, but then, she stopped and turned back with an entirely different look.

"Is it because I am black?" She inquires with her eyes shooting bullets at me. She's realized I discover. When I don't give her an answer, she walks back to my table and repeats the question in another form

"Did you refuse me the job because I am a black person?" I stand up from my chair.

I must say, I find her intriguing, but she doesn't have the ingredients I need right now; I don't have anything against blacks, but it's just that I don't find them pleasant to work with.

"Miss Dizon-" She doesn't even allow me to complete whatever I say as she raises her hand.

"You can keep the job for your white folks or shove it into your white ass for all I care, you damned racist!"

She curses and storms out of my office in a fury. I hear the sounds of her footsteps receding. She has vital energy around her that I can't decipher. I sat back on my chair and picked up the office telephone.

"Mrs. Giovanni, if there is any other interviewee, could you please bring them to my office?"

"Alright, sir, I'll be up soon with another person." She replies.

I hope the next person isn't another black. I reach out for my iPhone in my pocket. I opened it and saw messages from Lisa, my present girlfriend asking me if I would come for the night. I reply to her. I'm getting bored of her, and I will need a change soon. It's been three months of us dating already.

Maybe it's time for another person. I make a mental note to break it to her over dinner when we go out. I scroll to my Instagram feeds to see my recent number of likes. So fast! I exclaim as it has skyrocketed to a considerable number. My fans never disappointed me in that aspect.

A message on our mutual group pops up. "Hey, guys. What's good?" After replying to the message, I drop my phone on the desk as a knock raps on my door.

Mrs. Giovanni lets herself in after my command. Another lady follows her, and to my happiness, she is a white lady. I hope she is as intelligent as she looks.

"Thank you, Mrs. Giovanni. You may take your leave." She leaves after making an introduction.

"And you are?" I asked.

" Mrs. Smith!" She said.

Jocelyn's POV

"What a jerk!" I curse as I slam the door to his office.

Who gives a damn if it is a big corporation? Who cares to be all modest here if their damned boss is a racist? I never imagined him to be one. Well, tabloids don't do justice to one's character.

I hiss. Some workers who pass by my side look at me like I'm some disgusting meal. I give them the sign forcing myself not to scream at them all for looking at me like a pest.

"Fuck y'all!" I storm into the elevator. I'm close to tears, but I choose not to let them roll off while in this horrible corporation ruled by Marcel Reynolds, that asshole.

Everyone here is an asshole. The elevator takes me to the last floor, and I dash out of the company, not even bothering to stop for a moment.

When I get outside the building, the tears almost fall off my cheeks, so I dip my hand into my bag to get my handkerchief.

I wipe my face carefully to prevent my makeup from being ruined. I glance at my watch to check the time, and there's still much time for me to while away. It's still noon, so I decided to roam around. At least, time would have gone before I got back home.

"Let's take a stroll around New York," I say, sighing. While roaming, my stomach growls. I had little for breakfast.

Luckily for me, there's a restaurant down the corner. I walk down to it and order lunch. Within a few minutes, the attendant serves me my hamburger and a coke bottle. I pay her the fee after she serves me.

"Enjoy your meal," she says while she goes to serve another customer. An interview with Marcel Reynolds is worth the chilled coke bottle before me.

I eat up my meal as I recount the event of the day. What kind of businessman would reject a hot cake like me because of racism? I have all the criteria to be his business administrator, yet he turned me away.

Isn't that foolishness? If he had turned me away at the door or told Mrs. Giovanni to send me away, that would have been better than sitting me down, asking me questions, and rejecting me without adequate reason.

The nerve! All because he is 'Marcel Reynolds' doesn't mean he owns the world. The rich always have their way all the time. I scoff.

To think that I had thought I would bag the job still hurts. If there weren't any malpractice, I would have gotten the job. I had prepared very well for this job, no doubt, and even downloaded likely questions to be asked.

I slept late because I had to prepare, and then that man had to blow up my hopes. People are trooping in and out of the restaurant with their various needs. I smile at a family of four seated by the corner to my right. They look so happy and content. I see love in the eyes of the Father as he looks at his family.

Someday I wish to have something like that, but for now, I have to get a job. What should I do next? It seems like a dead end. I had submitted my resume to some companies, but they hadn't gotten back to me. What if they didn't get back to me or if they had seen their candidate?

"Oh God," I exclaim. I can not settle down with jobs that pay little peanuts as salaries. It wouldn't be enough. My thoughts are roaming.

