[Insider] Executive Privilege Ch. 11 (Patreon)

Hey Friends! Hope everyone is having a great week so far. Sorry, this one took a little longer to get to you. Hopefully, it was worth the wait. There may be a few more technical issues here than usual. I spent most of my "polish" time tacking on last-minute things I'd thought of while writing, so it may be a little rougher around the edges.

Can't wait to hear what everyone thinks.

The cool breeze coming from the vent just above Jon's head seemed to calm him, despite how he fidgeted in his chair. He watched the second hand on the wall clock as he struggled to find the words. Dr. Carson wasn't actually on his side at all.

"I can see you're upset, Jon. Do you want to start over?" Dr. Carson crossed his legs, jotting down another note in his legal pad.

"It just feels like…"

"Deep breath," Dr. Carson reminded him, seeing the way the vein in his neck began to pulse. "Remember, let's focus on the facts first. Then we can talk about how they make you feel and why."

"Fact, yesterday, Wendy and I planned to grab lunch together. Things have felt off with her and I thought…"

"Stick to the facts," Dr. Carson reminded him, calmly.

Jon's hands clenched. He closed his eyes, trying to remain calm. "We planned to grab lunch. But just before we were set to leave, she said she needed to swing by Michael's office. I told her I would wait."

"Very good, Jon. Remember, it's important to think about things through this type of lens. Once you start to cloud it with feelings and interpretations, that's when you start to manifest some of those bad habits we've discussed."

"I waited for at least twenty minutes, but she never came back." His jaw tightened, and he shifted his weight in the chair as he recounted yesterday's events. "I checked my email, went through another proposal. I tried to fill the space while she was out. Finally, I got up and walked to Michael's office. I figured I would intercept her."

"And, did you?"

"No, I thought I heard her voice when I got to his office, but when I knocked and went inside, she wasn't there."

Dr. Carson nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"I asked if he'd seen Wendy, and Michael said I'd just missed her, then asked me to sit and talk about the director role." Jon paused and brought his nail to his mouth. It was a disgusting habit that he picked up when he started noticing all of the signs with Olivia, but as he chewed, he knew Dr. Carson wouldn't like the next part. "But Michael was acting strange. It was almost like…"

"Facts only," Dr. Carson reminded him, but Jon blew it off.

"It was like he was toying with me. I saw it in his eyes, his smirk. Like he knew something that I didn't."

The pen being placed on Dr. Carson's notepad sounded like a car backfiring. Jon could immediately see the look of disappointment written all over his face.

"And what do you think that was, Jon?" His voice had an edge to it, a roughness that Jon wasn't familiar with. "You think Wendy was hiding in his closet?"

"Of course not, I just—"

"Under his desk? What exactly are you trying to convince yourself of?"

"Jesus, doc. Come on."

Dr. Carson held up a hand. "I know it sounds harsh, but I need you to hear how it sounds when you say it out loud." He removed his glasses, cleaning a smudge that didn't exist.

"You sound like you're taking her side."

"I'm not taking sides, Jon. But I need you to understand that the further you drift from the facts, the more your mind tries to fill in the blanks. And in your case, it always seems to want to show your significant other cheating on you." He put his glasses back on his face, and Jon noticed for the first time how crooked his nose was. "Why do you think that is?"

Fire began building in Jon's chest. He wasn't one to lash out. He knew this was exactly where Dr. Carson was going to go when he told him what happened yesterday. "Fine… fact, when Wendy finally met up with me almost an hour later and I asked her what happened, she acted mad at me. Told me not to worry about it and that I wasn't being supportive. When I asked what she meant she stormed out of the office and told me I never take her seriously. So you tell me, doc. What am I supposed to make of that?"

Dr. Carson was quiet for a long moment, his pen resting idle against his notepad. Jon's leg bounced with nervous energy. He needed answers. Dr. Carson had been great with helping him get through things with Olivia, but now it was like that was the only thing he could see.

"I think," Dr. Carson finally said, his voice measured. "That you're making yourself miserable over interpretations instead of truths. And until you can separate the two, you're going to keep seeing threats that aren't there."

"This isn't like Olivia, doc. This is more than just… paranoia." He leaned over his legs, hoping that getting closer would somehow get his point across. "Where did she go yesterday? And why did she suddenly come back mad at me?"

"And you think that's evidence of—"

"I think people who have nothing to hide don't act like that." Jon sat back in his chair and rubbed his temple, needing Dr. Carson to understand. "She got defensive immediately. Started saying I don't support her, that I never take her seriously. Where did that even come from? I asked about lunch, and suddenly I'm the bad guy?"

Dr. Carson made a note, his expression remaining neutral. "Deflection can mean many things, Jon. It doesn't automatically indicate guilt."

"But it can indicate it." Jon heard the desperation creeping into his voice. "You said to look at facts. Fact… she disappeared. Fact… she won't explain where she was. Fact… she immediately made me the problem when I asked."

"Those are facts," Dr. Carson acknowledged. "But they're not the only facts. Did anything else happen over the weekend? How's your working relationship with your wife?"

Jon shifted in his seat, uneasy with where this was going. "It's great, really. She put in a good word for me with Michael, about the open director role."

"That's wonderful, Jon. I'm sure you'd be great in that role." He paused and looked at his notes. "But, would that make you Wendy's boss? What does she think of that dynamic"?

John chuckled, brushing the question off. "It's fine. We've already discussed it. At first, she thought she might be interested in the role, but I made her realize that she doesn't want the added stress. I'd be able to protect her better if she reported to me."

Dr. Carson's eyes went wide, and Jon knew he'd said something he shouldn't have. "What now?" he asked, replaying the conversation in his head and not knowing where he messed up.

"Jon." Dr. Carson set his notebook aside and leaned forward. "Let me make sure I'm understanding this correctly. Wendy expressed interest in the director position, and you... talked her out of it?"

"Not talked her out of it. I just helped her see the reality of the situation." Jon's defensiveness kicked in immediately. "She's only been an Account Manager for like a month. She's not ready for that kind of responsibility yet. I was being honest with her about what the role requires."

Dr. Carson nodded. "And how did Wendy respond to this honesty?"

Jon smiled. "She understood. Eventually. I mean, she agreed that I have more experience, that I've been in project management roles before. It just makes sense."

"Jon, help me understand something. You came in here worried that Wendy doesn't think you support her career. And in the same breath, you're telling me you convinced her not to pursue a role she was interested in. Do you see the disconnect?"

Jon opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. His hands gripped the armrests. "I was trying to be helpful. She would have been overwhelmed. You don't understand the kind of stress she's been under lately. The late nights, the trips to New Orleans, and that's just one account."

"Or she would have risen to the challenge." Dr. Carson picked up his pen again. "Jon, being truthful and being supportive aren't always the same thing. Sometimes support means stepping back and letting someone try, even if you're not sure they're ready. Even if they might struggle."

"I've worked there for five years," Jon said, realizing how immature it sounded, but he couldn't help himself. "She's been there for two. And suddenly she's the golden child because of one successful campaign."

"Which brings us back to your earlier concerns." Dr. Carson made another note. "Last session, you mentioned Wendy was dressing differently. Has that continued?"

