Corruption Ch. 01

Clubbing is a place for a type of people. Firstly, they had to be rich. Clubbing wasn't a poor man's activity. The cheapest booze inside would be worth twice the expensive brands outside. Everything was outrageously overpriced—not that he cared anyway.

Second of all, they had to be a crowd person. Being in an enclosed room full of drunk people isn't exactly a paradise for introverted people. Sure, there wouldn't be much talking. Half of the experience was having conversations you'd barely hear over the booming music, or even remember the next morning because you're wasted as fuck, but there are still people who'd come up to you and talk.

So when Ellison saw her, standing awkwardly with her outgoing friend dancing wildly by her side, he knew she didn't belong to this kind of scene. The complete opposite of him; as someone who basically grew up here, Ellison loved everything about the place. It felt like home, more so than any of his mansions, actually.

He watched the two women as they headed towards where he was; seated right in front of the bartender's counter table.

The seemingly outgoing blonde girl sat to his right and yelled. Ellison could barely hear her voice, but he figured she was ordering a cocktail. Pretty soon, he was proven right. The bartender had laid down two glasses of Long Island filled to the brim. Immediately, the blonde-haired girl took one of them and gave it to her friend, who accepted it before raising it up with an awkward cheer.

Ellison chuckled. It was painfully obvious she wasn't used to it, but he found it cute that she tried.

As if noticing his stare, the friend looked back at him. Ellison didn't make an effort to avert his gaze and simply took a sip of his wine. He liked observing people, so the occasional glances and eye-contact were the consequences—not that he minded it much. In fact, he gets quite a few stares after the initial one, which was understandable considering he was easy on the eyes.

This one looked away pretty fast, though. He wondered if she took one look and was immediately disinterested. If Ellison had even the slightest sensitive bone in his body, he would probably bitch about it.

Shortly after, the blonde noticed him too. This one had a much more typical reaction; though, bolder than most women too.

Her eyes beamed, surveying him out as she greeted, "Hey, handsome. What's up with you?"

Ellison stared at her and spoke, "Life. Here for a drink. And you?" He looked at the wheat-skinned brunette. "I think your friend here would prefer acoustics."

The blonde woman chortled, "Oh, absolutely. How the hell did you know that? I'm taking her here to get a taste of how the other half lives."

"Is it really that obvious?" the brunette suddenly asked. He almost didn't hear her because the tone of her voice was on the lower side, unlike her friend.

Ellison licked his lips. He liked low-pitched altos on women. The type you could hear settling on your throat and chest, like the booming bass of a hardcore EDM song. What he liked more, however, was the rasp present in her voice. From experience, those sounded the best when they cry out of pleasure.

They're basically heaven to the ears if you fuck it out of their throats.

"Especially next to her," Ellison replied, pointing at the energetic blonde. It was true. They seemed like polar opposites, so the differences were a lot more conspicuous than usual. It was surprising that they were friends. They seemed really close too.

The brunette chuckled at his reply.

Ellison almost groaned.

Shit, he inwardly cursed. Pure heaven.

He knew better than to overtly express his interest this early in the night, however.

Especially to a woman who definitely ain't the type for one-night stands.

So he turned to the blonde-haired woman and reached his hand out. "The name's Ellison. Call me El. What about you guys?"

"I'm Sienna. This 'acoustic' girl is Max." She shook his hand before gesturing to her friend. Ellison naturally offered his hand to shake again, only this time to the brunette.

Max stared at the extended hand for a bit before shaking it. He had rough hands, she noticed. On his wrist was a genuine Patek Philippe. Which generation exactly, she didn't know. She only recognized it because she's worked with a few pieces for a magazine once.

Well, not a magazine. More of like a tabloid denouncing luxury items. For years, she did them for free.

Regardless, it must cost a few bucks. She wondered what he did for a living.

So she asked. Max wasn't someone who hid her thoughts very well anyway. The handsome man couldn't hear her over the music and asked, "Come again?"

Max repeated, only this time leaning closer to him. He smelled like some sort of flavored soap, she thought in passing.

Suddenly, she got a little conscious and reflected. The brunette knew she tended to come off really strong at first, but she actually despised being rude. Clearly, by asking this so crudely, she was failing. Thankfully, the guy didn't seem to mind her lack of tact and answered, "Corporate. You?"

