[Supporter] Executive Privilege Ch. 12 (Patreon)

Hey Friends! Hope everyone is having a great holiday season. I'm excited to share chapter 12 (for real this time) with all of you. Wendy continues to be my favorite character to write. Despite all her... flaws, I find her very fascinating.

No major changes from the Insider version, just some copy edits.

What's next: I'm wrapping up the first chapter of my CYOA story and will be dropping that to Insiders in the next few days. So if you want to participate in shaping the story, keep an eye out so you can upgrade. If you don't want to, that's perfectly acceptable as well. The story will make its way here in parts, meaning it may be two or three chapters at a time, with the choices already baked in.

The release schedule for Jan. is likely going to be the following:

• Epilogue for Newlyweds

• Chapter 2 of Window to Temptation

• Chapter 13 of EP.

• Continuation of the Other Side of Paradise? (This is a stretch goal and may not make it)

Lastly, if you're not part of the Discord, swing on by to discuss all your favorite parts of the story, or anything else that comes to mind.

https://discord.gg/RXfM2d7A33

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Jon stood at the stove in his pajama pants and faded Ohio State t-shirt, watching scrambled eggs turn from liquid to solid in the cast iron pan. It was still dark outside, the first light just starting to creep over the horizon. He stared out the kitchen window, spatula frozen in his hand. Last night had been incredible. Wendy had come home just after he did and practically launched herself at him. They'd barely made it to the bedroom before they were both completely naked.

He slid the eggs onto a plate, the scrape of metal against cast iron too loud in the silent kitchen. Maybe Dr. Carson was right. Maybe he was catastrophizing.

"Morning, stud." Wendy's voice came from behind him as her bare feet padded across the tile. Jon turned to greet her, a rush of air leaving his lungs.

She was wearing his flannel button down. The top buttons hung open, giving him an almost unobstructed view of her cleavage. The hem skimmed the tops of her thighs, leaving her long legs exposed as she reached past him to take the plate of eggs.

"Enjoying the view?" She teased, bending to take her seat at the table, giving him a quick glimpse of her heart-shaped ass, framed by black boyshorts, before settling into the chair.

Jon sat down across from her, handing her a fresh cup of coffee.

“Thanks.” She wrapped both hands around it, took a slow sip, and let her eyes close as a smile curled across her face. “Mm, that’s good.” She scooped up a bite of eggs. “Is this reciprocation for last night? Because I approve.”

They laughed, and for a few minutes the tension of the last few weeks finally lifted. It felt simple again: two people sharing an early breakfast after an incredible night. No promotions, no rumors, no thoughts of an affair. Just them.

"Michael and I have to drive to Cincinnati this morning," she said as she reached for her coffee. "Meeting with the Skyline executives. Probably won't be back until late."

There it was. The facade had shattered and the tightness in Jon's chest grew. "Skyline? I thought that was Trevor's account?"

"Trevor handed it off yesterday." A proud smile pulled at her lips. "I thought about what you said. If I want to be a director then I need to prove Fireball wasn't a fluke."

Jon’s fork slipped from his fingers. "That's not what I meant." He ran his hand through his hair. "Wendy you just got promoted. Don't you think you—"

"I'm not backing down from this, Jon. I deserve it."

"You've been an account manager for six weeks." He heard his voice rising and tried to pull it back. Tried to sound reasonable. "Six weeks. Trevor's had Skyline for years. That's not the kind of thing people hand off willingly. The statistical likelihood of a successful account transition in your first ninety days is—"

"I don't care about your statistics, Jon."

"Maybe you should. Maybe if you looked at the actual data instead of just—" He stopped himself, but not fast enough. The words were already out there, and so was the fire in her eyes.

"Instead of what?"

He couldn't say it. Couldn't say: instead of listening to Michael over me. But it was there in the silence, and they both knew it.

Wendy's right hand moved to her ring, spinning it, four quick spins. Jon noticed but couldn't decode what it meant. Stress? Anger? Guilt?

"I thought we talked about this and decided you weren't ready for the director position yet." He tried to sound like he was being the rational one. "That you'd give it some time, focus on—"

"No." Wendy set her coffee down hard enough that it sloshed. "You talked. You told me all the reasons you don't think I'm ready. Like I'm not capable of making my own career decisions."

"That's not... I was protecting you."

"I don't need your protection, Jon. I need your support."

Dr. Carson's words echoed in the back of his head. Are you jealous of your wife's success?

"You're being impulsive." His jaw tightened. "When will you be home?"

"I don't know yet. Why does it matter?" But her hand spun the ring again. Four perfect rotations.

"Why would Trevor give up his account? What did Michael say to make him give up his flagship?"

Wendy's face went pale, then flushed red. She stood so abruptly her chair scraped across the tile. "You don't think I'm capable of getting the account myself?"

"That's not what I—"

"I need to get ready."

She had already put her dishes in the sink and was heading for the shower. Jon stared at the unfinished mug of coffee, steam still curling into the early morning light. Him trying to protect her was him being supportive. Why couldn't she see that?

Are you jealous of your wife's success?

The words played on a loop in his head, no matter how much he didn't want to hear them. He wasn't jealous. He was concerned. There was a difference. Wendy had been an account manager for just over a month, and now she was competing for a director role against people, against him, who had years more experience. Not every account was going to be as easy to manage as Fireball. Maybe she'd learn that with Skyline. Maybe that would be the account that made her see he'd been right all along.

Jon pushed back from the table and walked to the desk drawer, his hands unsteady as he pulled out the thought journal Dr. Carson had suggested.

Today's entry should be straightforward.

Tuesday, 5:51 AM. Wendy is going to Cincinnati with Michael for Skyline meeting. Late return expected.

He chewed on his lip as he stared at the Interpretations column. What did he think it meant?

That she was spending another full day with Michael. That she was actively contradicting his advice. That she was spending more time with her boss than her own husband. That Trevor giving up Skyline made no sense.

The pen shook in his hand as he tried to write the words. Thinking them was one thing, actually writing them was something different.

He forced himself to write in Alternative Explanations instead: New client meetings require face time, especially large ones. Skyline execs based in Cincinnati. Michael is VP, it's logical for him to attend and properly hand the account over to Wendy.

