[Supporter] Executive Privilege Ch. 10 (Patreon)

Hey Friends! Hope everyone is doing well. I can't believe Sept is over halfway gone already. This chapter of EP picks up the following day from the night at the hotel. Wendy is slowly starting to become my new favorite character (sorry to all you Ashley lovers), despite her... flaws.

Speaking of Ashley, I'm about two-thirds through writing the next chapter of Newlyweds and hope to have that to Insiders by end of next week at the latest. I've also started writing a new short just in time for the Halloween season I hope to get to all of you within the month.

After all of that dies down, expect a new couple of polls to discuss the next big novel we do together. As always, looking forward to the comments and feedback.

The studio lights felt hot against her skin as Wendy shifted slightly on the concrete steps they'd constructed for the photoshoot. She'd been a model for three years now. As soon as she turned 18 she made the decision to pursue the career. Up to this point, she had barely done anything meaningful. A couple of local ads here and there, barely enough to scrape by. But this had the opportunity to be huge. She was working with Richard Clemens, a bigshot photographer out of New York. One of the girls from a previous shoot gave her Richard's contact info and after some back and forth via text message he had flown out to Columbus for the day for some big regional magazine.

The black mesh top left little to the imagination, especially for someone with Wendy’s measurements. Richard dismissed her concern, insisting the strapless bra would make it chic. "This is what all the models in New York are wearing," he assured her, even as Wendy tugged at the neckline.

Despite her reservations, she told herself she needed to trust the photographer. After all, he'd been doing this a lot longer than she had. The top was paired with black, wide-legged pants, and a pair of 6-inch black heels that she struggled to keep her balance in. Richard had assured her she'd look powerful in the pictures, like a CEO. But as she looked at herself in the mirror all she felt was exposed. Her hair fell across her shoulders, the only thing covering her exposed skin. Once again, she tugged at the front of the top, wishing she could get it to sit higher. No matter how Richard spun it, there was no way any version of these photos she'd ever want her parents to see.

"Gorgeous, absolutely stunning," Richard boasted from behind his camera, as she held her hands in front of her, sitting on the steps that were made to look like they led up to a beautiful mansion. "You're exactly what I've been searching for, Wendy. The camera adores you."

Pride swelled in Wendy's chest, melting away the unease she'd felt just moments before. She tilted her head, smiling at the camera like a lover. Maybe Richard was right, sitting here she did feel powerful.

"Reach back for me, sweetheart, and rest your hands on that backstep."

Wendy did as she was told, tossing her head back and forth, as the click of the camera took shot after shot.

"Beautiful, Wendy. You're a natural. Push your chest out a little for me, let's really grab their attention."

Wendy hesitated, the flush of pride washing away as quickly as it arrived. She swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing her smile back into place, and did as she was told. She convinced herself he was just trying to get different angles, to see what worked. But the way the mesh tightened across her chest, the way the top hung just a little lower, made her feel less like a model and more like merchandise.

"I have some connections in New York," Richard continued, lowering his camera as he stepped closer to her. "Fashion Week connections. Someone like you could really do well there." Each step narrowed the space between them, his eyes studying her in a way that made her feel even more exposed than the camera. "You have that it factor, Wendy It's something that could take you to the very top of this industry."

"You... you think so?" Her pulse quickened, hands twisting together as she tried to rub the nerves away.

"Of course." His gaze lingered on the mesh panel, his tongue darting across his lips. "I know every major company in New York. You stick with me and the sky's the limit, baby."

Her face went pale, and she sat up a little straighter, palms brushing her thighs in four quick passes. She told herself he wasn't suggesting what she thought he was, but the way he was leering at her made it impossible to believe otherwise.

"So what do you say, sweetheart?" He reached out and brushed her bare shoulder with his hand. Goosebumps prickled across her skin, despite the panic racing through her system. "You scratch my back, I scratch yours." His fingers slid over the front of her shoulder.

The sheer fabric of her top felt impossibly thin now, every brush on contact a reminder of just how exposed she was. "I'm... um. I'm not sure I understand."

"Of course you do." He looked over his shoulder, ensuring no one else was around. "A smart girl like you. You must know this business is all about the connections you make." His hand slid across her collarbone. Suddenly she couldn't breathe.

Wendy bolted upright from the concrete steps, legs trembling so hard she nearly tripped on the fabric of her wide-leg pants. "I... I need to." Her voice cracked on the last word, as she wobbled in her heels.

"Aww don't be like that," Richard chuckled, catching her wrist before she could back away. Tears welled in Wendy's eyes, she was starting to hyper-ventilate. "I work with beautiful women all the time, and I can assure you, none of them got to where they are today because of their talent. Well, at least not their talent in from of the camera." He gave her a wink that made her skin crawl. "Sweetheart, if you're not willing to play the game, you might as well pack up and go teach third grade. Because this industry? It will chew you up and spit you out without a second thought."

She opened her mouth to respond, to defend herself, to tell him she was different, that she was going to prove herself on merit and hard work. But as she opened her mouth, the warehouse began to shift and blur around the edges. The lights grew so bright everything turned white.

Suddenly, Wendy was no longer at her photoshoot. She was in a conference room, executives sitting around the circular oak table all staring at their phones. Beside her stood Michael. His suit carefully tailored to hide his bulk, his thinning hair slicked back. He was looking at Wendy the same way Richard had been. His gaze was hungry, wanting, yet it felt different.

"Your insights are absolutely brilliant, Wendy," Michael said, in a way that made her chest swell with pride. "But look at Jack." He nodded toward the head of the table where Jack sat scrolling. "You need to keep his attention."