Jon's stomach tightened. "Yeah. More... attention-seeking, I guess. It's like every day her dresses just get shorter and shorter. She used to hate all the attention. She would spend days looking for shirts that would make her chest look smaller. And now it's like she wants the entire office to see just how good she looks."

"I want to ask you a question, Jon. And before you answer, I need you to really think about it."

Jon's fingers dug into the expensive leather of the chair. "Go ahead."

"Are you jealous of your wife's success?"

The hairs on Jon's arms stood up. Of course, he wasn't jealous of Wendy… was he? He wanted to deny it, to call it outrageous and tell Dr. Carson he wanted to find someone else, but the more he thought about it, the more Dr. Carson's gaze bore into him, the more it made some sense. He was Marcus's golden boy, the man who could do no wrong. But, Marcus was gone now, and in his place was Michael.

"I don't know," Jon finally admitted. "Maybe. I mean, I've put in my dues, and she works one project with Michael, and suddenly there's talk about her taking the director role."

"And that makes you feel...?"

"Like I'm being overshadowed." The words came out raw, unfiltered. "Like everything I've done doesn't matter because Michael has always taken an interest in her and…" His hands unclenched slightly. "But that doesn't mean I'm wrong about her not being ready. Both things can be true."

Dr. Carson sat up a little taller, his eyes flicking to his watch face. "They can. But Jon, what you're describing right now. That sense of invisibility was exactly how you said Wendy felt before she got this big break."

Dr. Carson leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I want to try something with you, Jon. A practical exercise we use in cognitive behavioral therapy. Are you familiar with thought records?"

Jon shook his head.

"It's a tool for distinguishing between what actually happens and how we interpret what happens." Dr. Carson pulled out a small notebook from his desk drawer. "I'm going to ask you to keep a journal this week. But I'm going to ask you to use a very specific format."

He opened the notebook and drew three columns across the top of a blank page, labeling them as he spoke.

"Column one: Facts. Observable, verifiable events. Time, place, what was said, what was done. Like a court reporter would document."

He tapped the first column. "Column two: Your interpretation. What you think it means, the story you're telling yourself about those facts." He tapped the second column. "And column three: Alternative explanations. Other possible reasons for what happened."

Jon leaned forward, studying the page. It looked almost like one of the spreadsheets he kept at work.

"So if Wendy comes home late," Dr. Carson continued, "column one would be: 'Wendy arrived home at 8:47 PM. She said she had a late meeting.' That's a fact. Column two might be: 'She's avoiding me. Something's wrong. She's acting guilty.' That's interpretation. And column three would force you to consider: 'She could actually be working late. Her new responsibilities have been overwhelming. She mentioned it's been stressful.'"

"I can do that," Jon said, accepting the notebook. He turned it over in his hands, examining each side of it like it was the key to all of his problem.

"The goal isn't to ignore your instincts, Jon. It's to separate them from the facts. Because here's what I've observed in our sessions. You're very good at building logical arguments for your suspicions. But you're starting with a conclusion and working backwards to support it. This will help you start with the evidence and see where it actually leads."

Jon nodded, already thinking about how he'd organize it. Maybe he could add a fourth column for supporting data points, or a rating system for how certain he felt about each interpretation.

"One more thing," Dr. Carson added. "If you find yourself filling the interpretation column before you've finished writing the facts, stop. That's your old pattern trying to reassert itself. Facts first. Always facts first."

"Facts first," Jon repeated. "Got it."

Dr. Carson smiled and made a final note. "Same time next week?"

Jon stood, tucking the notebook into his messenger bag. "Same time."

"Jon?" Dr. Carson's voice stopped him at the door. "Remember, facts. Not interpretations. Don't let your imagination fill in the blanks."

Jon forced a smile. "Right. Facts only."

But as he made the short walk back to his car, one fact kept echoing: Wendy had disappeared, and when he found her, she'd been angry at him. Dr. Carson could call it deflection all he wanted. Jon knew defensive behavior when he saw it.

He had lunch with Michael soon to talk about the director role. He and Michael had never really seen eye to eye, but at least Michael seemed to be taking his candidacy for the director position seriously.

As he slid into his car, Dr. Carson's question still echoed: Are you jealous of your wife's success?

Maybe. But that didn't make him wrong.

*

Wendy sipped her coffee in silence as she stared at the dimly lit monitor in front of her. After the success in Memphis, Wendy had to keep her foot on the floor with the marketing blitz. Michael had sent her dozens of contacts in other markets, all eager to see what the buzz was about.

The black dress she'd chosen this morning clung to her thigh as she sat. Instead of tugging at the hem, she slumped back in the chair. She liked the way the brush of cool air against her skin felt. She caught a glimpse of herself in the monitor. The neckline wasn’t as low as some of her other choices, but the way it pressed her breasts together, offering a sultry glimpse of cleavage, was enough to make her bite her lip and feel her pulse quicken.

The office was still mostly empty at 7:15. She'd left the house before Jon was out of bed, still too angry to want to deal with him this morning. They'd argued most of last night, with Jon unwilling to understand why she was so upset. After she'd returned from Michael's office late, he'd asked where she went, why she couldn't bother to text him. She hadn't even given him the courtesy of a real excuse. Instead, she fired back at him, calling him selfish and accusing him of not wanting her to succeed.

The guilt she'd expected to feel didn't hit nearly as hard. What she was doing with Michael was wrong. She knew that. But Jon had gone from a supporting partner to someone who consistently made her second-guess herself. He used to champion her ideas, but now it seemed like all he did was question them. When had his support become conditional on her staying smaller than him? Maybe Michael was right. Jon didn't value her. Not anymore. Not since she'd started outgrowing him.

She closed her eyes, intending to push the anger away with deep breathing. Instead, the memory of Michael's office burned behind her eyes. It washed over her, and she let out a low laugh at the absurdity of the situation. How she'd ended up on her knees under his desk. The way his hands felt in her hair as Jon sat on the other side of the desk, lobbying for the position she deserved.

A rush of air left her lungs as her fingertips drew goosebumps on her legs. The terror of almost being caught had somehow enhanced the moment, given it a thrill she didn't know she'd like. Her tongue slipped past her lips as she closed her eyes, her touch drifting up her thigh, feeling the heat of her core as she inched closer.

Michael hadn't even flinched during the entire exchange. He held an entire conversation with Jon while guiding her mouth to his…

A moan escaped her lips as her fingers pressed against the black lace fabric of her thong. She was soaked. She spread her legs, intending to give herself the relief she never got last night, thanks to Jon's need to fight.

A light in the hallway caught her attention, and Wendy sat back up in her chair, clearing her throat. Her heart hammered as she adjusted her dress with shaking hands. Whispered conversation floated into her office as people prepared for their day. The office would come alive soon. She needed to focus on work and not let herself get distracted.

Wendy barely made it through the next email when her phone buzzed on her desk. She glanced down, expecting a text from Jon saying he was sorry, but the name on the screen read Jack Peterson.

A flutter of excitement rippled through her stomach. She and Jack had exchanged a couple of texts yesterday, and now here he was again reaching out.

*Jack:* After the success in Memphis, the team wants to extend the rollout to Louisville. Thoughts?