The knot in his stomach began to loosen, but only slightly. Seeing the alternative explanations on paper made sense. A lot more sense than the interpretations he was convincing himself of. But the anxiety didn't completely wash away. Something still felt off.

He closed the notebook and shoved it back in the drawer. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Dr. Carson was right and this was just Olivia trauma resurfacing. Maybe Wendy was exactly what she appeared to be—his ambitious, brilliant wife working her ass off to prove herself.

***

Michael pulled up to the curb of The Buckeye building exactly at 7. He'd insisted to Wendy that he would pick her up at home, but the idea of Michael knowing where she lived made her teeth chatter.

As she opened the door of the black Mercedes GLS she was taken aback to see how clean the interior was. The seats were black leather, with red trimming around the dash. The interior smelled minty, the AC blasting despite it still being cool outside.

"Loving the new look." Michael's eyes traveled down her body before she'd even settled in her seat.

Wendy glanced down at the emerald silk blouse she'd chosen. The neckline dipped low enough that her cleavage was on display, and the black pencil skirt she paired it with ended a few inches above her knee. Not Gold Dress Wendy. But not the Wendy who hid from the power of her body either.

"Glad to see it meets your approval." Her gaze flickered between his legs briefly, but the smirk he wore when she looked up said that he'd noticed and she mentally kicked herself as she slammed the door shut. "Now, let's focus on the meeting this afternoon."

The large SUV glided forward, nearly silent. "I'm just saying, it's working for you. Though I should warn you, the Corsetti brothers aren't Jack Peterson. They won't get tripped up by a nice set of tits and some legs."

The casual vulgarity barely even registered for Wendy now. She bent over, grabbing the folder of information from her laptop bag. From the corner of her eye, she caught Michael staring at the way her breasts spilled out. "Then it's a good thing I brought actual strategy with me. Eyes on the road, big boy."

"That's my girl." Michael laughed, placing his hand on her thigh.

"I'm not your girl." She swatted his hand away.

"No? I seem to remember you singing a much different tune last night. You know, right before you told me you were going to—"

"Stop." Her face flushed hot. She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs. The memory flooded back despite herself. The picture he'd sent her. If she closed her eyes she could still see every detail. Every... She looked out the window, wanting to focus on anything else, knowing that Michael was staring at her.

She looked down at her notes, forcing herself to focus on the typed pages. The Corsetti brothers were the owners of Skyline Chili. She'd spent hours yesterday putting together a strategy that would make Trevor's look like amateur hour.

"So what do you know about Tony and Marco?" Michael asked, merging onto I-71 North.

Wendy took a breath, thankful for the reprieve. "Brothers. Tony's the older one, handles operations and distribution. Marco runs marketing and brand development. They inherited the business from their father fifteen years ago. Started with three locations, now they're at over two hundred and fifty across the Midwest."

"Good. What else?" He slammed his paw of a hand onto the horn, nearly causing Wendy to jump from her seat as he swerved around the slower car in front of him. Wendy glanced out her window noticing the startled look on the older woman's face, but it didn't seem to deter Michael from flipping her the bird as he sped past.

"Marco is um... the numbers guy. He'll want to see projections, proof that bringing me on will improve their bottom line." She tried to focus on her notes and not the way Michael was weaving in and out of traffic. "Tony is the people person. He'll be the hardest to get on board. He's all about relationships. He'll see Trevor's replacement as a personal jab."

"You're missing a key piece." Michael glanced at her, forgetting about the traffic in front of him. "They're both misogynistic assholes. You're going to have to be on your A game to get them on board."

Wendy's head snapped up. "What? Why would you wait until now to tell me that?"

"Don't worry." He laughed, despite her anger. "I know how persuasive you can be."

"I'm serious, Michael. What the hell?"

"Hey." His voice softened. He kept both hands on the wheel now, his eyes on the road. "I believe in you, Wendy. You're the best account manager I've ever seen. Better than Trevor, better than Jon, better than anyone we've had in the last decade."

"That's not—"

"Listen to me." He cut her off, but the edge had left his tone. He was being sincere and Wendy couldn't help but wonder if anyone else in the company had gotten to see this side of him. "Tony and Marco are old-school. They're going to test you. They're going to make comments. They're going to think they know more than you simply because you're a woman." He paused. "But you're going to walk in there prepared. You're going to have answers they didn't know they needed. And by the time we leave, they're going to see exactly what I see."

"Which is?"

This time he did look at her, but kept his gaze glued to hers. "Someone who is going to revolutionize their entire brand. Trust me on this."

He placed his hand on her thigh again, the heat of it seeping straight to her core, before she eventually shoved it away.

Wendy's fingers found her ring. She wanted to stay angry, wanted to hold onto the flash of panic his words had triggered. But Michael's belief in her was a tangible thing, and it soothed the fear the way Jon's concern never could.

"Walk me through your pitch," Michael said. "What's your opening?"

Wendy sat up straighter, grateful to have something to focus on besides the phantom pressure of his fingers. "I start with acknowledging their legacy. Skyline isn't just chili. It's a cultural touchstone. It's family dinners and high school football games and Sunday traditions. That's valuable. That's what makes the brand special."

"Good. Then what?"

"Then I show them the problem. Their demographic is aging. The eighteen-to-thirty-four market barely knows they exist outside of Cincinnati. They're not competing with other chili chains anymore. They're competing with Chipotle and Panera and every other fast-casual concept that's captured the next generation."

Michael nodded. "And your solution?"

"The same as Fireball. We don't abandon tradition. We contextualize it." She was warming up now, her hands moving as she spoke. "We position Skyline as comfort food for a generation that's drowning in anxiety. We lean into the nostalgia but make it accessible. Social media campaigns featuring real families, real stories. A loyalty app that gamifies the experience."

Michael arched his eyebrow. "What about the brewery idea? I thought we were going to tell them they should partner with them?"

"No. I'm going to lead with Fireball." Wendy tapped the folder.

Traffic had thinned out and he turned to face her. "Fireball? I don't get it."