Frustration sparked in her chest. He was right. She had the vision, all of the relevant information, but these CEOs acted like distracted children. How could she prove her worth if they couldn't be bothered to look up from their screens?

"You have everything you need right here to get their attention. Stop handicapping yourself and embrace your fire, Wendy." Unlike Richard, his hands never strayed. He just watched her, waited.

"You're right," she said, with a renewed confidence. "They just need a little reminder that what's happening here is more important than what's on their phone." Her fingers slipped across the buttons of her blouse. Each one like a shot of adrenalin through her veins. She smiled as heads snapped up one by one, their phones forgotten, their attention hers.

This was nothing like what Richard had done. Richard had been a creep, tried to paw at her. Jack's mouth hung open as her blouse slid off her shoulders and hit the floor. This wasn't about being taken advantage of, it was her choice, her fire.

"The consumer data shows clear preference patterns," she continued, unzipping her skirt. Everyone was watching her now, their phones a million miles away. "And if we leverage the premium positioning correctly..."

She stood nearly naked in the center of the boardroom, yet felt more powerful than she ever had fully dressed. She wasn't shy, or timid. She wasn't worried that someone would take advantage of her. She held every gaze. Controlled every breath. A warmth spread between her legs. She bit her lip, wondering if they could smell the arousal blooming from her, if they could sense how much this kind of power thrilled her.

For a second, she thought about Richard fucking Clemens, with his greasy ponytail, and his stupid camera. He wanted to use her, to use the promise of power in exchange for sex. Here, she was the one setting the terms. Here, her body amplified her voice, ensured she got what she had earned.

"I trust you'll find my projections to your liking, Mr. Peterson," she purred, as she climbed up on the conference table in front of Jack. She unclasped her bra, pressing it to her chest with one hand as her hair fell around her shoulders. "All we need is your signature on this three-million-dollar change order, and our partnership will be closer than ever."

Wendy's eyes snapped open to the pre-dawn darkness of her bedroom, her heart hammering against her ribs like a caged bird. The bedside clock read 5:47 AM, and Jon's side of the bed was already empty. He must have already left for his run. She sat up in the bed, brushing her sweat covered hair from her face, as she tried to shake the dream from her system.

She hadn't thought about Richard Clemens in years, had buried that humiliation so deep she'd almost convinced herself it had happened to someone else entirely. But lying here, her body still carrying the memory of Michael's touch from the night before, the parallel her subconscious had drawn felt brutally, undeniably obvious.

But it was different, wasn't it? Michael actually respected her intelligence, valued her insights in ways Richard never had. He wasn't some sleazy photographer trying to exploit her desperation. He was genuinely brilliant, and he recognized that same potential in her. She thought about New Orleans, about last night. Every decision was hers. Michael may have put the option in front of her, but unlike Richard he had given her a choice, allowed her to see the power she had.

Even as she formed the rationalization, though, she could hear Richard's mocking laughter echoing in her memory: none of them got to where they are today because of their talent. Well, at least not their talent in front of the camera. Her chest tightened. Wendy did have talent. Jack recognized her brilliance. Brian was practically gushing as he spoke to her last night. Her looks were just a means to an end. She was respected by those men, revered for her quick thinking.

She took a deep breath, laying back down in bed to try to fall back asleep. That dream had done a number on her, her heart was racing, her skin clammy. She pressed her thighs together. She was soaked. She wished Jon was back from his run. she fought the urge to touch herself, unsure of whose face would appear in her mind. The stress of the last few weeks had taken a toll on her. That was all it was. Her subconscious spinning out of control because of stress and lack of sleep.

It was just a dream, and she didn't need to read any more into it than that.

***

Sleep came in waves after that. Before she knew it, she heard the front door shutting, followed by the sound of Jon walking across the house to the kitchen. Wendy sat up in bed, pulling the sheet with her as she heard Jon near the bedroom. A dread seemed to fill her as the steps got closer, like she was afraid he'd be able to see her thoughts.

"Oh hey, you're already up," Jon said, appearing in the door. His grey t-shirt was soaked through with sweat, and he was toweling off his face.

"Yeah, couldn't sleep." She watched him as he lifted his shirt over his head, his flat stomach and toned chest coming into view. "How was your run?" She blinked and saw Michael behind her eyes. His large frame wedged between her legs, the way his gut seemed to press into her thighs moments before he—

"You okay? You look a little pale." He walked to the bathroom, turning the shower on, before reappearing at the door.

"Yeah, sorry. I... I think I drank a little too much last night."

"I get it," he said, walking over to give her a gentle kiss on the forehead. "You've been under a lot of stress lately. That's probably why things felt so awkward when you got home."

Wendy's stomach clenched, she had hoped he didn't notice. Coming home from the hotel, she was desperate to wash away Michael from her memory. Jon woke up as soon as she slipped into bed. She couldn't refuse him, not after what she'd just done. But every touch felt wrong, with every kiss she was sure he would taste the difference. Her mind kept drifting back to the hotel room. She'd never had multiple orgasms before, didn't even know it was possible for her. She was so lost in the comparison that by the time she realized Jon was already finishing, she hadn't even begun.

"It's fine, really," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. He rubbed the back of his neck, not quite looking at her "It was probably on me. I'm still trying to get my head around Marcus being gone. I wasn't as focused as I should have been."