Ellison saw her scrunch up her nose in response. The next second, he found out why.

"Journalist."

He inwardly sighed. Of course it wasn't going to be easy. He licked his lips.

That's part of the fun, though.

He smiled at her and said, "Well, we won't have much in common, will we?"

"Funny, because I was thinking the same thing," Max replied before an awkward air suffused in the air, along with thick artificial vapors that threatened to choke you—she noticed.

This experience was off to a rocky start.

The brunette was never a smoker, and that included vaping. Or fuchsia for that matter. She hasn't tried, but she didn't have to.

She disliked even being near it.

"Woah, woah! I came here to make acquaintances I'm never going to meet again, not enemies who'll kill each other in their sleep. Chill, people," Sydney remarked somewhat sarcastically as she shook her arms. El chuckled at that before raising his chin at Max. "You know, she's right. We'll never have to see each other again after today."

"That does sound appealing," she retorted with amusement.

He suggested, taking a drink from his scotch, "Let's just lay off each other and have fun, yeah?"

She thought about it seriously for a moment before nodding.

Sydney clapped her hands. "Great! Now that that's out of the way, where do you work, El?"

"Sydney!" Max reprimanded, obviously wanting to drop it. The blonde-haired woman giggled mischievously.

"I kind of don't want to say. Your friend might kill me over there." He pointed at Max.

"She won't. She's the mildest journalist in the world."

Ellison—without missing a beat, smirked as he replied, "You probably don't know her very well then. I haven't seen this much fire in someone's eyes since, well, forever."

It was true. The woman had a flame in her eyes he doubted could be doused with the Pacific.

Max was torn between feeling displeased or flattered. The man was right. She's only seen a handful of journalists who cared as much as her. She worked for institutions for free in the past simply because they cared. She recently had to get a job at a magazine and make a few ends meet just so she could live somewhat normally. And for what? All those institutions, one by one, they all ended up collapsing anyway.

Leaving her nothing but a bucket full of empty promises of a better world. And this dead-end job for a celebrity magazine.

Max cared. Truly. More than anyone she knew.

But people wouldn't know that by looking at her portfolio.

Sydney knew that, of course. Sydney knew almost everything about her. Her stubbornness pushed away most people in her life, but not her. She stuck around and Max didn't even know why.

In a lot of aspects, she's probably the worst friend anyone could have.

Max heard Sydney laugh, visibly impressed, "You're good. You're right. That's just some little inside joke we have."

She rolled her eyes. So he was a little good at reading people. So what? Max would've liked him better if he used it for good and not for climbing the corporate ladder like everybody else. No wonder he could afford the luxury watch. A corporate show-off with money as his personality. Can't his kind ever evolve?

As her thoughts ran like a river, Sydney continued to talk to the man.

"Listen, she can be a bit tense, but she's a good person. I think you're a perfect fit to help loosen her up a bit. Did you have an agenda today?" she asked before using her hands to indicate sex.

Max scolded, "Syd!"

Ellison answered truthfully, "Not really."

He just came here to relax as always. Sure, he wouldn't refuse a beautiful woman, but today wasn't a hunting day.

Until he saw Max, at least.

Sydney grabbed his shoulders and pulled him closer to Max. "Great! Then I'm gonna run wild on the dance floor, take care of her?"

"As long as she stays here." He's confident she will. He'll make her.

Max tried to chime in, "I'll go with you."

Sydney shook her head, "Don't kid yourself, Max. You hate tight spaces. People are basically touching skin there 24/7. Stay here. I'll be back anyway. All right?"

Max sighed and nodded before Sydney kissed her in the cheek.

"Woo! Play some fucking 90s, DJ!" The blonde screamed as she skipped away.

Then there was awkward silence. The two just sat there as people cheered and the music roared on.

Max felt so out of place that even Ellison seemed to get sucked into her atmosphere.

Unlike her demeanor, however, she looked like she fit right in.

Ellison stared at her. She was wearing a simple sleeveless crop-top and a pencil skirt. A lot of misconception hanging around introverts was that they couldn't dress slutty.

Now don't get him wrong, Max wasn't scantily dressed at all, but it was hardly the picture for conservative women either.