Of course he didn't. Wendy's body buzzed with energy. She smiled at him like she was the mentor. "Since I took the Fireball account, sales are up thirty-two percent. They had the biggest two weeks in their company history after the Memphis campaign." Her smile grew larger as she watched Michael fail to connect the dots. "They want to discount me because I'm a woman, I'm going to show them exactly the kind of results I can deliver, not just ideas."

"Ha!" Michael clapped his hands together, the sound reverberating off the glass. "There she is. That's the fire I'm talking about. That's fucking brilliant."

Wendy's breath caught. The problem was that Michael's praise affected her more than she cared to admit. When he wasn't being a creep, he had a way of making her feel like the most powerful person in the world.

The highway stretched ahead, Cincinnati's skyline growing larger on the horizon. Wendy became acutely aware of the confined space. The leather seat beneath her thighs. The way the morning sun heated the passenger window against her arm. She glanced at Michael's hand on the wheel, half-expecting him to reach for her thigh again. She shifted, recrossing her legs, and told herself it was just the car's warmth making her skin prickle.

"Tell me about Tony," she said, forcing her attention back to the meeting. "What's his hot button?"

"Legacy. Family name. He takes it personally when people assume Skyline is just some regional chain. He wants to be taken seriously as a businessman. Something you should be able to relate with."

Wendy nodded, making a note in her folder. She could work with that. She understood the particular sting of being dismissed before you'd even opened your mouth.

"So I validate that," she said. "I respect the successful regional empire they built, and show them how we can grow the brand outside of the region."

"Exactly." Michael looked like a driving instructor. His hands at ten and two like he was suddenly the perfect gentleman. It was exactly what she wanted, she just needed to remind her body.

"You're going to walk in there and they're going to see a sharp, prepared professional who's done her homework. Not some blonde account manager who's in over her head."

"And what if that doesn't work? What if they refuse to work with a woman?"

Wendy uncrossed her legs. Let her knee fall toward the center console. Toward him. She watched herself do it like she was observing a stranger. The small surrender. The invitation she could still pretend was accidental.

"Then I step in." Her body tensed. "Not because you need me, but because sometimes with guys like this it turns into a dick measuring contest." He glanced at her with that familiar smirk. "And we both know who has the bigger dick."

Wendy rolled her eyes. "You're disgusting."

"And yet here you are."

She didn't have a response to that. Just turned back to her notes, ignoring the way her pulse had quickened at his words. It didn't mean anything. It was just adrenaline about the meeting. Just nerves.

"You know what Trevor was planning to pitch them?" Michael's tone shifted back to business. "'Skyline: A Cincinnati Tradition.' I think he said something about showing a family eating around a dinner table."

"That's terrible."

"That's lazy." His gaze caught hers. "They need someone who understands that tradition doesn't mean stagnation. Someone who can honor what they've built while showing them where they could go."

The highway signs counted down the miles to Cincinnati. Twenty-five minutes. Twenty.

Wendy reviewed her notes one more time, running through objections and counter-arguments. She was ready for this. She had to be.

"You ready?" Michael asked as the Cincinnati skyline filled the windshield.

Wendy closed her folder. "I'm ready."

***

Jon set his lunch down on his desk and pulled up his schedule. The Reinhart account needed to be wrapped this week. He had promised them ideas for a new campaign that would boost foot traffic, but with everything happening with Wendy lately he had fallen behind. Now she was getting even more face time with Michael, taking on another major client and trying to prove she was ready for the director role. Jon needed to show he was just as capable.

He found Jenny at her desk laughing with one of the junior associates. Michael wanted a director who could mentor, someone who could shape the next wave of talent. Jon could do that, and working with Jenny would help him catch up on his accounts at the same time. It was an efficiency win for him and a professional lift for her.

"Jenny, you got a minute?"

Her head snapped forward, brown eyes widening. "Of course. What's up?"

"I'm working on a local bakery account. Reinhart's, over in German Village. Could use an extra set of eyes if you have bandwidth." He remembered the first time Marcus had said those exact words to him. How nervous he was to make a mistake.

"Really?" She was already closing her laptop, grabbing her notebook. "Yes, absolutely. I'd love to help."

Jon led her back to his office, holding the door as she slipped past. She glanced once at Wendy's empty desk before taking the chair across from Jon. As she did, he couldn't help but notice the similarities in the way the two of them dressed. Her pink top hung low like Wendy's and he could see the top of her breasts. It didn't look quite as provocative as Wendy's, but that was because her chest was smaller. The dress Jenny wore was also about the same length as Wendy's, but seemed less attention grabbing.

Was this just how professional women dressed now and Jon had missed it? Maybe Dr. Carson was right. He was putting too much stock in alternate truths. Wendy may have been dressing different, but it wasn't any different from her colleagues.

For the first time in months, it was a little easier for Jon to breathe.

"Where's Wendy? Did she already get promoted and I missed the announcement?"

"What?" Jon's hand shook as he moved his mouse. "No. She's traveling to Cincinnati today. With Michael. Meeting with Skyline executives. There are a few other people in contention for the position."

"Oh." Jenny smiled. "That makes sense. I just thought maybe since her desk was empty..." She trailed off, opening her notebook. "Sorry. So, the Reinhart account?"

"Right." Jon forced himself to focus, pulling up the Reinhart's file on his monitor. He angled the screen so she could see. "Reinhart's has been a neighborhood staple for forty years. Family-owned, third generation. They're getting crushed by commercial chains and trendy artisan places. Revenue's down eighteen percent year over year."

Jenny leaned forward, her eyes scrolling the screen. "Okay. So... what's the vibe of the bakery? Like, when you walk in, what do you feel?"

"The vibe?"

"Yeah. Is it warm and grandma's-kitchen cozy? Is it cool and modern? Does it feel stuck in the past?" She sat up straighter, eager to demonstrate what she'd learned. "I was helping Wendy yesterday with the Skyline account—"

"You were helping Wendy with Skyline?" Jon almost jumped from his chair. Wendy made it sound like it was more casual than that. What did she need Jenny's help with?

Jenny continued before he could put more thought behind it. "Yeah and she said perception is the most important thing for a business. If we don't understand how customers experience the space, we can't market it effectively."