She rested her head against his shoulder, ignoring the salt and sweat clinging to his skin. The absurdity nearly made her laugh. Jon was apologizing for not satisfying her when she was the one who had betrayed him. With Michael, she had also discovered a kind of pleasure she hadn't even believed her body was capable of. Multiple orgasms, wave after wave, until she was left trembling. Now Jon sat here blaming himself, while she still carried the echo of another man inside her.

Jon was always like this, quick to shoulder blame that wasn’t his. She used to find it endearing. Michael would never diminish himself like that. He was cocky to a fault, unapologetic in everything he did. Yet as Jon’s arm circled her waist and pulled her closer, a different hunger stirred. It wasn’t gratitude for his gentleness. It was the electric pull toward Michael’s kind of confidence, the kind that took what it wanted without asking permission first.

"We should probably start getting ready," she said, glancing at the clock. "I want to get to the bookstore before they get too busy."

Jon's eyes went wide. "I completely forgot that was today."

"You don't want to go?"

"I..." He took a deep breath. "I've been seeing Dr. Carson the last month or so. I have another appointment this morning."

Wendy studied his face. "You started seeing Dr. Carson again? Why didn't you tell me?" She was trying to act calm, she didn't want to jump to any conclusions. Jon had started seeing Dr. Carson after he accused his last girlfriend of cheating.

"I just..." he gave a nervous laugh. "I didn't want to worry you. I'm just trying to be a better version of myself. For you."

"Aww, baby, that's so sweet. You're already a great version of yourself." She gave a warm smile. "You get ready for your appointment. I can go to the bookstore alone."

"You sure you don't mind?"

"Of course. I'll even pick up the newest copy of the journal for you."

"Thanks, Wendy." He moved toward the bathroom, then paused at the doorway. "Hey, we never got a chance to really talk last night when you came in. How'd it go with Michael? Did you get a chance to mention me?"

She chewed at her cheek. She knew that conversation was coming, but still her hand drifted to her ring. "It was... productive. We talked about the Memphis expansion mostly."

"But did you bring up the director position?"

"We um..." Put it on. Wendy spun her ring franticly. Remembering the moment she completely submitted and gave Michael what she'd been denying him, the hunger in his eyes, the way it felt as he pierced her with his massive—

"Yeah, we discussed it. He said he's looking for someone who can take initiative."

His voice rang in her ear: If you'd rather I give the promotion to him than to you, then just say the word. The memory sent heat rushing through her. Michael was giving her his power, allowing her to make the decision. Meanwhile, Jon wanted the power for himself.

"That's incredible." Jon slipped out of his shorts, his cock springing free as he walked toward the shower with the door open. "Did he say anything else?"

Wendy's gaze held his manhood. He was soft, had just gotten back from a run, she didn't want to compare the two, but Michael's taunts whispered anyway: Just cause your pathetic husband can't get you off twice, doesn't mean I can't.

"N... no, nothing else. You should talk to him though. Speak up for yourself." Her chest tightened. "He likes that sort of thing."

Instead of getting into the shower, Jon appeared back in the door, a towel wrapped around his mid section. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"What?" Wendy felt the panic start to creep up her throat. How did he know? They were just having a normal conversation. Was there something in the shower? Some piece of Michael that she'd washed away but left forgotten in the tub?

"It just feels like you're holding something back." Steam was beginning to billow out of the bathroom, as Jon walked back over to the bed.

Her pulse spiked. "I... um... wh... What do you mean?"

"I don't know." He was studying her face now, those analytical eyes missing nothing. "It's like... you're being careful about what you're saying. Like you're editing."

Panic clawed at her throat as she held back tears. "I'm not editing anything." Her response was too loud, angrier than she meant for it to be.

"It feels like you're hiding something from me," he said quietly. "And I get it. If the conversation didn't go well, just tell me. I know Michael doesn't exactly love me. So if he laughed at the idea or shut it down, you don't have to spare my feelings."

Relief shuddered out of her. She grabbed his hand. "He didn't laugh," she said, which was true. "But you know Michael. He can be... demanding." She squirmed in the bed. "Just talk to him. Show him you can command a room and not back down." Michael's voice continued in her ear: He’s always had that… cuck energy.

Jon nodded, already planning his approach. "You're right." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Thank you. For advocating for me. I know it probably wasn't easy."

Jon turned and headed for the shower, leaving Wendy alone with her thoughts and a light throbbing between her legs.

***

The business section of Barnes and Noble was nearly empty, exactly what Wendy had hoped for on a Saturday morning. She wanted to get lost in the books, to forget all about Jon's therapy appointment and things Michael had made her discover about herself. She glanced over the leadership titles. Books like The First 90 Days. Good to Great. Lean In catching her eye. If she was going to be a director, then she would earn it just like she'd earned everything else up to this point.

"Wendy?"

She turned to find Marcus emerging from between the psychology shelves, a couple of larger books tucked under his arm. He wore a pair of blue jeans and an SNL t-shirt. He almost looked younger, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Then she saw his eyes. They were red and puffy, with bags that suggested he hadn't slept in weeks. A low ache began to form in her chest.

"Marcus, hi." Her smile came naturally. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"Picking up some reading for Jon?" He nodded toward her armload of books, his expression warm with what appeared to be genuine interest.

Wendy laughed, unconsciously pulling the books closer to her body. "Something like that, I guess." She wasn't sure why she lied instead of just admitting they were for her. She had no reason to be ashamed of all that she'd accomplished so far.

"Glad to hear something positive is coming out of this whole mess." Marcus's eyebrows lifted slightly. Before Wendy had a chance to ask what that meant, he pressed on. "Congratulations are in order. I've been following the Fireball coverage in the trade publications. Impressive stuff."