She stared at the screen, considering what Michael would say. The heat already pooling in her core intensified as she thought about how Jack brought this decision to her before even Michael.

She typed quickly, before she could second-guess herself.

*Wendy:* Louisville's ready. Demographics align perfectly with Memphis' success. We can soft launch as soon as you give the word. I have a list of contacts already chomping at the bit to be included in this.

Three dots appeared, then disappeared. Her pulse hammered in her neck as she waited for his response.

*Jack:* Let's make it happen. I'll have my people set something up.

She smiled to herself, already pulling up a new window on her computer to see who she had contacts with in the Louisville market. Her phone buzzed again, and as she read the message the warmth she felt building in her core spread across the rest of her body.

*Jack:* Next time I'm in Columbus, I expect you to show me the city, in that Fireball gold dress of course. I'm not sure I can stand another golf outing with Michael.

*Wendy:* Looking forward to it. Just let me know when.

Her hand shook with excitement as she set her phone down and exhaled slowly. This was real. She'd earned Jack's trust, his respect. Jon may have thought this was a fluke, but he never had the CEO of a major brand like Fireball texting him directly. And soon she'd have Skyline too.

She pulled up the account files for Skyline. She'd spent most of last night memorizing them, but Michael had taught her that even when you thought you knew every detail you should go over it one last time. She took a sip of her lukewarm coffee as she skimmed the screen. He'd been account manager for two years. The first year was solid, ten percent growth in marketing spend, but then it started to fall closer to five. The last note in the file was from a month ago saying they wanted to explore fresh perspectives.

Wendy shook her head. That was code for Trevor was failing. she clicked through a couple of their slogans, each one a recycled version of the last. They needed something fresh. They needed her.

With a smile, Wendy stood, running her fingers over her dress to ensure there were no wrinkles. The fabric on the dress clung to her skin in a way she was sure Trevor would notice. It would help soften the blow of her taking his biggest client from him.

She knocked on his already open office door, taking note of the way his feet were propped up on his desk, and he was swiping on his phone. Trevor looked every bit the part of someone coasting on past successes. He looked a little older than thirty, his dark hair styled in a way that made it look messy. His dress shirt wrinkled at the elbows, tie loosened. She could tell that at one point in his life he was a ladies man. Now he was just living in the shadow of who he used to be.

The smirk on his face suggested he hadn't figured that out yet.

"Wendy, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He removed his feet from his desk, his eyes traveling over her body just the way she'd predicted. Just three short months ago, that would have made her skin crawl. Now she welcomed it, knowing it would dull his reaction and keep him on his back foot.

"Sorry for dropping in unannounced," she said with a smile, despite the fact that Trevor's eyes never left her chest. "I was hoping to talk to you about the Skyline account."

"What about it?" His gaze never wavered. Not when she crossed the room, not when she sat down, not even when she crossed her legs, allowing her dress to travel higher up her thigh.

"Skyline's underperforming. I want to help you with it." She leaned forward as she said it. Just slightly, enough to where he couldn't help but notice.

"Who told you that?" He finally looked up. His dark eyes bore into hers, more intense than she anticipated. Her stomached dropped, expecting him to be more flustered.

"Does it matter?" She recrossed her legs, more out of nervousness now than seduction. For a long moment, the room was silent, Trevor's heavy gaze throwing daggers at Wendy. Then he laughed. A hearty laugh that made him throw his head back and close his eyes.

"You know what? You're right. I bet having you on the project would open lots of doors." He stood and moved around the desk. He stopped next to Wendy, his leg brushing hers as he leaned down and whispered in her ear. "So is that how you got the Fireball account? Everyone thought you were this rockstar with a mind for the business, but I see you now." His fingers moved toward her exposed neckline, and she swatted his hand away with a gasp.

Wendy's stomach tightened. "I'm not sure what you—"

"Come on, sweetheart. Don't play the sweet and innocent card. Not after the way you just walked in here." His eyes dragged down her body again, slower this time. Demeaning. "I get it now. Michael's mentorship. The fast promotion. The whispers about making you director." He brushed her hair away behind her shoulder. "I'm not judging. I'm actually impressed. You played it smart."

The words hit like ice water. She stood fast enough that her chair rolled backward into the wall.

"Excuse me?" Her right hand found her ring, giving it four nervous spins.

"We both know how this works." He moved closer, his voice dropping. "You want Skyline? I'll hand it over. But there's a... consultation fee." His gaze locked back onto her chest, and he licked his lips. "Professional courtesy between colleagues."

Her blood went hot. "Are you kidding me? I earned that account because I work my ass off."

"After all, if Michael's enjoying the benefits of your... collaboration, why shouldn't the rest of us get a turn?" He smiled. "Or is there a waitlist I should get on?"

Wendy's vision tunneled. "Fuck you, Trevor."

"That's the pl—"

She turned and slammed the door before he could finish. Tears burned the corners of her eyes as she rushed to the bathroom. She'd never been so humiliated before in her life. How dare he say those things to her, about her.

---

The cold water was refreshing on Wendy's face, but it did little to cool the fire of rage burning inside her. Her plan had completely backfired. Not only had Trevor seen through it, but he had humiliated her, making her feel like nothing but a common whore.

I see you now.

He was wrong. He was only seeing what he wanted to see. Maybe dressing that way to get a response out of him was a mistake, but he was completely clueless about who Wendy was. She'd earned everything she'd gotten so far.

Except.

The heat low in her belly responded before her mind could process it, and she hated herself for it. A part of it… a very small part, actually, envisioned a scenario where she went back in there. Where she dropped to her knees in front of Trevor and told him she was taking the Skyline account by any means necessary. Not because Trevor deserved anything from her. He was scum. But because some dark corner of her mind, the corner she thought Gold Dress Wendy controlled, told her how easy it would be. That she's already crossed so many lines already. What was one more?

She bit her lip, her nipples hardening as she thought about the smug look on his face, the way he would taunt her while she took him in her throat.

No. She splashed more water on her face, banishing the thought. She wouldn't do that, of course. Trevor was just another version of Richard Clemens. Another man who looked at her and saw nothing but a body to be used. Tits and ass in exchange for an opportunity. Trevor was offering nothing but his bloated ego and the same account she could take by force.

She wasn't that scared 18-year-old anymore, grateful for scraps. She was Wendy fucking Taylor, and she didn't negotiate from her knees… unless that's what she chose to do.

She stared at herself in the mirror, tugging at the neckline of her dress in hopes it would cover some of her cleavage.

What would Michael do?

The question came to her without conscious thought. He was an expert at getting what he wanted, at shutting people down when they tried to make some grand challenge. She took a breath, reapplying some of her mascara that had smeared off. Then it hit her.

Michael would find leverage. He would dig for evidence, or dirt, or anything he needed to back someone like Trevor into a corner. Wendy had gone about this all wrong. She thought she could charm her way into Trevor giving up his biggest account. Michael wasn't a charmer. He was a bulldozer.

She straightened, checking her mascara one final time in the mirror. Somewhere in those Skyline files was a weakness. A discrepancy. Something Trevor didn't want anyone to see. And when she found it, she'd make him beg to hand over that account. She smiled at her reflection. I see you now, too, Trevor.