Jon's face went pale. It was one thing for Wendy to think the creative part of the process was the most important, but it was a complete other for her to teach it to someone else like it was fact. "You probably just misheard her."

"I don't think so?"

"To be an effective account manager you should always look at the sales and the demographics first. Your first view of a company should be based on facts not perception. You can't misinterpret numbers like you can... vibes."

"Right, but—" Jenny bit her lip. "How do we know what will appeal to the twenty-five to forty crowd if we don't know what the bakery's identity is?"

"The data will tell us that." It took everything in him not to raise his voice. It wasn't Jenny's fault she was asking all of the wrong questions. "That's actually where most account managers go wrong." Jon pulled up a second spreadsheet. "They start with gut feelings and work backward to justify them. What we do instead is let the data tell us where the opportunities are. Then we build the story around what we find."

He highlighted a column of figures. "Look at this. Morning traffic is strong. Lots of regulars, mostly fifty-five and older. But afternoon and evening drop off a cliff. Meanwhile, there's a brewery two blocks away that's packed every night with twenty-five to forty-year-olds. Same neighborhood. Same foot traffic. Completely different customer base."

"So the opportunity is capturing the after-work crowd?"

"Maybe. But we don't assume that yet." Jon clicked to another tab. "First we look at their product mix. Seventy percent of revenue comes from traditional items like coffee cakes, cinnamon rolls, things your grandmother would buy. Only twelve percent from items that would appeal to a younger demographic. So before we tell them to chase the brewery crowd, we need to know: can they actually serve that market? Do they have the production capacity? The menu flexibility?"

Jenny's eyes lit up the way his used to when Marcus would make a point. She was starting to make the connection. He watched as she made a few notes, flipped backward a few pages and scribbled some stuff out, then started writing again.

"The numbers are the foundation," Jon continued, trying to keep his emotions in check. "Everything else, the story, the brand identity, the emotional appeal, that all comes after we understand what the data is telling us. Think of it like a pyramid. The data is the foundation."

"That makes sense, but..." Jenny hesitated. "With the success of the Fireball campaign. Maybe Wendy has found something. Like her approach is—"

"Fireball was the exception not the rule," Jon snapped, before he could catch himself.

Jenny's eyes went wide and she seemed to sink into her chair.

"Sorry," Jon whispered. "I just... Fireball has been a great campaign and we can learn from it. But it's too soon to say that we should be basing all of our future campaigns from it."

"You're right. I hadn't considered that. It also probably helps that Wendy and Michael spent so much time collaborating on it. It seems like every day they're in another closed door meeting."

Jon's mouth went dry. "Yeah it's um... collaboration is important."

"Totally. I'm sure you can relate. You said before that Marcus was your mentor? I guess you're used to that sort of one-on-one training. I just hadn't experienced it yet."

The AC kicked on. The cool air blowing gently on Jon's head. Why did it suddenly feel so stuffy in here? He tried to ignore the sense of dread washing over him. The truth was, Marcus's mentorship always involved other people. Group sessions where people could ask questions. Very rarely did they have closed door sessions, and they never ran as late as Wendy's. He thought he was just over-reacting seeing things that weren't really there. But, if Jenny was seeing them too...

"I um... I have a call I have to take."

"Oh, right." She made a few more notes. "What was it you wanted me to help with for the account?"

Jon forced himself back to the present. "Right. I need you to pull demographic data for a five-mile radius around the bakery. Age brackets, household income, spending patterns on food and beverage. Also pull comps. Pull up similar businesses in similar markets, their performance metrics."

"Got it." Jenny was writing rapidly. "What am I looking for?"

"Gap analysis. The data will tell us where they are underperforming relative to market potential. What segments have the most growth opportunity with the least competition. Once we have that we'll know how to structure our campaign."

"Perfect." She stood, smiling the way Jon used to after a meeting with Marcus. "Thanks again for including me on this, Jon. I really want to learn how to do this the right way."

After she left, Jon sat staring at his desk. His thoughts colliding with one another as he struggled to keep his mind from racing.

Jenny didn't have an agenda. She was just a junior associate making casual observations about the people around her. She'd noticed the same patterns Jon had been noticing. The closed-door meetings. The constant collaboration. She'd even assumed Wendy's empty desk meant a promotion had already happened. Dr. Carson could tell him he was being paranoid, but the data didn't lie. He wasn't the only one that saw something, others were seeing it too.

He pulled out his thought journal for Dr. Carson and started writing.

***

The conference room here felt different than the one in New Orleans. The room was bigger, windows wrapped around it making downtown Cincinnati come to life. The table in the middle of the room was massive, easily twice as large as the one at Fireball, but it was practically empty, like it was all for show.

The Corsetti brothers sat on the opposite side of a conference table that could have seated twenty. Tony, the older one, had positioned himself dead center, his thick arms crossed over a gut that strained against his button-down. Marco flanked him to the right, younger by maybe five years, with slicked-back hair and a Rolex that seemed like it was crusted with diamonds the way it sparkled every time he checked his phone.

The hostility was thick the moment Wendy walked into the room. Their questions were aimed at Michael, they shook his hand and only offered Wendy a curt nod. Neither Michael nor Wendy were offered coffee, despite the carafe that sat behind the brothers, steam still rising from the spout.

"Look." Tony's voice was soft. He was the more pleasant of the two, but that was a low bar. "We trusted Trevor. He handled our account for years. We want him back on the account. He understood the vision. What we're trying to build here."

"I understand that relationship was valuable." She glanced at Michael who seemed to have an eternal scowl on his face. "I'm not here to replace what Trevor built. I'm here to build on that foundation and take Skyline to the next level."

Marco snorted without looking up from his phone. "The next level. Michael what is this DEI crap. I thought you were above this."

Michael opened his mouth, but Wendy plowed ahead. Her irritation growing by the second. This was different than anything she'd encountered before. They weren't dismissing her because she was hot or accusing her of sleeping her way to the top. They were just being downright disrespectful.