Her annoyance died as a swell of confidence spread through her chest and Wendy straightened. "Thanks. The consumer insights were spot-on, and I pushed hard for the authentic expansion strategy. The Memphis rollout exceeded every projection I had." She realized she was talking faster, her excitement bubbling over. "And honestly, the social media engagement surprised even me."

The slightest smirk formed on Marcus's lips as Wendy paused for air. "Michael's... business acumen seems to have rubbed off on you."

The comment floated past her like background noise. She could tell by the look on his face that he didn't mean that as a compliment. But Marcus had already moved on. "Have you talked to Ava recently?"

Wendy's grip tightened on the books, their weight suddenly more noticeable. "No, I... things have been so busy with the campaign."

Marcus nodded, the smirk on his face replaced by a look of sadness. "She's been taking it pretty hard. The firing, I mean. David asked her to leave. He's considering divorce."

"Oh God." Wendy's free hand went to her mouth, covering it in shock. David and Ava had always had such a great relationship, she didn't think they would actually get divorced over rumors. Her gaze darted to Marcus's left hand. He still wore his ring, did that mean his relationship was okay?

"She had to move back in with her parents while she looks for work. She's having trouble finding references, obviously."

Guilt continued to twist in Wendy's chest. For a moment she considered dropping the books and rushing out of there. She didn't want to be having this conversation. It wasn't her fault Ava had gotten caught up in all of this. Ava wanted to act like some sort of hero, but Wendy told her, she didn't need saving. "I... I should have called."

"I think we both know why you didn't"

Panic flared in her throat. Marcus didn't look angry, or judgmental, just disappointed, like a father who found out his daughter was working as a stripper. "I don't know what she told you—"

"It doesn't matter now." Marcus's voice was dismissive, in a way that made her blood turn to ice. "What's done is done."

But it did matter to Wendy. The way he'd said it, the implication that Ava had shared whatever she thought she'd seen. Her grip on the books shifted, no longer heavy with guilt but firm with purpose.

"I think Ava realizes she let office politics get in the way of what was important."

"I told her she needed to worry about herself. That whatever she thought was going on wasn't." Wendy felt herself getting more defensive. Marcus's stare more accusatory than when the conversation first started.

"She was worried about you. We both were."

"There was nothing to be worried about," her voice started to rise. "She was manufacturing problems that didn't exist. I'm better off now than I ever was before."

"She was trying to protect you," he said, keeping his voice low and calm.

"I didn't need protecting!" Her voice carried, the few people in the bookstore turning to look at her. She took a breath, composing herself. "Some people know how to adapt to new situations, and others don't. Ava couldn't accept the fact that I was succeeding without her."

Marcus expression shifted, like he was looking at someone he no longer recognized. "I don't think she saw it that way."

"Of course she didn't. Ava always thought she knew what was best for everyone else."

The silence that followed stretched for minutes. Marcus was studying her face with an intensity that should have made her uncomfortable, but instead she felt a strange sense of power. She'd faced down his judgment and emerged stronger.

Marcus nodded slowly. "Those books aren't for Jon, are they?"

Wendy smirked, a new sense of pride rushing through her that made her stand a little taller. Marcus had already begun to walk away before she could answer.

"Take care of yourself, Wendy." He paused, eyeing the books in her arms. "And Jon."

The mention of her husband felt oddly pointed, but Marcus was already gone, disappearing between the psychology shelves like a ghost.

She made her way to the checkout counter, the encounter replaying in her mind. Had she been too harsh? Maybe. But she'd stood her ground, refused to let herself be made to feel guilty for succeeding where others had failed. There was something oddly satisfying about that. Marcus had once felt like this powerful VP whose sheer presence intimidated her. Now, she'd faced down his judgment and emerged stronger, ultimately made him back down because he knew she was right. Some people understood how to seize opportunity. People like Marcus let fear and judgment get in the way.

As she handed her books to the cashier, she could almost hear Michael's voice in her ear, that conversation from the hotel room echoing through her thoughts: Most people spend their entire lives wishing for just one shot at this kind of power.

Ava had missed her shot. Had let fear and moral superiority get in the way of real opportunity. Wendy wouldn't make the same mistake.

***

The weekend went in the blink of an eye, with no mention of Marcus or Ava. Jon came back from his therapy session with a smile on his face and thanked Wendy for the latest edition of the business journal. She was almost sad to see it go.

Before Wendy realized it, Monday was already here and she was back to sharing an office with Jon, looking over the Fireball numbers for any type of discrepancy. She'd decided to wear a white silk blouse today, and smiled to herself every time she caught Jon stealing glances at her exposed cleavage. She'd adjusted the neckline perfectly to ensure it couldn't be considered inappropriate, but left just enough on display to ensure she was the focus of every room she entered. She was done dressing to try to blend in. Now, she was dressing to show off, to wield the power she had.

"These numbers are incredible," Jon said. They'd been staring at the same screen for the last ten minutes. "I've run the projections three times. The Memphis expansion is outperforming every model we built by at least thirty percent."

Wendy leaned back in her chair, unable to hide the smile on her face. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Not at all, but..." he rubbed his eyes like that would somehow change what he saw on the screen. "Wendy, if these numbers are right this will be our most successful campaign ever."

The satisfaction in her chest expanded. It wasn't very often she'd seen Jon bewildered, especially when it came to numbers. She was giddy with excitement, like she was riding the biggest high of her life. Just a couple of short months into her job as an account manager and she had already produced the most successful campaign in the company's history. There was no way anyone could say she wasn't ready for the director role now.