*

Wendy's jaw was still tight from her encounter with Trevor as she stormed back to her office, her heels clicking against the tile. Despite having a plan to bring that smug asshole down a peg, she was still fuming about his allegations. Like Wendy had somehow taken a shortcut to get where she was.

I see you now.

Her fingers curled into fists. He only saw what he wanted, just like every other man before him who doubted her. Well, if he wanted to see her, she was more than capable of making that happen.

As she rounded the corner, she spotted Jenny diligently working on something from her computer in the bullpen.

"Jenny." Wendy's voice came out sharper than intended, and the younger woman's head snapped up. "Are you free? I have my first assignment for you."

Jenny's eyes widened. "Absolutely."

"Good." Wendy gestured toward her office and the young associate quickly gathered her notebook and pen, rushing to fall into step with Wendy. "I need you to pull every piece of data you can find on the Skyline Chili account. Client communications, quarterly reports, revenue projections, everything."

"Skyline? But that's Trevor's—"

"I know whose account it is." Wendy cut her off, relieved to see Jon wasn't in the office waiting for her. "Can you do it or not?"

Jenny straightened, the eagerness that Wendy once hated now almost endearing. "I can do it. What am I looking for?"

Wendy paused at her desk, considering how much to reveal. She didn't trust Jenny, not yet anyway.

"I'm not sure," she said finally. "But I think you'll know when you find it." Jenny's eyes lit up like she understood the subtext perfectly. Wendy hoped that was true, but just to be sure, she added. "And Jenny? This stays between us. No one else needs to know what we're working on. Not yet."

"Of course." Jenny was already scribbling notes, that hungry look in her eyes that Wendy recognized all too well. The need to prove herself. To be seen as more.

"Get me everything you can by lunch," Wendy said, settling into her chair.

*

When Jon arrived at The Guild House on High Street ten minutes early, he expected to beat Michael there. As he neared the host stand to announce his arrival, he was stunned to hear Michael calling out to him from a back corner table.

He walked past the full bar, scanning the impressive display along the mirrored wall as he ran through his talking points in his head. The tightness in his chest intensified as he made the slow walk past the tables covered in expensive white tablecloths and silverware. He'd planned to get here first, to run over the data for his last six months before Michael arrived.

"There he is! I was wondering when you were going to show up." Michael stood as he approached, extending his hand. His grip was firm, almost crushing. "Hope you don't mind, I got started a little early while I waited." Michael gave him a wink, nodding at the empty glass of scotch. He raised his hand to flag down the waiter. "Let me get you one."

"Oh, um… no thanks. It's a little early still."

Michael's smile faltered, his eyes growing dark as he sat back down, his bulk pushing into the table. "My father once told me when a man offers you a drink, especially your boss, it's rude not to accept."

The silence seemed to stretch forever as Jon stumbled over something to say. He hadn't even sat down yet and he was already blowing it, and over something as dumb as drinks. He knew Michael could be juvenile, but surely he wouldn't hold that against him once he saw the numbers.

"I didn't mean…"

Michael's smile reappeared and he waved his hand in front of Jon. "Eh, what the hell did he know. The man drank himself to death." He laughed, his belly shaking. "Sit, sit. I'm just busting your balls. Get whatever you want."

Jon settled into his seat, relief washing over him. The waiter appeared instantly and Jon ordered water with lemon. When Michael ordered his second scotch Jon worried that his professionalism might somehow cost him more than it should.

"So," Michael said, his gaze as intimidating as ever, despite the alcohol. "Tell me, why do you think you're the best man for the job? When we spoke yesterday, you seemed very sure of yourself."

"Well, it's like I was saying yesterday. I think the data will show—"

Michael shook his head and chuckled under his breath. "Always with the numbers." The waiter returned, placing drinks on the table.

"Did you have time to look over the menu? Can I get you started with any appetizers?"

Jon grabbed the menu off the corner of the table and was about to ask the waiter to give them a minute.

"I'll take the lamb burger, with a side of fries and charred carrots. He'll have the skirt steak with fries. We're trying to put some meat on those bones."

Both Michael and the waiter laughed at the rib aimed at Jon as he sat there red-faced. He was hoping to just order a salad, but after the alcohol debacal, he figured it was best to keep his mouth shut and eat the burger. He returned the menu to the waiter with a smile. He didn't understand how yesterday's meeting with Michael could go so well, and this one felt like such a failure.

"You know what the best years of my life were, Jon?" Michael took a sip of his scotch as Jon sat in silence, unsure how to answer the rhetorical question. "When I was training young talent. Seeing the passion in their eyes, the way the industry started to click for them. It's what made me such a great leader."

Jon nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Great leader was certainly a stretch, but Jon couldn't deny that, despite Michael's directness, he did seem to be climbing the corporate ladder.

"There was this kid, it must've been fifteen years ago now. Came in as an associate, bright but raw. Couldn't read a room to save his life." Michael's scowl faded, replaced by a warmth Jon hadn't seen before. "Everyone else wrote him off. But I saw something. Took him under my wing. Taught him how to listen, how to watch for the subtle cues clients give you."

"What happened to him?"

"VP at some fancy bank now. Makes three times what I do." Michael laughed. "And you know what? That feels better than any deal I've ever made. Because I built that."

Jon straightened slightly. If mentorship was this important to Michael, maybe that's what he needed to emphasize. He'd brought data showing his project completion rates, his efficiency metrics, and his cost savings. But maybe Michael wanted to see something else.

"The thing is, I've been so focused on Fireball, I've neglected building the next generation." Michael leaned forward. "And that's a problem, because guys like you and me? We don't just manage projects. We create legacies. That's why I've taken such a liking to Wendy. She makes me feel young again."

Jon didn't even register the last part. He was too focused on the acknowledgment. Guys like you and me.

"As director, you'd be expected to grow the next batch of superstars. Is that something you're comfortable doing? Building new talent?" Michael picked up his scotch and let the liquid slosh around in the glass as he stared at Jon.

Jon's throat tightened. He'd prepared a whole presentation about his quarterly metrics, but none of that mattered to Michael. "I've always believed in letting the work speak for itself."

"Exactly. But how do we scale that? How do we take what you do naturally and teach it to the next generation?" Michael paused. "Because the analytics, the technical skills, the way you can get a beat on a situation in seconds just by looking at the numbers, that's something nobody else has."

Jon's pulse was racing. He didn't know if this meeting was going well or incredibly poorly. One second Michael was berating him for not ordering a drink, then he was praising his technical abilities. He couldn't make sense of any of it.

The waiter appeared with their food. The burger placed in front of Jon looked like it was big enough to feed two, and Jon's stomach immediately started to twist in pain.

"Let me tell you about my real turning point," Michael said. "I found a junior account manager who was struggling. Nobody else wanted to bother with her, they all said she asked too many questions, second-guessed herself. But I saw something. Spent my lunch hours teaching her." He smiled at the memory. "Six months later, she was running circles around people who'd been there twice as long. That's how you build a department."

Jon felt the conversation circling toward something specific. "I've actually been thinking about that. I brought some data that shows—"

"The analytics are great, Jon. Your numbers are always solid." Michael's tone was gentle but dismissive. "But let me ask you something. When you look at our junior staff, what do you see?"