"As I was saying." She clicked to her first slide. The Fireball numbers filled the screen behind her. "In the short time since I took over the Fireball account, we've seen a thirty-two percent increase in sales. It's been one of the most successful launches in the history of the company and—"

"Fireball?" Tony leaned back in his chair. "No offense, sweetie, but the Fireball market isn't the same as ours." He paused, taking in Wendy's appearance for what seemed like the first time. "But I can appreciate how that clientele may appreciate a... professional such as yourself."

Heat crept up Wendy's neck, her face flushing. She spun her ring quickly as she regained her composure. "The methodology translates. We identified an aging demographic, repositioned the brand to capture younger consumers without alienating the existing base, and delivered measurable results within the first quarter."

"Sweetheart." Marco finally set his phone down. "We've been in this business since before you were born. You want to tell us about demographics?"

The air was thick, and for a moment Wendy wondered if it was all worth it. She could give Trevor the Skyline account back, find another client who wasn't so difficult to work with and grow their brand all the same. But she wasn't one to back down from a challenge, and the more they called her demeaning names, the more she wanted to prove them wrong.

"Your eighteen-to-thirty-four market penetration has declined fourteen percent with the strategy you and Trevor came up with. Meanwhile, your core demographic is aging out."

Marco sat up in his chair and set his phone to the side.

"There's an opportunity here and a pretty straightforward one at that." She clicked to the next slide. "We pair some of your older more successful local celebrities with younger ones. Tony, you're a music guy right?"

"I am."

"Think of this as your Ozzy Osbourne working with Post Malone moment. The younger generation will eat it up."

Tony exchanged a glance with Marco. For a moment, Wendy thought she'd broken through.

"This your idea Michael? What, did you think if you had a pretty face deliver the pitch we wouldn't notice it was your handiwork?"

Wendy's stomach dropped. "Actually, I led the creative strategy on this. It's similar to an idea I had with the Fireball—"

"Sure, sure." Tony smiled, but it was directed at Michael. Like they shared some kind of secret.

"Wendy developed that strategy independently." Michael's voice was calm. "She identified the opportunity and initiated the outreach."

"Right." Tony's gaze drifted back to Wendy's neckline. "Well, it's very... polished."

She pressed on, refusing to let the dismissal derail her. "The loyalty app concept will also help with the younger crowd. We gamify the Skyline experience, reward repeat visits, create shareable moments for social media. Your competitors are already doing this. Chipotle's app has twelve million active users. Panera's loyalty program drives thirty percent of their revenue."

"We're not Chipotle." Marco almost sounded offended. "We're not trying to be some corporate chain."

"I understand that. I just thought if you could expand then—"

"Tell you what." Marco leaned forward. "Why don't you let Michael walk us through the financials. I could use a water if you wouldn't mind."

"A water?"

"Yeah. If you don't mind it's right out that door. Turn right, you can't miss it. Michael, you want anything?"

"I think we're done here," Michael said, slamming the laptop shut.

Wendy turned to see Michael on his feet, laptop already tucked under his arm. His face had gone hard in a way she'd never seen before.

"Excuse me?" Tony's smile faltered. "We're in the middle of a meeting."

"No, we're not." Michael moved toward the door. "We're in the middle of you two wasting our time. Wendy, pack up. We're leaving."

"Now wait just a minute," Marco rose from his chair. "If you walk out that door then there's no coming back. We will cancel our contract and find a company who actually respects us."

"Respects you?" Michael laughed, holding his stomach like he was Santa Claus himself. "It's obvious to me you're not looking for respect you're looking for a yes man. Wendy here is innovative. She's trying to make you money. She came here with a solid plan and vision, one that has already proven itself with one of the biggest brands in the spirits industry, and you two are too blind or too stupid to see what's right in front of you."

The conference room was silent. The brothers stared at Michael like he had just murdered their family right in front of them. Wendy's heart was in her throat. She'd never seen a situation as tense as this. We just lost skyline. This would obviously cost her the promotion. Would Brian fire them both as well? Had Michael just willingly thrown away his career because a client disrespected her?

After several tense minutes, Tony finally smiled. "It's rare to find this type of honesty anymore." His gaze moved between Wendy and Michael. "And even rarer to find the type of loyalty the two of you have for one another."

Marco was nodding along with his brother, his entire demeanor shifting. "Wendy, we owe you an apology. If we would have been treated the way we treated you we wouldn't be where we are today. We look forward to moving forward with you."

Tears welled in Wendy's eyes. She wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or cry, so she simply nodded.

"I'm glad we understand one another," Michael said, a look of satisfaction on his face. "Wendy, mind waiting outside for just a second. There are a couple of other things I'd like to discuss with Marco and Tony before we leave. It shouldn't take long."

---

The hallway was quiet. Wendy leaned against the wall, her laptop bag clutched to her chest, replaying what had just happened.

They'd apologized. Actually apologized. And it was because of Michael.

The buzz between her legs from earlier now radiated through her body, a warmth she couldn't ignore. She shifted her weight, pressing her back harder against the wall.

She could still hear his voice cutting through the room. She's innovative. She's trying to make you money. The way he'd slammed that laptop shut, ready to walk away from one of Buckeye's biggest clients rather than let them disrespect her. Her nipples ached against her blouse, and for the briefest moment she wondered if she could get away with touching herself in the hallway. An absurd thing to think, and she dismissed it immediately.

Instead she thought about Jon and how he would have acted in that situation. He would have listened to the brothers. He would have sent her into the hallway because the numbers wouldn't support upsetting one of the company's biggest clients. But Michael didn't hesitate.

We both know who has the bigger dick.

The memory of his words from the car ride made her breath catch.

The victory should have felt bigger. The brothers had backed down, acknowledged her value, agreed to move forward with her strategy. She'd won. Yet, she could still feel Marco's eyes dismissing her. Still hear Tony calling her sweetie like she was a child playing dress-up in her mother's clothes.

Michael's muffled voice carried through the door. They were laughing now. Whatever tension they had earlier, Michael was able to smooth over. She still wasn't entirely sure how he'd done it, or why it had such a profound effect on her.

The door opened before she could analyze it anymore. Michael emerged and she found herself grinning like a stupid groupie. He smiled at her and she resisted the urge to run into his arms. He'd won... and he'd done it for her.

"All set," he said. "They're going to be very cooperative going forward."