"I guess I'm a natural," she said with a giggle. "Maybe I need to set my sights higher."

Jon's eyebrows rose slightly, but before he could respond, Wendy gestured toward their empty water bottles on the desk. "Could you grab us some water? I'm parched, and I have a meeting with Michael later to go over all of this. I'm sure it will be a long one."

She realized too late how it sounded. But her muscles already buzzed with the drug of validation. The careless phrasing only added to the heat. The implication struck like a spark, hot and unexpected but not unwelcome.

"Um... yeah, of course." Jon stood, grabbing both of the bottles. "Be right back."

She watched him walk toward the break room, his shoulders slightly hunched like he was still trying to figure out why the numbers didn't make sense. She felt bad for him. He couldn't see the world the way she did. It was as if he couldn't fathom how she could be so good at her job.

"Wendy?"

Jenny had turned the corner and appeared in the doorway. The younger woman wore a navy dress that was about the same cut as Wendy's, but of course she didn't look nearly as good in it. It was like she was screaming for attention, but she was unsure how to capture it.

"Jenny." Wendy tried to keep her face neutral, waiting to see what this was about.

"I hope I'm not interrupting." Jenny stepped inside but didn't close the door. It was a small detail that made her seem less calculated than Wendy remembered. "Look, I've been thinking about the other night. At the party." She ran a hand through her hair, messing up her careful styling. "I keep thinking about how I must have come across and feel like an idiot"

Wendy sat up a little straighter, her eyebrow raising.

Jenny kept looking at her feet, barely making eye contact. "I realize now how that looked, like I was trying to insert myself into something I hadn't earned a place in."

The admission caught Wendy off guard. She'd expected defensiveness, maybe even competition, but this felt genuine. "It's fine. You were just excited."

"But it wasn't fine." Jenny moved closer. "You and Michael have done something with Fireball no one else has. I hear the whispers, see the coverage." She bit her lip. "Watching you and Michael. Seeing the ideas you two come up with together. It's like... magic. It's stuff they don't teach in marketing classes."

Recognition shot through her like a live wire. The kind she'd been craving for years. Jenny was finally starting to understand what she'd accomplished. She was finally seeing past the surface to the strategic thinking that had made it all possible.

"Sorry, I'm sort of fangirling." She brushed a strand of hair from her face. "I want to learn from someone who's actually achieved what I'm hoping for someday. The way people talk about you in the halls. The respect you've garnered. I want that."

The flattery was expertly delivered, hitting every note Wendy needed to hear. People valued her mind. Her work was being discussed, analyzed, admired. She wasn't just the pretty face who'd gotten lucky.

"That's... that's very kind of you to say."

"Look, I know this might sound weird, but would you maybe consider... I don't know, letting me shadow you sometimes? Not officially or anything." Jenny was twirling her fingers together, her foot bouncing with nervous energy.

Wendy wasn't sure how to respond. Not because it was unexpected, but because of how it made her feel. Powerful. Respected. Like someone worth emulating.

"I don't want to get in your way," Jenny added quickly. "I know you're busy with everything. But even just occasional advice would be..."

"I mean, I'm still learning myself," Wendy said, but even as the modest words left her mouth, she was already thinking about ways she could use the extra set of hands, and claim the authority Jenny was offering her.

"That's exactly why I think you'd be such a good mentor," Jenny pressed. "You remember what it's like to be where I am now. You know what it takes to break through and actually get noticed for your ideas."

"Don't sell yourself short," Wendy said, suddenly unable to remember why she didn't like Jenny. "Michael seems to notice you. He has an eye for talent."

"I don't know, sometimes I think I have his attention, but then I lose it and can't gain it back."

Wendy found herself nodding along, all too aware of that feeling.

"Okay," she said finally. "But just so you know, success in this industry isn't just about being smart or creative. It's about being willing to do whatever it takes, about showing how bad you want it. To succeed here, you have to be fully committed."

Jenny's eyes sharpened with interest, her nervous energy fading away. "Fully committed, got it."

---

The rest of the morning drifted by like an ordinary Monday, but Wendy was on cloud nine, still shaking with the buzz of this morning's news. Every time she looked at the Memphis numbers she felt goosebumps pimple on her skin, sending another jolt of electricity through her body. After Jon had returned with their water he'd spent the better part of an hour confirming, and reconfirming the data, unable to process the massive swing in sales. And then there was Jenny's visit. The younger woman had finally admitted to herself that she needed Wendy's help, that she couldn't just bat her eyes at Michael and get him to give her access without earning it. She wasn't sure how this day could get any better.

"Ready for lunch?" Jon asked, closing his laptop with a smile. "I'm thinking that Mexican place you like."

"Sure," Wendy stood, stretching, "I just need to swing by Michael's office first. Then we can go."

Jon nodded, already reaching for his phone. "No problem. I'll catch up on emails."

As Wendy’s heels clicked down the hallway, she realized it was her first time entering Michael’s office since his promotion. The thought sent something hot and restless through her veins. She’d been there plenty of times when it belonged to Marcus, could still picture the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown Columbus and the walls dotted with golf photos and motivational quotes. Michael, despite his round in New Orleans, didn’t strike her as the type to share Marcus’s enthusiasm. Nor could she picture that space occupied by a man of his size.