The question caught Jon off guard. "They um… they're solid. They just need some direction, but there's potential there."

"Exactly. And that's the gap." Michael paused, taking a bite of his food and savoring the taste. If Jon thought his burger was enough for two, Michael had enough food in front of him to feed a small army. "We've got creative talent, Wendy's proof of that," he said with his mouth full. "She's a creative genius. But we're weak on analytical infrastructure. We need people who can teach the discipline, the methodology." He paused. "People like you."

Jon's chest expanded, an idea starting to form in his head.

"I've noticed some of the newer associates struggling with the analytical side," Jon offered. "They're enthusiastic, but they don't have the foundation."

"Yes! That's exactly it." He grabbed a handful of fries, and shoved them into his mouth. "What you can teach is the framework. How to turn gut feelings into actionable data."

"Maybe I can start working with some of the junior associates," Jon said, finding his momentum now. "Build out their analytical capabilities. Maybe develop a formal training program."

Michael's smile was slow, satisfied. "That's a great idea. I can't believe I didn't think of it myself." He finished his drink. "Got anyone in mind?"

Jon thought for a minute, running through the catalog of associates in his head. Most of them were still pretty green, and just kept their head down. All but one.

"What about Jenny? You must remember her from the promotion ceremony. She seems bright, eager to learn."

Michael chewed on a carrot as he pretended to try to remember who Jenny was. "Brown hair, she took a picture with us or something, right?"

"That's her, Jon said with a little too much enthusiasm. "I think she has a ton of potential."

Michael smiled. "I'm sure she does. You know, I said almost the exact same thing about Wendy when she first started. Bright. Eager to learn. So much potential." His eyes met Jon's. "And look how well that turned out."

Jon felt something cold slide down his spine, but the waiter chose that time to deliver the check, as Michael pushed the last of his burger into his mouth. His work here was done.

"I'm sure whoever you decide to take under your wing will be great." He smiled, patting his lips with his napkin. "You're very... trusting. That's a good quality in a teacher."

The rest of the lunch continued with minimal conversation. Jon was already planning ways to help Jenny and make sure she understood how important the data was in their line of work. Despite the rocky start, the lunch had been a huge success. It sounded like Michael could see all the good Jon could do in the director position, all he had to do was teach Jenny the right way to do things and it would be all but guaranteed.

He pulled out his phone and began to text Wendy the good news, then paused. He thought about what Dr. Carson had said, about the way Wendy had acted. He'd tell her tonight. Once she had calmed down and had time to realize he was right, and this was best for both of them.

*

Wendy's vision was beginning to blur as she scrolled through another quarter of Skyline's marketing reports. She'd been at this for two hours now, cross-referencing Trevor's submissions with client correspondence, looking for a complaint, missed deadlines, anything she could use as leverage.

Jon stood from his computer and slipped his computer bag over his arm. "I have an appointment with Dr. Carson and then lunch with Michael," he said, barely looking in Wendy's direction. He checked his watch. It was just after nine. He had plenty of time to get there without rushing.

Her chest tightened with guilt. She hated leaving things unresolved. She wished he could understand why she felt so unappreciated, why every time he brought up trying to protect her, it just angered her more. Perhaps Dr. Carson could get through to him, and make him understand how inconsiderate he was being. If that didn't work, she would transform the Skyline account right after she pryed it from Trevor's disgusting grip. Maybe then Jon would see her success wasn't just a fluke.

"Be careful," she said, before refocusing on the computer and letting Jon leave.

She'd make this right with Jon. Once he saw her as an equal, once he understood what she was capable of, everything would fall into place.

The words on screen began to jumble, and Wendy closed her eyes, rubbing them with the heels of her hand. A soft knock on the door saved her from having to look at the flashing cursor any longer.

"Come in."

Jenny hurried in, her laptop tucked under her arm as she hurriedly pushed the door closed behind her.

"Okay," she said, already pulling up spreadsheets on her laptop. "I went through the data the best I could without knowing exactly what I was looking for. The quarterly reports and initial performance are just what we'd expect, a ten percent growth in marketing spend the first year, solid client engagement, all the standard metrics."

Wendy leaned back in her chair, frustration building. "So you found nothing then? This was a complete waste of time?"

"Well—" A smile formed on Jenny's lips. "I thought so too at first. But then I pulled the raw CRM data." She opened another window, placing it side-by-side with Trevor's submitted reports. "And... this doesn't make sense."

Wendy's breath caught as she leaned forward, scanning both screens. The numbers didn't match.

"His quarterly reports show consistent ten percent growth," Jenny said, pointing to Trevor's submissions. "But the actual client data, the real engagement metrics, the raw spend numbers..." She highlighted the discrepancies. "six-point-eight percent in Q3. five-point-two in Q4."

"Pull up the last four quarters," Wendy said, her heart hammering against her ribs.

One by one, the discrepancies appeared. Each report Trevor had submitted painted a picture of steady growth. But the raw data told a different story. January: 12% growth. February: 4%. March: 11%. April: 3%.

"He's averaging them out," Wendy whispered. "Making it look consistent when he's actually hemorrhaging engagement."

Jenny's eyes went wide. "I… I don't get it. If the final number is the same, why lie?"

Wendy sat up a little taller, looking down at the young associate who was at least ten years younger than her. She had so much to learn about this world, so much that Wendy could teach her. But would she be loyal? That was a question Wendy couldn't answer, not yet. So, she kept her answer simple.

"The final numbers don't tell the whole story," Wendy said carefully. "Leadership wants to see consistency. Predictability. Trevor's been smoothing out the chaos to hide the fact that he's losing control of the account."

She met Jenny's eyes. "And the last two quarters? They're worse than anyone knows. Skyline's probably already talking to competitors."

"So what do we do now?"

"Nothing. I'll handle it from here," Wendy said, rising from her chair.

"But I thought—"

"This was excellent work, Jenny. Really excellent." Wendy's hand slid up to Jenny's shoulder, giving it a squeeze as warmth spread through her chest. "You have a sharp eye for detail."

The younger woman's face flushed slightly under the touch, her smile widening. "I'm just glad I could help. You make all of this look so easy. It's like you know exactly what to do."

Wendy's entire body was aflame. Why could someone as green as Jenny see what Jon couldn't?

"I had a good mentor. Hopefully I can give you that same level of guidance."

As Jenny left, Wendy stared at the split screens, Trevor's lies laid bare in black and white. Her fingers found her wedding ring, spinning it once, twice, three times, four.

Trevor wanted to see her? He was about to get a much closer look than he'd bargained for.

*

Wendy's pulse raced as she made her way back to Trevor's office. She could still hear his smugness in her head, could still feel the way he looked her over like she was some piece of meat. When she got to his office, the door was open, his feet still up on his desk like he didn't have a care in the world. She took a deep breath and strolled inside, not bothering to knock. This would be the day he realized Wendy wasn't someone you crossed.

He looked up from his phone, the same smug smile that was etched into her memory was spread across his face as she entered. It was clear to her now that he was trying to project the same type of confidence that Michael projected, but he couldn't pull it off. His tie was loosened, the top button of his shirt undone. But instead of projecting arrogance, it reeked of desperation and mediocrity.