Wendy pushed off the wall, smoothing her skirt. "Thank you. For what you did in there."

"I meant every word." His hand found the small of her back as they walked toward the elevator. "You deserved better than that."

She leaned into his touch, already thinking about the long drive ahead and how she was going to spend it.

***

The air was electric as Michael merged onto I-71 North and headed back toward Columbus. Wendy glanced at him from the corner of her eye, her pulse continuing to skyrocket. He'd defended her. Risked the account, his entire career, for her.

When she closed her eyes all she could see was Michael's face when he slammed the laptop shut. The bass in his voice as he called the brothers blind and stupid.

"You're awful quiet."

"Just... thinking." Wendy's fingers dug into the fabric of her skirt.

"About what?"

She wasn't sure how to answer. She should be thinking about the next steps for the Skyline account. It was important she got that right now that the Corsettis were giving her a chance. She should be thinking about Jon. About how she'd tried so hard to keep things at home right while she balanced this tightrope with Michael.

But Jon felt impossibly far away right now, and no matter how hard she tried, the strain between them only deepened. He didn’t see her as an equal. He saw her as someone to protect, when in truth it had always been the other way around. She protected him from himself. From his rigidity. From his need to make everything clean and binary, to force meaning where ambiguity was necessary. He wouldn’t make a good director. He wasn’t flexible enough.

And she was protecting him from something else, too. From the humiliation of having a wife who—she worried her lip, reached for the AC, turned it higher—had her underwear soaked through as she sped down the highway, thinking about another man.

What kind of woman had she become?

She knew the answer. Had known it for weeks now, maybe longer. This wasn't about old Wendy or Gold Dress Wendy. Even that version of herself was long gone, just a dot on the horizon. She wasn't the naive employee who thought hard work would get recognized. She wasn't some loyal wife rationalizing that what she was about to do was for the right reasons.

This version of herself was the worst yet, the most powerful. Her nipples strained against her blouse, her arousal slick against her inner thigh. This version understood the game completely. She knew that power wasn't given, it was taken. She'd taken it from Trevor. The Corsetti Brothers almost took it from her, but Michael wouldn't let them have it.

She thought about the conference room. Marco's dismissive smirk. Tony's eyes crawling over her chest while he called her sweetie. The casual cruelty of being asked to fetch water like she was an intern, not the woman who'd just presented a strategy that could save their dying brand.

And through it all, Michael was there, a tether to the shore. He fought for her with the same passion and conviction that Wendy fought for the account. He saw her hunger, her ambition and encouraged it. He didn't shut her down the moment she began to shine. Sure, he also wanted to fuck her. She wasn't stupid. She knew that his defense of her wasn't purely altruistic, that somewhere in his calculations was the knowledge that protecting her would make her grateful, would bind her closer, would make moments like this one more likely.

There wasn't any reason to try to convince herself that wasn't true. The same could be said about any marriage really, and after all aren't all partnerships like this just a form of marriage? As long as Michael was loyal to her, and he'd just proven he was, then this partnership benefited both of them.

Her fingers found his thigh. His gasp made her heart pound faster. He flexed beneath her touch and his manhood began to grow.

Michael's eyes flicked to her hand, then back to the road. His lips curled slightly, but he didn't speak. He didn't need to ask what she was doing. He was in complete control. He always was.

"They were assholes," he said, as her hand traveled his length. "They deserved what they got."

"Since when has that bothered you?" Wendy laughed, suddenly very at ease. "You're an asshole."

"Not to you." His hand left the steering wheel, covering hers. "Never more than I know you can take."

The words were like gasoline to the fire burning just under her skin. She wanted to argue. To point out the IOU, the bets, the hotel room, all of it. But he was right. Every time she thought she'd reached her limit, she discovered the limit was further than she'd believed. And every time she crossed it, she felt more powerful, not less.

"Jon would have caved and told me to go get the water like they asked." She wasn't sure why she said it. Maybe she needed to hear it out loud. "He would have said that the risk of losing them outweighed the reward."

"Jon's an idiot."

"Don't call him that." She was stroking him through his pants now. "He's just... risk-averse."

"Risk-averse." Michael shook his head. "That's a nice way of saying he's a coward. Just a little beta cuck."

Wendy's cheeks burned. "Stop," her voice was soft. "I don't want to talk about Jon."

"What do you want to talk about?"

Instead of answering, she removed her hand from the front of his pants and grabbed his wrist, pulling it between her legs, letting him feel just how wet she was.

"What you said this morning." Her voice had dropped, more seductive. "About the dick-measuring contest."

"What about it?"

"You were right." She pulled her panties to the side, sighing as Michael's palm made contact with her bare slit. "Your dick was bigger."

"Ahhh." She released his wrist just as his fat finger pushed between her folds. Her hand found his zipper and she quickly dragged it down. As soon as his cock sprung free she wrapped her fingers around it. He was only half-hard, but even so, the weight of him in her hand made her breath catch. Even like this, he was already bigger than Jon fully erect. The thought came unbidden, and she hated herself for it. Hated that she couldn't stop comparing. Hated that the comparison always came out the same way.

"So much fucking bigger." She was already shifting in the seat, bending over in his lap and causing his finger to slip from inside her. She turned her body completely, sitting on her legs, her back to the passenger side window as her hair fell across his thighs and she freed him fully from his boxers. The first touch of her tongue made him grow harder against her lips and she let out an unconscious moan.

She traced the underside from base to tip. Each ridge, each vein sent a fresh wave of heat through her core. Michael's fingers tangled in her hair. He didn't apply any pressure, he didn't need to. She knew his cues, and she opened her mouth and sank it into his lap.

Her tongue bathed the underside of his shaft, as Michael hit the back of her throat, gagging her before she pulled back slightly. Her jaw ached as his thickness filled her mouth. She could hear cars passing them on either side as they continued down I-71. Somehow that degradation only made her want it more.

“Fuck, you’ve gotten good at that.” Michael lifted his hips, pressing deeper, the car accelerating as he fed himself into Wendy’s mouth. She braced her hands against his thighs, scrambling to find a rhythm as the sound of her choking began to overwhelm the radio.