She looked great. Simple and sexy. None of the pieces of clothing spoke to him, though. No brands, no quality pieces, nothing.

Well, it's probably a money-thing. Even the people in this club fell short of his standards, and this was a high-end club.

Ellison's mind couldn't help but wander off. He imagined dressing her in outrageously priced brands. A fucking activist wearing all kinds of leather. Maybe a lavishly sinful dress from Dior. She'd look good in Cartier too, he thought. Some scarlet satin heels to pair it with for his own personal slut.

He woke himself up from his fantasies.

"Working on any piece right now?" he asked.

She stared at him. "What do you care?"

He looked away and drank from his glass.

A few seconds later, he hears a quiet mumble of apology.

"You'd have to be louder than that in a club full of music," Ellison teased. He pegged her as a nice and polite girl. He was right.

"I'm sorry," she said, louder this time.

He smiled. "Apology accepted."

"Really, it's not all you. I'm just kind of stressed. That's why Sydney dragged me here." Her fingers secretly fidgeted under the table, Ellison observed. But despite her clear anxiety, she still stood straight—like a tall pine tree. This was the type of girl who never let people see her weakness.

He could read her like a book, though.

"And why is that?"

"Well, for starters, I'm currently working on a piece titled, 'Which celebrity hook-ups should you look out for this year!'" she quipped with a self deprecating tone.

El coughed. "No way," he let slip with an amused smirk on his face.

"Yep. So I have no reason to hate you. Really. You're just surviving like everybody else."

On yachts and private jets, being served with the finest wine and food, Ellison thought.

"Meanwhile, I've done nothing to actually help anyone." That fact, more than anything, seemed to agonize her. And Ellison couldn't understand why. Altruism was never really his strong point.

Seeing her sad puppy-eyes made him a little uncomfortable, though.

"Hey, at least you're trying," he comforted, rather unlike himself.

She replied with frustration, "I'd actually like to succeed!"

He shrugged, taking a sip. "Well, maybe it's not for you."

She glared at him. "You know you're a really bad conversationalist."

"So they say." A lie. The shareholders of his subsidiary companies would disagree.

"I don't know. It's just....I thought I'd already be helping polar bears by now," she said before taking a huge gulp from her drink.

He laughed. The random bear comment came out of nowhere. Ellison stared at her before joking, "You'll get there. One celebrity hook-up at a time."

She cracked up right from her chest, almost heaving as she choked on the iced tea.

"Fuck you, man!" she cursed him with a chuckle. Her tone completely unserious.

That's what I'm trying to get you to do, he thought.

God, she looked beautiful when she cursed.

"Have you ever actually tried getting out of your current celebrity-crazed magazine and applying for environmental ones? Since you know, you care so much about polar bears," he commented, trying not to laugh.

Max rolled her eyes before sighing. "I did. For years now, actually. And I had an interview on this great company about two weeks ago. I haven't heard from them yet, but I'm not optimistic."

He hummed in thought. His eyes squinting as he slowly formulated a plan.

The corporate sellout and the journalist drew deep breaths as their mind wandered in different directions.

The conversation stilled once again, which made the music in the background all that glaring.

She frowned in disgust.

"What is up with this music?" Max said with disdain.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Everything. This isn't even anything. It's complete trash. Leonard Cohen is music. Heck, Mozart is music," she replied with a hidden fiery passion.

He shrugged. "Never pegged you for a snob. And Mozart? Really? If we're talking classical, why not, say, Chopin?"

She stared at him.

"So you're cultured enough to listen to Chopin, but you like this noise? It's all just random beat with almost no redeeming value. It's like Geometry Dash music, but a lot trashier."

"What's wrong with Geometry Dash?" The man looked at her in terror. He loved that game.

"Nothing! I love that game. That's what I'm saying; this shit sucks in comparison. I'm open to EDM, but can't they make something better?"

He chuckled, "You can't fuck to a Geometry Dash song, that's for sure. People would just end up keeling over in laughter. I know I would."

Confusion painted her face as she asked, "Why would you fuck to a.....? Oh. You mean...."

He met her eyes with a smile and replied, "Yeah. Trashy music like this goes well with fucking."