But when she pushed the door open after a polite tap, the sight stole her breath. Michael sat behind a massive oak desk, the Columbus skyline framing him through the windows. The desk concealed much of his bulk, transforming him into something larger than life. In that moment, with the city spread out behind him, he looked almost presidential.

"Nice setup," she said with a smile, pushing the door closed behind her. The golf art was gone, just as she'd expected. Michael's belongings, however, were still packed in boxes, leaving the walls bare while he typed away on his computer. In the corner, the only splash of color was a polished mahogany liquor cabinet, its shelves lined with an impressive array of premium spirits. Dominating them all, like a trophy, was a massive bottle of Fireball Premium, sitting front and center.

"Wendy." Michael's face brightened as she appeared in his doorway. "Perfect timing. I was just reviewing the Memphis reports."

"Have you seen the overnight numbers?" She stepped inside, unable to contain her excitement. "They're beyond anything we projected."

"I have indeed." The leather chair groaned under his weight as he leaned back, satisfaction radiating from him. His grey dress shirt was perfectly tailored, the expensive silk concealing his bulk and transforming his frame into something presidential. The red and gold tie caught the office light, and she saw him for what he was: powerful, and unapologetically untouchable. "I just got off the phone with Jack. For the first time since I've known him, he was speechless."

She bit her lip, feeling her nipples tighten as she allowed the praise to wash over her. "I have to admit, when I pitched the Memphis idea, I had no clue the market would react like this."

"I may have had something to do with that," Michael said, with a grin.

"Oh? Taking credit for my ideas already?" Wendy's tone remained playful as she crossed the office, letting her hips sway as her gaze locked with Michaels.

"I wouldn't dream of it." He rolled his chair back from the desk, his eyes never leaving Wendy's. "I did make a call though. I convinced the band that since it was the last night of their performance they should drink Fireball Premium on stage, talk about how great it was in between songs."

Wendy's mouth fell open. "That's... that's incredible. How did you possibly arrange that?"

"Let's just say I can be very persuasive when the situation calls for it." His smile was pure satisfaction. "Don't worry, I told Jack it was your idea. After all, had I not listened to you we would have never been in the Memphis market."

"Michael, I..." Her thighs trembled as she rounded his desk, her legs unsteady. The scent of his cologne made her body hum. It was more than that. It was his power, his success. The aura of a man who achieved something remarkable and treated it as routine, certain there would be dozens more. Her fingertips brushed the polished wood of his desk as she moved closer, seeking balance in a moment that felt like falling. No one had ever handed her power like this, wrapped in genuine respect for her own business acumen. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he said casually. "You earned it."

Something playful sparked in her chest, a confidence that only seemed to grow every time she met with Michael. She slid onto his desk, positioning herself between his legs.

"And I bet you think that entitles you to some kind of reward, don't you?" She leaned forward, pressing her breasts together as her toes hooked around his ankles to draw him closer.

Michael laughed, but his eyes held no humor. "Actually, now that you mention it." He undid his belt. "I was thinking about Friday night, and how we might—"

She placed her hand on his. "Slow down Casanova." She maintained her playful tone, allowing her nails to dip just past his fingers and press lightly on his manhood. "I was being overly generous Friday night. I already told you, it's not going to happen again."

"Is that so? Because—"

A knock at the door froze them both. Wendy’s stomach lurched as the handle turned. Without thinking, she slipped off the desk and dropped to her knees, scrambling beneath. The confined space swallowed her as Michael rolled his chair forward, pressing her back into the shadows. His belt still dangled loose, swaying above her face as if to remind her.

"Sorry for interrupting," Jon's voice filled the room and Wendy's face went white. "I um... I was actually just looking for Wendy. I thought she came in here."

From her hiding spot, she could see his shoes. He was so close she could have reached through the gap beneath the desk and touched him. Her blood turned to ice. She pressed back against Michael’s leg, tucking her feet under her, terrified Jon might catch the faintest trace of her perfume or the sound of her breathing.

"You just missed her," Michael said, casually, as he reached under the desk. His fingers tangled in her hair. Wendy swatted at him in panic, terrified he’d give her away, every nerve on fire. She just needed Jon to leave. If she could hold still long enough, she could slip out after him unnoticed.

"Ok, um.. sorry to bother you." He turned to leave and Wendy let out a sigh of relief. However, just before he reached the door he turned back toward Michael. "Actually, if you have a second. I'd love to take a minute to talk about the director position."

Wendy's heart stopped. Now. Of all times, he chose now to finally listen to her advice.

“Please, have a seat.” Michael gestured to the chair across from him with one hand, while the other guided Wendy’s face toward the front of his slacks. “I love someone who takes initiative.”

The hardness of his shaft pressed against her cheek. Even beneath all the clothing she could feel the weight of it, the casual assertion of power. She placed her palms on her thighs, trying to resist his pull. He had to be out of his mind.

"Thanks. I know Wendy mentioned it to you the other night, but I thought it might help to share my vision for the department directly."

"I think I can spare a few minutes." His hand went to the zipper of his pants, slowly sliding it down much to Wendy's dismay. She glanced toward the opposite side of the desk, catching sight of Jon’s ankles as he settled into the chair.

The timing was catastrophic. Jon, who never asserted himself, had chosen this moment to advocate for himself. Meanwhile, Michael seemed intent on prolonging the conversation for reasons that made Wendy’s pulse thunder in her ears.

Wendy pressed herself tighter into the shadowed space under the desk, barely daring herself to breathe. She wanted to scream at Jon to leave, to stop lingering, but Michael leaned back comfortably, more than happy to let him talk.