"Well, well." He set his phone down slowly, leaning back in his chair. "Back so soon? I was starting to think you couldn't handle the big leagues."

Wendy gave him a seductive smile, then made a show of closing the door behind her. The soft click made her throat go dry with anticipation.

"The way you left was very disrespectful." He licked his lips, his gaze pinned on her chest. "You're going to need to do a little extra for that." He pushed out from behind his chair, patting his lap for Wendy to come sit.

The power flowing through her veins as she crossed the room was stronger than the hardest of drugs. She rubbed her thighs together as she walked, her hips swaying in a seductive dance.

Heat bloomed in Wendy's core—not desire, but something darker. Power. She could feel it thrumming through her veins as she crossed the room, her hips swaying with deliberate purpose. Trevor's smile widened, his tongue darting across his lips.

She stepped between his legs, her chest at eye level with him. She was close enough now that she could smell the cheap cologne he was wearing. It was all she could do not to laugh as she leaned forward and watched his eyes nearly pop from his head.

"I've been thinking about what you said all morning." She leaned forward, pressing her palms flat against the wall behind him. The position pushed her breasts together, and she was sure she saw drool hanging from his lip. "You're absolutely right. I shouldn't have come in here and acted the way I did earlier."

"Damn right." His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "I knew you'd see reason."

"The thing is…" she ran her fingers through his hair. "I kept asking myself, what would it take? What would I have to do to get what I want from you? I mean, I'm a married woman after all." She batted her eyelashes and licked her lips, moving her face closer to his.

Trevor's breathing had gone shallow. "I think we both know the answer to that."

"I think you're right," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear, and her fingers toying with the loosened knot of his tie.

Wendy moved to stand directly in front of him, between his knees. Her hand lifted to his tie, fingers toying with the loosened knot. Trevor's pupils dilated, his hands moving to her hips.

The sheer forbidden nature of his hands on her made her gasp. Her hand slid across his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath her palm. "Let's talk terms, shall we?"

"I'm listening." Trevor's hands slid higher on her hips, thumbs brushing the curve of her waist.

She felt him hardening against her thigh as she pressed closer. The power of it made her dizzy, made heat pool low in her belly.

"First," she whispered against his ear, "you're going to—"

"Jesus, Wendy. Had I known this was all it took to get you between my legs, I would have done it years ago."

Wendy pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. His face was flushed, pupils blown wide with want. "You know," Wendy said, her smile evaporating. "If you weren't such an asshole..."

She stepped back abruptly, leaving Trevor straining forward, confusion flickering across his face. Wendy moved to the other side of his desk, crossing her legs slowly as she opened her laptop.

"What—"

"We should probably talk about Skyline," Wendy said, as casually as if they were discussing the weather. "I've been looking at the numbers. Impressive, really."

Trevor blinked, trying to process the shift. His hands moved to adjust himself, and Wendy smiled. "I... what?"

"Your numbers." She tapped the top of the screen. "For the Skyline account. They're very interesting."

The hunger in Trevor's eyes began to cool, as he tried to make sense of what was happening. "I thought you wanted to talk terms—"

"Oh, I do." Wendy pressed a couple of keys and slid her laptop across the table where he could see it. "So here are my terms. You give me Skyline, and no one learns that you've been lying in your reports."

"What the hell are you—"

Wendy's smile was sweet, almost sincere. "Your quarterly reports show beautiful, consistent growth. Ten percent, like clockwork. But the raw data?" She leaned forward. "January, twelve percent. February, four percent. March, eleven. April, three."

Trevor's face went pale. "Those numbers are out of context—"

"Oh that's good. Because when I run the actual analysis, it shows you've been averaging out the chaos to hide the fact that you're losing control of our flagship account. You've been cooking the books, Trevor."

Trevor was shaking now, his shoulders slumped, unable to hide his concern. "What do you want?"

"I told you. I want Skyline. You can send Michael an email right now. Tell him you're overextended and you'd like me to take over Skyline."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Frame it as you being a team player. He'll respect that." Wendy crossed her arms. "Or don't, and I can send Michael my analysis, and you explain why you've been committing fraud."

"This is extortion."

"No. This is me playing the game the same way you tried to. Only I'm better at it." She gestured to his computer. "Send it, Trevor. I'll wait."

It was hard to keep the smile from her face as she watched Trevor type out the email. Her entire body tingled, goosebumps covering her body with excitement.

After the final keystroke, Trevor pushed away from his computer. "Done," he said, flatly.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Trevor." Wendy closed her laptop and stood.

"When did you become such a cutthroat bitch?"

The words should have stung. Instead, they washed over her like validation.

"Funny how when you thought you held all the power, you didn't see it that way."

She walked out, letting the door close softly behind her. Her entire body was alive as she rushed toward Michael's office to tell him the news.

*

Wendy's steps seemed to match her breathing, choppy and uneven, as she rushed down the hallways toward Michael's office. Every brush of her dress against her skin filled her body with an electric current that pooled the heat of her body around it. She couldn't wait to see Michael's face when she told him exactly how she got Trevor to give her the Skyline account. How she'd used his own arrogance against him.

Disappointment washed over her as she got to his office only to see the door shut and the lights off behind the frosted glass. She checked her phone. His lunch with Jon had ended hours ago. Jon had already left for the day, something about preparing for what he and Michael had discussed. She was sure she'd hear all about it when she got home.

She realized she was still standing in front of his office, frozen, her hand gripping the locked handle as if she were unable to move. She glanced next door to Brian's office. He was gone for the day as well, and she wondered if anyone other than her did any actual work around here. As she began walking back toward her office, an open office door caught her eye. The director's office.

The disappointment she'd felt washed away, replaced by a flutter of anticipation, or righteousness. She glanced over her shoulder to ensure no one was watching, then slipped inside.

The space was just as she'd remembered it from the weeks of meeting Michael in here. She ran her finger over the mahogany desk, silently cursing the cleaning crew who had allowed it to collect dust. The massive leather chair behind the desk welcomed her, like a siren at sea.

The leather wrapped around her as she sank into it, pulling her deeper. She let out a long, slow sigh. After everything she'd accomplished with the Fireball campaign, after what she was about to accomplish with Skyline, there was no longer any doubt. This was her rightful place. She deserved this seat. Michael knew it. Soon Trevor would be forced to acknowledge it. And eventually, Jon would have to face the truth too.

Her chest tightened at the thought him.

He'd dismissed her. Reduced all of her success to nothing but luck. Her jaw clenched. They needed to have a conversation. A real one about dreams and aspirations. She couldn't let her own husband be the reason she failed.

She took another deep breath and closed her eyes. Behind her lids, she saw Trevor's face when she'd stepped back into his office. The confusion, then the dawning horror as he realized he'd been played. The way his hands had trembled as he typed that email, surrendering his biggest account with every keystroke.

Heat bloomed low in her belly, causing her to flex her thighs. She glanced at the unlocked door.

But she couldn't help herself. She could still feel how excited he’d been when she pressed against him. When he thought he was going to get exactly what he wanted. He was eating out of the palm of her hand.

I see you now.