Max turned quiet as she listened to the ascending refrain of the currently playing song. She could barely hear anything over the bass. Except the beat, which grew faster and faster.

"You know what? I can see that," she responded after a while.

"What'd I tell ya?" El said smugly before drinking from his glass.

Before she could reply, a man suddenly approached her, blocking Ellison from her line of sight. "Hey, pretty lady. What do you say we, um, go someplace else and p-play around a little?" Max frowned visibly. The guy came out of nowhere, smelling like the worst smoker she's ever met. He was stuttering too, clearly drunk out of his mind.

She answered politely, "No, thank you. I'm here with someone. She's there on the dance floor." Max pointed towards he general direction she last saw Sydney. Honestly, she wasn't sure if her friend was still there. At some point, Max stopped looking at her direction.

Max suddenly realized she was actually enjoying Ellison's company. Yeah, he was pretty smug. Definitely irritating too, but he wasn't half bad.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the drunk guy moved closer to her.

She shifted away so that their skin wouldn't touch.

"She c-can join us," he blubbered indecently. Immediately, Max's eyes turned cold—to which the guy responded by raising his hands and insincerely apologizing, "All right, I get it. You're not interested. You don't have to be so serious, jeez."

The man leaned over the bartender's ledge and drunkenly spoke, "If you change your mind, this is my number. You can give it to your friend too." He then handed out a business card.

Max sighed in relief inwardly. This was finally over. She pretended to receive it just so he would leave.

Unfortunately, the guy exceeded her expectations once again by overstaying his welcome. He seemed to think she was impressed at the card or something, which Max barely even glanced at.

In fact, she didn't even stare at him anymore. She found it a waste to even pay any attention to anything he was saying.

She focused on something else. From the corner of her eyes, between the drunk man's thin arms and chest, she could see Ellison observing them with an unreadable expression. She stared into his eyes, thinking he'd stop looking. To her surprise, he made no attempt to avert his gaze.

The two shared heavy, tense glances until the man separating them shrugged and left, shortly waking her up from her reverie.

Max took a deep breath. God, glances like that were few and far in between. She's only ever looked at someone like that a couple of times; usually in airports or beaches. None of them were at this level of proximity.

None of them were as attractive as Ellison either.

The gaze felt electric. Like there were hundreds of chrysalis in her stomach, shaking in preparation for.... something.

Forcing her mind to ignore the quickly growing feeling, she looked at her surroundings. The guy who rudely hit on her was just a few steps away. Apparently, he didn't go very far.

But she ignored it. There were plenty of people here. He wouldn't dare to try anything.

She grabbed the remaining half of her iced tea on the table. Just as she was about to drink it, she heard Ellison speak calmly, "Why don't you give me that glass? I'd love to black out right now."

She was about to ask him what he was talking about before she understood. Immediately, the brunette placed the glass down and complied, "Have at it."

She saw Ellison lean closer as he dragged the glass towards him before staring down on the guy watching them from afar. The guy flinched, which was basically a confirmation to her fears. Max was livid. She immediately stood up from her chair, completely disgusted and afraid. Before she could move places in order to avoid the freak, Ellison flicked his fingers and gestured for her to sit down.

Strangely, she found herself actually obeying. She sat back down, wondering what the charismatic man was up to, only to find him already communicating with the bartender using hand signs. Max knew simple ASL, but none of Ellison's hand gestures were familiar to her.

Unlike her, however, the bartender clearly understood. He immediately took out a walkie-talkie from his vest and spoke to it. Whatever it was about, Max couldn't hear over the DJ blasting music.

The next moment, though, she saw two bouncers appearing to bring the drunk guy outside. As if he was relieved the situation didn't worsen any further, he compliantly followed the two outside the club.

Max blankly heard the clinking of glass and looked to the source. The bartender had placed a newly-concocted Long Island in front of her. The old man winked and kindly said, "On the house. Sorry about that."

She shook her hands. "Not your fault. Thanks for this," she replied, raising her glass to him. He nodded lightly in response.

That was incredibly careless of her, totally unlike herself. She blamed the unfamiliar environment.

Right after a refreshing gulp, she turned to Ellison.

"Hey." She patted him lightly to catch his attention, which worked. He gave her a side glance and asked what she wanted.