"You know what I kept thinking about during that meeting?" Michael's hand slid across her back, his fingers gripping the hem of her skirt as it began to slide up her legs. "When those two were berating you instead of giving you a chance?"

She couldn't answer with her mouth full. Just moaned around his shaft.

"I was thinking about how they'd never know what this mouth can do." He dragged her skirt up higher, his fingers spreading out across her bare ass. "How they will never get to see what you're really like. But for me..."

He thrust upward, hitting the back of her throat. Wendy gagged, eyes watering, but didn't pull away.

"For me, you'll do anything. Won't you?"

The words had their desired effect on her. Even the cool blast of the AC against her bare skin did nothing to extinguish the inferno between her legs.

The blast of an appreciative air horn shattered the moment as a semi-truck roared past in the right lane, slowing just long enough to catch the heart-shaped ass wiggling in front of the window.

Wendy pulled back with a gasp, resting her head in his lap as her hand continued to stroke him. “Michael, there are too many cars. Someone’s going to see.”

The SUV lurched to the right, wrenching a squeal from Wendy. He was already guiding her forward, his fingers wrapping in her hair. He was brutal now, using her mouth as the car drifted across lanes. Any thought of motion sickness vanished under the relentless pace he set, the world narrowing to pressure and breath and heat. Saliva and precum streaked her chin as he pushed more and more of his shaft into her throat.

When she finally came up for air, she was surprised to see they were parked at the far end of a rest stop. With the exception of a couple of cars on the far end of the parking lot they were alone. She looked to Michael, who just smirked before turning off the SUV completely.

"Where are—"

"Get in the backseat."

"Michael, I—"

His hand was already inside her underwear, two fingers sliding through her folds. Her protest quickly turning into a needy moan.

"You're soaked." He watched her eyes flutter closed, her hands fisting. "And you want me to make you cum."

"Yes." The word came out strained, breathy.

"Then get in the back, before I change my mind."

His fingers stilled on her clit and Wendy rotated her hips to maintain the contact. Her eyes opened, desperate to think of a witty response. When it was clear she had none, she lowered her head and climbed over the middle console.

***

Wendy felt like a teenager as she moved into the back of the SUV. It was roomier than she expected, and the windows were tinted giving her a strange sense of relief.

The backdoor opened and Michael slid into the seat next to her. She didn't even remember seeing him exit the vehicle, but she wasn't surprised he didn't try to climb in like she did. His stomach pressed against her thigh as the back suddenly felt smaller. His hand was back on her leg, his teeth grazing her neck before she had time to process her situation.

"Michael, wait—"

"No more waiting." His fingers slithered up her leg, pressing her underwear into the front of her sex. "I've wanted to do this since the second you got into the car this morning."

She gasped as his thumb pressed against her clit.

"Take them off, or I'm going to rip them off."

Wendy's heart hammered in her chest. How was he able to turn her on so badly? She took stock of his face, cataloging every repulsive detail despite knowing it wouldn't matter. His pores were visible this close, enlarged around his nose where broken capillaries webbed across the skin. The five o'clock shadow came in patchy, darker in some places than others. His lips were thin and cracking, but his eyes...

His eyes were calm yet demanding. They held power and strength, all the things she hoped to one day convey.

He knew exactly what he looked like. Knew the gut that pressed against her, knew the jowls and the thinning hair and every physical flaw that should have disqualified him from this moment. And he didn't give a damn. Didn't apologize for taking up space, didn't hesitate before reaching for what he wanted, didn't question whether he deserved this. That certainty, that absolute refusal to be diminished by anyone for anything radiated from him and drew her like a magnet.

She pressed forward, one arm wrapping around his neck as she pulled him into a kiss. It tasted like mouthwash and stale mints, his tongue aggressive and demanding as it pushed past her lips. Her other hand fumbled between them, fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties and dragging them down her thighs with jerky, graceless movements. The lace caught on her heels and she had to kick one leg free, but she didn't care.

His hand found her bare ass, gripping hard enough to sting, and she gasped into his mouth.

"That's my girl," he growled against her lips.

"I'm not your—" She gasped as his thumb pressed against her clit. "Oh fuck."

Her hips bucked against his hand, her lips finding his again. She moaned into his mouth, fingers tangling in his thinning hair. His neck was slick with sweat under her palm.

He curled his fingers upward and her mouth fell open, the moan dying into a strangled sound. His free hand moved to her blouse, buttons popping free as he yanked the fabric aside along with her bra exposing her breasts.

"Fucking perfect." His mouth closed over her nipple, teeth scraping, and Wendy's back arched off the leather seat.

“Ahhhh.” Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling hard enough to draw a groan against her breast.

He pulled back, then shifted his attention to the other one, his mouth devouring her chest as he slid two fingers into her.

“Ohh fuck, Michael—” His name broke from her, ragged and desperate.

“Again. Say my name again.” He kissed his way up her throat, teeth closing over the soft skin of her neck as his fingers curled in a beckoning motion, sending her body into a frenzy.

“Ugggh, Michael. Michael.” Her cries grew louder, the windows of the SUV fogging over as she lost herself to it.

Her thighs trembled, she was getting close. His fingers slipped from inside her making her groan in protest. She hooked her legs around his back, desperate to find her digits again. As her hips bucked forward that's when she felt it.

His bare cock pressed against her folds. Heat pulsed from it as it slid through her wetness making her quiver. The head caught against her clit and made her shudder.

"Fuuuuck, Michael." She tried to will her hips to stop, but the friction was too perfect. She rolled them forward, her tongue gliding over his lips as he watched her writhe.

"Don't... ohhh fuck. Don't move." She was close now. The orgasm was building inside her threatening to tear out of her. Her nails dug into his nape as she worked her hips faster, using the friction of his cock to drive herself into a frenzy. This could work, as long as he didn't try anything stupid, she would cum.

Her forehead dropped against his, her breath coming in short, desperate pants as she ground against him again. And again. She could feel the thick head catching at her entrance with each roll of her hips, threatening to slip inside. As long as he didn't move, that wouldn't happen.

"Michael I'm gonna— You're going to make me—"

He pulled her backward slightly, breaking the contact and stilling her hips completely.