Her hand drifted to her lap without conscious thought. Her thighs pressed together as she remembered the look in his eyes. The desperation. The pathetic eagerness, the certainty that he'd won.

Her fingers slipped beneath the hem of her dress, trailing up her inner thigh and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Where the hell was Michael? She needed to tell him how masterfully she'd exploited Trevor's weakness. How completely she'd blindsided him with those numbers when he'd been too busy staring at her chest to see the trap closing around him.

"Ahhh," Her middle finger pressed against the front of her panties, and found them soaked.

She'd won. Completely and utterly. Trevor was never going to challenge her again.

Her breathing grew heavier as her right hand gripped the cool fabric of the armrest, her dress now bunched around her hips. She should stop. Should go home to Jon and tell him about her victory, and let him see that she was capable of so much more than he gave her credit for.

But her body was still buzzing from the lingering adrenaline of the confrontation.

Just for a second. Just to take the edge off.

She pulled the wet fabric of her underwear to the side, her finger delicately tracing her slick folds.

"Mmmm, God."

She writhed in the chair. She could still feel the heat of Trevor's manhood pressed against his thigh. Could still see the cocky smile on his face as his grubby hands slid over her hips.

Was this who she was now? Had she allowed Gold Dress Wendy to take over so much that she got off on manipulating men like Trevor?

It wasn't about Trevor specifically. It was about the power. The rush of being underestimated and then crushing someone's assumptions. Of being in complete control of a situation, of making a man see her as nothing but tits and ass, then proving she was so much more, while simultaneously proving she didn't need to be.

Her finger circled faster. She tried to will herself to think of Jon. To remember his hands on her body, his mouth on her neck, the way he used to look at her like she was capable of anything. Instead, she saw Trevor's face when he'd realized she'd played him. When the arousal had drained from his expression and been replaced by fear.

Her phone buzzed on the desk, making her jolt up and break her sprial.

Wendy jerked her hand away, face flushing as she grabbed for it. Michael's name lit up the screen, and her heart lurched.

She stared at it for a beat, trying to steady her breathing before answering. Her finger was still slick with her juices, and glistened in the fluorescent light as she hit answer. "Hey."

"I just got an interesting email from Trevor." Michael's voice was warm, approving, and it sent searing heat straight to her core. "I knew you could do it."

Pride swelled in her chest, mixing with the arousal still humming through her system. This was what she needed. What she'd been craving all day. Someone who understood what she'd accomplished. Who saw her capabilities instead of her limitations.

"Thank you. I came to the office to find you, but you were already gone."

There was a pause, and for a second, Wendy thought maybe he'd lost connection. "And why did you come looking for me?"

The question caught her off guard and her grip on the armrest tightened. "I… what?"

"The question is simple, Wendy. You knew Trevor sent the email, so why did you come to look for me?"

Because Jon wouldn't understand. Because he would find some way to diminish what she'd done, to explain why it wasn't as impressive as she thought. Because Ava was gone. Because she was alone in this except for Michael, and she needed someone to tell her she was doing what was needed, necessary. That she wasn't losing her mind, and this was all part of the game everyone else was playing.

Because Michael was the only person who got her.

She chewed at her bottom lip. "I just wanted to tell you firsthand. I thought you'd want to know the details."

Michael chuckled, and even through the phone, the sound made her nipples harden. She hated herself for it.

"You mean you wanted to celebrate." It wasn't a question.

"No. I—"

"Where are you right now?"

Something in his tone made her pulse quicken. "I'm... in the office. The director's office."

"That's a good girl." Something about the way he said it made her thighs clench. The ding of his car in the background made it sound like Michael had arrived wherever he was going. Wendy wondered if maybe he'd come back to the office. If he was asking where she was so he could join her. She felt her juices slide down the inside of her thigh.

"And what exactly were you doing in that office before I called?

Her breath caught. The way he'd said it, like he already knew. Like he could see her even through the phone. She actually looked around the small, empty space just to ensure he wasn't standing there in the shadows watching her.

"I already told you. I wanted to tell you about Trevor—"

"That's not what I asked." His voice dropped lower. "What were you doing when your phone rang?"

The silence stretched between them. Wendy's fingers were white from gripping the armrest, her body hyper-aware of every sensation. The cool leather beneath her thighs. The fading afternoon sun warm through the window. The persistent ache between her legs that Trevor's humiliation had sparked and that she couldn't quite extinguish.

Lie. Just lie.

"I was..." She couldn't say it.

Her face burned with embarrassment. How could he possibly know? Had he seen her somehow? Was there a camera in this office she didn't know about?

"Weren't you?" His voice was patient, certain.

"Yes." The admission came easier than it should have. It wasn't really a bit deal, was it? It was just endorphins. Adrenaline. Stress relief.

"Is that why you came looking for me? Because you knew that I'm the only one who can give you what you need now?"

Humiliation washed over her, and she shook her head to try to convince herself he was wrong, her free hand already making its way back between her legs. "Don't be ridiculous," she said without any real conviction. "I just wanted you to know—"

"To know just how capable you are? To know that you are a far better account manager than Trevor or anyone else in this company?"

Her breathing grew ragged as she applied steady pressure to her bare pussy. The rational part of her brain told her this was a mistake. That she had been too transparent and walked right into Michael's trap. But, she wasn't listening to that part of her brain right now.

She needed this. Deserved this validation after everything she'd accomplished today. And it wasn't really cheating if they weren't touching. Phone sex was just... mutual masturbation. People in long-distance relationships did this all the time. It didn't mean anything. It was just a release valve for the stress and tension of the day.

"Yesssss," she whispered giving herself permission.

"That's your chair, Wendy. We both know you're the only one who deserves it. We both know you're the baddest bitch this world has ever seen."

"Ohhh fuck, Michael." Her middle finger dipped into the inferno between her folds, drawing her hips off the leather.

"You still think about that night, don't you? At the hotel?"

"Uhh," she whined, because despite herself, her mind was back there. The weight of Michael on her. The stretch. The way he'd made her feel things Jon never had.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes even as pleasure built in her core.

"You're playing with yourself right now, thinking about it. Thinking about how good my dick felt."

The heat coming from her core was liquid fire. She pulled her finger from her depths, circling her clit with it as she tried to think of a witty comeback.

"I'm thinking about how you said this seat would be mine in a month."

"That was right before you took my cock so deep that you nearly gagged." The unmistakable sound of a zipper echoed through the phone, and despite everything, Wendy's mouth watered. "You weren't able to get the entire thing in your mouth then… But now."

"Mmmm." Her finger dipped back into her sex, followed quickly by a second. She thought briefly about the office door. She hadn't bothered to lock it. Anyone could walk in now and see her—legs spread, dress bunched around her waist, fingers buried inside herself while talking to Michael on the phone. The thought made her grip tighten around her fingers, and she ran her tongue across her teeth.

"But that wasn't your favorite part of the night was it?"

"Michael, this isn't…" Her thumb brushed across the front of her clit, sending a thousand jolts of pure bliss through her body and causing her to forget her protest.

"Tell me what your favorite part was, Wendy."

Her breathing grew more erratic as her thumb danced across her bud, her fingers dripping with her juices. "I… fuck, Michael."