By the time I recheck my time, it's 5 pm. It's high time I took my leave from the restaurant. I gulped down the remainder of my coke and lay the bottle on the table before. Carrying my bag, I walk out of the restaurant.

Outside, the evening sun is dipping into the horizons. I walked down the street to where I'd take a cab home.

The road is busy. Some boys are playing football. I called out for a taxi and told him my address. The driver tries to start a conversation with me, but my monosyllables halt whatever words he has to say. He soon focuses on driving me to my location.

I'm not in the mood for such conversations. I hope he understands. All I'm thinking about now is how I'd get a job to feed myself and be stable. My foodstuffs are running out, and my wardrobe needs a change. I need money to do all these.

There's no one I can depend on. Here, in New York, I am all alone. I need a job soon! That stupid stepfather of mine caused all these. I owe him a kick in the crotch for almost molesting me and stealing my mom's trust from me.

Now, I have to learn how to be independent. I would have called my mom for some money, but my pride wouldn't let me pick up the phone even to ask her how she was doing.

It's been a while since we talked. In a few minutes, I will arrive home. I pay off the taxi man with a smile on my face. I hope the smile is enough compensation for how I replied to him.

At my doorstep, I fidget with my key before I finally open the door. I put off my shoes at the doorstep, locked my door, and jumped on my bed. I'm so tired from not sleeping well last night so soon that I'm lost in sleep.

My phone pings with a message on it, and this awakens me. It is already 8 pm. I rub my eyes and reach for my phone. I open it to see an email message from the D&M accessories company.

"Is this a rejection mail or a positive one?" Rhetoric. I open it with one of my eyes closed.

"Congratulations, Miss Jocelyn Gbone Dizon. You are lucky to have been selected for this interview. Your resume was an impressive one, and for that, we find you unique and are part of the selected few to be interviewed tomorrow. Your scheduled time is 11 am. Please keep to time."

Jamal Leicester

C.E.O D&M accessories

"Oh, my gracious Lord! I got the interview!" I let out a scream of joy as I jump onto my bed. I am so happy I was part of the selected few.

Interviews like this can be very strict with their standards. I have a leftover pizza for dinner with a cup of fruit juice while watching an episode from my recently downloaded series, Game of thrones. I love the series so much because it is fascinating.

After having dinner, I brush my teeth, pack my hair in a bun and jump on my bed to continue watching the movie till sleep comes for me.

-

My phone alarm wakes me up by 7 am, but I sleep it until 8:30 am. By 8:30 am, I get up from my bed to pick what I'd wear for the interview. I mustn't lose this job again. I don't know what I'd do with myself. I finally settle for a pink slit gown that accentuates my curves.

I go to my shoe rack and grab my black stilettos. Since I didn't sort out my bag yesterday, my documents are still inside intact. I rush to the bathroom to brush and have my bath. When I came out, I quickly made a toast and a cup of coffee for myself. I revise some questions again.

By this time, it's 9:55 am. I put on my gown and black stilettos. I check myself in the mirror and smile. Yes! I am good to go. I got out of my apartment and ensured that I locked it very well.

One can never be too safe. Jane's door is closed, which means she has gone to work already. There's a cab dropping someone opposite my house, so I hurry to catch the taxi.

"D&M Company," I say.

"That will be ten dollars," he says, and I hop in. He's playing a song by Whitney Houston.

I hum to the music. In less than forty minutes, we arrived at D&M accessories; I alight, paid him his money, and turned to look at a monstrous grey skyscraper staring at me.

"Oh my God!" I gape at the building. I compose myself and climb the stairs leading to the formation.

When I get in, after being checked outside by a security officer, A woman with a name tag on the left side of her dress Mrs. Bertha, welcomes me. After telling her I came for the interview, she dialed a number to reconfirm.

"Miss Dizon is here for the interview."

"Yes, she is part. Take her to the room."

"Follow me, please," she said, and I followed. We took an elevator to the 7th floor, where I was led to a room. The innards of the building were heaven on just a building; it is so beautiful and colorful. I went inside the room to see other lucky participants.

"You will wait here till you're being called inside," Mrs. Bertha said before leaving the room.

As I took the remaining empty chair, seven eyes stared at me. Four men and three women; I made them Eight. However, before I sat down, I noticed that I was the only black in the room. Immediately, fear crept into my heart.

'Mama Mia,' I whispered in between hot breaths.