"I'll be honest," Michael began, "when Wendy said you were interested in the position I was shocked. I expected her to advocate for herself."

The chair creaked as he shifted, forcing Wendy to scurry around his feet. His hand disappeared inside his fly turning her blood cold. He couldn't be serious. Just behind her, Jon's shoes scuffed softly across the floor, close enough she could reach out and touch them.

"Wendy's success on the Fireball campaign has been nothing short of amazing," Jon started, bringing a smile to Wendy's lips even as Michael tugged his cock free. She edged closer to her husband's side of the desk, thankful he was finally seeing her as an equal, as someone deserving of the promotion.

“But,” Jon went on carefully, making Wendy's heart break. “It’s just one account. Impressive, absolutely, but anyone in analytics will tell you one data point doesn’t prove a trend. I just think she needs more time to show consistency.”

Tears pricked the back of her eyes. How could he say that? She had gone to Michael for him, had nearly sacrificed her own chance, and the first time Jon had Michael’s ear, he dismissed her? In her stunned silence, she barely resisted as Michael’s hand closed around her head, dragging her toward him. The thick head of his cock brushed across her cheek. She wrenched back, shaking her head desperately, but Michael only smirked above her, patient as ever.

"I disagree," Michael said, seemingly undeterred by Wendy's resistance. "I've seen Wendy in action. She's got fire. A drive to win, no matter what. You can't teach instincts like that."

"Oh, I agree she's been tenacious." Jon’s voice wavered with false generosity, and Wendy bit the inside of her cheek, bracing for the sting. Her father used to say you couldn’t trust anything said before the word but. "But, you of all people should know that sort of dedication isn't possible across multiple projects. In a few years she’ll be ready, but she doesn’t have the experience I do managing account managers and getting them to see your vision."

Wendy clenched her fists. She'd dealt with CEOs, she'd put out more fires, and handled more personalities than Jon could ever dream. How dare he suggest she was unproven. Michael caught her wrist and pressed her palm against his shaft. Her nerves lit up like a match. She stroked him once before tearing her hand back.

"She's still early in her career," Jon continued, suddenly more confident than she'd ever heard him. "But she doesn't have the experience I do. She still gravitates toward her big ideas instead of looking at the data."

Wendy's lungs emptied in a silent gasp. Even after everything this morning, all the praise, he still didn't believe in her. Not really. Not when it counted the most.

"That's an interesting take," Michael said, calmly as his thumb brushed over Wendy's cheek and settling at the base of her neck. This time she didn't fight him. "From what I've seen from your wife she's more than capable of... wrapping her head around big problems. She just needs someone willing to believe she has it in her."

It was the way he said it, the conviction in his voice. Michael believed in her when no one else did, not even Jon. Something inside her cracked. She exhaled, slow and shaky, then let her tongue circle his swollen head before sealing her lips around him.

Other than the subtle tightening of his hand in her hair, Michael’s face betrayed nothing. To Jon, he was a calm executive at ease in conversation. But Wendy felt the tremor in him when she sealed her lips tighter and pushed him deeper. The faint shudder ran through her like current, making her body quake.

"It's not that I don't believe in her," Jon said, earnestly. "I think she's going to be the best account manager we've ever had. I just think she needs more time. The Memphis pivot was a huge success, but it was an unnecessary risk. You need someone levelheaded."

Her hand clenched around Michael's base. She opened her mouth wider and the taste of him was a hot, shocking truth. It was a raw, defiant answer to the quiet, casual betrayal happening just inches away. Jon doesn't believe me. He's betraying me. The words hammered through her mind with every desperate intake of breath, a jagged rhythm to the relentless pressure. Michael is the only one. He's the only one who's ever seen me.

"That's what I like about her." His voice only slightly strained, but Jon didn't seem to notice. A smile formed on Michael's lips as he leaned back slightly. "I need someone with..." he paused slightly for emphasis, "balls."

Jon chuckled nervously. He didn't expect a VP to be so blunt, but then, nothing with Michael surprised him. "I think I've proven I have plenty of courage just by having this conversation."

In the darkness below the desk, Wendy rolled her eyes understanding Michael's game. She dropped his shaft from her mouth, twisting her wrist as she continued to stroke him. Her tongue slid across his sensitive underside, sucking his large, hairy sac into her mouth as she felt him throb against her palm.

Michael’s eyes fluttered shut as Wendy drew his other heavy sac into her mouth. When they opened, Jon was giving him a puzzled look. Michael cleared his throat, tugging Wendy back for a breath only to feel her sink down on him again.

"Sorry, did you want me to grab you a coffee or something? I'm sure these long days are taking it out of you."

"What I need," Michael said with a grin and an edge in his voice, "is for you to not be so damn boring. Stroking my ego isn't going to get you anywhere."

A mix of pride and arousal flared in Wendy's chest. She could tell by the exchange she was having an effect on Michael, but he barely faltered. Instead he mocked Jon mercilessly and despite herself it only stoked her fire. Her free hand slipped under her dress, stroking her wet furrow. A small moan escaped her lips as she swirled her tongue around his sensitive crown. When she found her clit, she sucked him even deeper.

"One thing you need to understand about this position," Michael continued, trying to refocus the conversation. "is that I'm looking for someone who can handle more than they think possible. It's one of the things I admire more about Wendy. Her ability to take even more than she believes she can."

Jon’s chair squeaked as he shifted, crossing one leg over the other. Wendy barely registered it. Her eyes squeezed shut, her nose flared, and she forced her mouth farther down Michael’s shaft. Her throat burned as she heard Jon saying something about believing he can take on even more. Her lungs begged for air, her jaw ached and still at least an inch of thick flesh hovered just beyond her reach.