Her phone buzzed against her ear as she stifled another moan.

"Look at the message I just sent. Maybe it will help jog your memory."

Wendy's hand shook as she put her phone on speaker, lowering the volume and placing it on the desk. The message Michael had sent was a picture. She held her breath as she tapped it.

Michael's cock filled the screen.

Her stomach lurched. She should be repulsed. She should delete it. She should block his number and run straight to HR and confess everything to Jon and beg for forgiveness.

Instead, she stared.

She could see every vein. The tip already glistening with pre-cum. Even his bear paw of a hand, the thing looked massive. His hairy knuckles gripped the base, as his untamed pubic hair curled around the edges.

It was disgusting, but her body didn't care. It remembered how that cock made her feel things she didn't know she was capable of feeling. Had given her pleasure she didn't know existed.

Her legs twitched, her fingers never slowing their assault. "Jesus, Michael. You can't send pictures like that. If Jon sees it—"

"I don't care about your cuck husband, Wendy, and neither should you. He doesn't deserve you. He undermines you every step of the way. He thinks he's better than you."

"Damn it, Michael. I told you. You can't talk about him like that."

"But I know the truth, Wendy. He's scared of you. He's scared because he knows you're a better account manager than him. He knows you deserve the director's chair more than him."

"Stop." But the word came out weak, breathless.

"Jack Peterson respects the hell out of you. Trevor is terrified of you. Hell, just this morning the first thing Brian asked me was how you were holding up with the work load and if you were happy. He knows how valuable you are, Wendy. He needs you."

Her fingers moved faster despite herself. Because it was true. All of it was true.

“Oh fuck. Mhmmhmmmm,” Wendy bit her lip, her face blush. Breasts rising and falling alongside her shallow breaths. The idea that so many powerful people were now talking about her, making sure her needs were met, made her knees buckle.

"I need you, Wendy."

"Oh fuck. Ohhhh, God."

"Just like you need me. Don't you?"

Wendy rocked her hips, one hand expertly working her clit while the other stuffed inside the neckline of her dress to cup her breast. He was right, wasn't he? She did need him. It was Michael who had helped her get here. Michael who had taught her to even the playing the field.

"Yesss," she whispered, feeling her orgasm begin to build. She needed this release. Needed someone to validate everything she'd accomplished today. That wasn't wrong. That was just human.

"Say it. Say you need me."

"I… oh fuck. I need you, Michael."

Michael's breathing became labored on the other end of the phone. "Just like you need my big dick, don't you?"

"I… Ohhh…" Her eyes flickered open, her gaze locking with the impressive member on her screen. She wanted to look away. Wanted to be disgusted. Wanted to feel anything other than this desperate, aching need.

"Yessss. Yes, I need it." She finally said, unable to deny her impending explosion.

"Good girl." The condescension in his voice should have angered her. Instead, it made her clench around her own fingers. "Tell me how it felt when I fucked you that night."

Wendy was thrashing on the chair now, if someone were to walk in they would think she was possessed. "So good. It felt so fucking good."

"Better than your pathetic husband can give you?"

"Mmmph. She tried not to answer. Tried to hold onto some shred of loyalty. She twisted her nipple so bad it hurt, in hopes that the pain would override the truth sitting on the tip of her tongue. But her body answered anyway. Her hips bucked faster. Her fingers went deeper. And Jon faded into irrelevance against the memory of Michael's cock inside her.

"Say it, Wendy. Tell me the truth."

"I…" She tried desperately to hold back, but she was too far gone. Past the point of rationalization or justification. This was who she was now. This was what she'd become.

"Now!"

"Yes." The words broke free like a dam. "Fuck, yes. It was so much better. I'm going to cum, Michael. Mmmm fuck."

"That's right. You're going to cum thinking about the only man who's ever truly satisfied you, aren't you? Thinking about how full you felt. Stare at it. Stare at the cock of a real man as you cum."

Wendy's mouth was dry, her eyes wide as she stared at the disgusting image on screen. Tears streaked down her face, but her fingers didn't slow. Another moan escaped her lips, drowned out by the obscene slurping sound of her sex trying to pull her fingers deeper.

"You want it again don't you? You need me to fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked."

"Mhmmmfucck yes." She didn't know if she was agreeing or just surrendering to the inevitable. All she knew was her orgasm was right there, just out of reach, and she would say anything to reach it.

"Then cum with me, Wendy," Michael grunted, signaling his own release. "Because the next time I fuck you, you're going to feel every inch of my raw dick inside you."

"Oooohhh fuuuuck," Wendy's thighs clutched around her hand, her back arching off the chair as her entire body shuddered and her climax ripped through her. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her as she surrendered completely to the release she'd been chasing all day.

For several long moments, she couldn't move. Couldn't think. Could only sit there in the director's chair, her chair, with her dress bunched around her waist and her fingers still buried inside herself, feeling the aftershocks roll through her traitorous body.

Gradually, reality seeped back in.

She straightened up with shaking hands, her body still tingling but her mind finally, blessedly clear. The post-orgasm clarity was brutal. She took the phone off speaker and held it back to her ear, listening to Michael's ragged breathing. The silence stretched between them, different now. Heavier.

"Michael, we can't actually..." Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard and tried again. "You need a condom. What you said—that was just talk. You can't—"

He made a sound that might have been a laugh. "We'll talk tomorrow, Wendy."

"No, I'm serious." Panic crept into her voice. This had been just... stress relief. Mutual masturbation between two consenting adults. It didn't mean anything beyond that. "All that was just talk. In the moment. You can't actually expect—"

"Goodnight." The finality in his tone made her stomach drop. She could hear the smile in his voice as the call ended.

She stared at the image on her screen, her thumb hovering over the delete button. The rational part of her brain screamed to erase it. To erase all of this. To go home and confess everything to Jon and figure out how to save her marriage.

Instead, that steady pulse began humming between her legs again.

She chewed on her bottom lip, still subconsciously staring at the image on her screen. He didn't actually think she would let him fuck her without protection. This was just Michael being Michael. It didn't matter. It wouldn't come to that. She had gotten what she needed from him. Tomorrow she wouldn't be wound so tight. She'd be better prepared to deflect his... distractions.

She deleted the image, then checked her recently deleted folder and removed it permanently. Her hands were shaking as she straightened her dress. But the image was burned into her memory. Deleting it changed nothing.

As she rounded the corner, Trevor was just returning to his office. Their eyes met. His face flushed red, and he looked away first, disappearing behind his door with a slam. A cruel smile formed on her lips. The hum between her legs intensified. She pressed her thighs together as she walked, still feeling the lingering aftershocks.

The old Wendy would have been ashamed, probably would have gone to Trevor's office and apologized. But she hadn't done anything wrong, she realized that now. Trevor was the one who treated her like a piece of meat. He was the one who was falsifying his reports. All she did was call him on it, just like any good director would have done. Just like Michael would have done.

Her hand found her ring as she approached the elevator, spinning it once, twice, three times, four. She needed to talk to Jon. She owed him an apology for being so short with him. Her mind immediately went to Michael, wondering how he would handle the conversation. He wouldn't apologize. He would wait until Jon apologized first. But could their marriage survive that wait?