Her throat convulsed, and she nearly broke away, terrified she would gag and Jon would hear her, but Michael's palm flattened against the back of her skull. He wasn't applying pressure, he wasn't making her go deeper, he was letting her know he believed in her. He knew she could do it, and suddenly she didn't want to disappoint the only person who ever truly had faith in her.

Above her, Jon remained oblivious. He didn't seem to notice the way Michael's teeth clenched together, or how his hips lifted slightly off the chair. "And that's why I believe I'm the best person for the role. My faith is in the numbers. They ensure I don't panic and stay the course."

Michael gave a low hum of acknowledgement, rolling his hips once more. "Those are great qualities to have." With a final thrust, Wendy’s throat yielded, her lips sealing at the root of his thick shaft.

Tears streaked her cheeks as she forced herself to breathe through her nose. She had done it. She had taken him completely. Her slick fingers circled her clit as a tremor ran through her body, her hum vibrating against his length and making his balls draw tight.

Michael's grip in her hair loosened just enough to let her ease up, nothing more. "And you think you can handle the load? Because I need someone who can," he paused seeming for effect, but in reality he was trying to hold out just a second longer, "savor the moment. Swallow their pride when the moment calls for it."

Even though Wendy knew it was coming, hearing him say it made her breath shallow, her thighs tensing on reflex. She absolutely hated the taste of cum, but she knew it was the only way to get out of this mess without being seen. And still, the audacity it took for Michael to practically give Jon a play by play had her grinding her hip against her palm, her own release coiling fast.

She hollowed out her cheeks, her tongue flat against the underside of his shaft. His thighs tensed beneath her palms. She felt the tremor ripple through his body as the first blast hit the back of her throat. She swallowed quickly, struggling to keep pace as more filled her mouth, her body quaking as though his climax had triggered her own.

Above her, Michael's voice purred through his release. "We'll pick this up tomorrow," he said, smoothly. "Let's plan on meeting up for lunch."

"That sounds great, Michael... um, sir. I appreciate your time." The squeak of his chair was just loud enough to allow Wendy to release Michael's deflated cock from her seal, her head resting on his bare thigh as she rode out her own orgasm.

She stayed crouched in the shadows, counting four steady breaths before she dared to slide out. When she did, Michael’s cocky smile was waiting for her. She ignored it, smoothing her blouse and checking for any trace of what had just happened.

"I guess I got my reward after all."

She rolled her eyes, even as her shoulders tightened against a shiver. "You're reckless, and that was stupid."

"And yet, you seemed awful driven to prove yourself."

Her lips pressed tight. His taste lingered, it wasn't as unpleasant as she'd expected. She tried to ignore the slick heat between her legs. "I want another account. Something big."

His eyes lit up. "I'd say you've proven you can handle big now."

"I'm serious, Michael." Her thighs rubbed together, restless.

“Trevor’s got the Skyline account. It used to be our flagship, but he’s been coasting. Numbers are slipping, and there’s talk of them jumping ship.”

The spike of adrenaline hit her like a freight train. She could already envision how she would right the ship. "Great. Send me the deck, and the last two quarters of sales."

“You’ll have to get that from Trevor. He’s held it for years. He won’t hand it over without a fight.”

Wendy flinched. That wasn’t what she expected. “You’re the VP. Can’t you just take it from him?”

“Of course I could,” Michael said with a shrug. “But you want to be director. Time to show your diplomatic side.”

“Trevor’s a pig and an asshole.”

“People say worse about me.”

She chewed on her lip. This wasn't how she envisioned it going, but maybe Michael was right. If she wanted to be a leader she had to stand on her own two feet. She could make Trevor listen to reason. She'd take over the Skyline account and prove to Jon she was more than capable of handling multiple projects. "Fine. I'll handle it." She rounded the desk and headed for the door.

"He doesn't value you, ya know." She paused at the door. "He doesn't see your potential."

She turned to face him, her gaze sharp enough to cut him. "Just sign off on the account when I bring it to you. And stop trying to pit me against my husband."

She left before he could answer. She headed toward the break room, wanting a minute to herself before she went back to find Jon waiting for her. She wasn't sure how she would explain where she disappeared to. She wasn't even sure she'd be able to look at him without breaking into tears. His betrayal cut worse than anything she could imagine.

Her phone buzzed in her hand as she reached the break room. She fumbled it, her hands still shaking as she glanced at the screen. She expected Jon’s name, or maybe Michael’s. Instead, it was an unknown number: Got your number from your email signature. Michael sent me this picture of the two of you Friday night. you're practically our brand ambassador in that dress. Looking forward to next time you're in New Orleans. -Jack.

Wendy's pulse drummed in her ears as she reread the message. Jack Peterson was texting her directly. Not going through corporate channels, or using Michael as a buffer. The CEO of their biggest client felt comfortable enough to skip all the layers of corporate hierarchy and go straight to her.

Her hand trembled as she enlarged the attached photo of her and Michael, the one Jon took. The dress, the one that once made her feel so exposed had opened doors for her she never dreamed possible. Years of hiding behind conservative blazers got her nowhere, but just one night out in that dress and Jack Peterson was texting her.

Even more than that, he was already talking about another visit to New Orleans. Something coiled tight in her as she thought about another visit. A new contract, an even bigger budget with an entire team at her disposal. A smile formed on her lips. She felt indispensable.