"No—" She tried to move but his grip was iron. "Michael, please, I'm so close—"

"You don't get to cum without me."

She bit her lip. "Do... do you have a condom?"

"No."

"Michael—"

His grip shifted, pulling her against his body once more. The head of his cock was pressed right against her entrance. Her eyes went wide, her mouth hung open, but she didn't pull away.

"That's not... I can't..." Her hips swiveled, another jolt of pleasure racing through her as the tip of his head spread her lips.

"You want this." His hands flexed on her hips, keeping her right there, balanced on the edge. "Say it."

"I—" Her voice broke as he pushed forward just slightly, barely an inch, but enough to make her vision blur. Enough to make her remember the stretch. "We can't— You don't have a—"

"We can." He pulled back, denying her, and she whimpered. "And we will. I told you the next time I fucked you it would be without a condom. You know this was going to happen when you got in the car today and you came anyway."

"That's not—" But her hips chased him, trying to sink down onto what he was withholding. Trying to take what he wouldn't give until she admitted the truth they both knew.

"Say you want me to fuck you."

Her nails dug into his shoulder. "Michael—"

"Say it, Wendy." He pressed forward again, just the tip, stretching her. "Tell me what you need."

Her head fell back, throat exposed, defeated. "I want you to fuck me."

"Louder."

"I want you to fuck me." Tears stung her eyes. "Please, Michael. Fuck me."

Without any resistance, Michael pushed his cock forward.

"Oooohhhh." Wendy's head fell back as he stretched her open, inch by inch. The fullness was overwhelming, nothing like the condom-dulled sensation from before. Every ridge, every vein dragged against her walls, the heat of him bare inside her.

He pulled back slowly, then thrust up hard.

The orgasm detonated. Her pussy clamped down on his shaft, vision blurring white as her body convulsed. She sank lower, taking him fully, impaled and shaking on his lap as wave after wave tore through her.

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her ass. "Wait... wait a second," she whined, still trying to recover. "I just need to—"

"Everything you need is right here," he said triumphantly, as he pulled her body up so only the head was still inside of her before slowly pushing his entire length back into her.

"Oh, God. What are you doing to me?" Her entire body felt hyper-sensitive. Despite her orgasm, she still hummed with need. Each thrust made her gasp for more, her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, ignoring the pool of sweat on his back.

The inside of the car was hot, but her body was on fire. Every thrust threatened to make her boil over. She could already feel another orgasm building from every inch of her body. It felt like it was everywhere at once, slowly simmering to the surface.

Wendy's movements grew faster as she stared into Michael's eyes, waiting to see what he would do next. He smirked at her, then snaked his hand up her bare back until it found the base of her neck. He licked his lips and leaned forward while pulling Wendy towards him.

Their lips met, and they hungrily devoured one another. His tongue filled her mouth, their bodies responding to each other. Michael pressed his hips against Wendy's as she rode his cock up and down, letting his full length travel inside her. When she would pull herself up to the top of his cock, he would grip her tighter and pull her back all the way down. She moaned into his mouth each time.

"You feel that?" He placed his palms on the seat, the leather creaking underneath them as he pushed himself deeper inside her. "You feel how deep I am?"

"Yes." The word was half-sob, half-moan. "Fuck, yes."

"You're so fucking tight. Jon can't make you feel like this, can he? He'll never hit you this deep."

"Don't—" She bit her lip hard enough to taste copper. Her walls sucked him deeper, responding to his taunts. "Don't talk about Jon."

She leaned forward, quickening her pace as she fed her tit into Michael's mouth. She told herself it was to shut him up, but the second his teeth came down on her nipple she felt another, much stronger, orgasm approaching.

"Why not?" His words vibrated against her breast, teeth scraping. "You said it yourself. He would have.." He thrust up hard, making her cry out. His breathing grew shallower as he fucked Wendy into submission. "Thrown you to the wolves back there."

"Uh fuck," Wendy increased her tempo as Michael's words rattled in her brain. Her orgasm started to take shape, it felt like a swaying wrecking ball trying to find its mark before everything came crashing down. "Just... just shut up and fuck."

His hand cracked down on her ass making her bounce harder. Michael was gasping for breath now. His face looked like a ripe tomato as he sucked in huge gasps of air. "It's the same reason he can't make you feel this good." He felt his own orgasm starting to build as he rushed to get the words out. "The same reason he can't make you cum the way I can."

"That's not—" But the protest died as another stinging slap landed against the flesh of her ass making her thighs shake.

"It is." His mouth moved to her other breast, sucking hard. "You begged me to fuck you. Said please even."

The shame in her gut only added to her arousal. She was riding him faster, chasing the orgasm that was building like a tsunami. Her left hand braced against the fog covered window, leaving her handprint in the condensation as she neared oblivion.

"Tell me the reason." Michael's cock pulsed inside her, his release imminent.

"Mmm fuck. I'm gonna..." Her pussy gripped him like a vice, the wet sloshing of her movements echoing through the car.

"Say it... say why Jon will never satisfy you."

She was going to die. Actually die from this. Her body was wound so tight she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything except feel him stretching her, filling her, owning her.

"Ohhh fuck. Michael don't stop, baby. I'm almost—"

With one final grunt, he slammed into her his cock erupting into her unprotected pussy. "SAY IT!"

"Ohhhh." Her head fell back, her orgasm detonating in her like a bomb. "Your dick is bigger." Every muscle in her pussy tightened once more around his cock as the orgasm rocked through her body. "Oh fuck. Ohhh, God. So much fucking bigger." She was shouting now, past shame, past everything except the need to finish.

The orgasm washed over her in waves, a series of mini orgasms that seemed to pull him deeper as she screamed into the air.

"That's my girl." He smirked, pressing his lips to hers once more as the last blast filled her.

They stayed like that for a long moment, both of them trembling, his softening cock still inside her. Then reality crashed back.

"You... you should have pulled out."

"You seemed to enjoy it."

She wanted to scream at him. She should be furious and shoving him away. But her body was still buzzing, still humming with the aftershocks of the best orgasm of her life, and the anger wouldn't come. Just a hollow sort of defeat.

"Michael—"

"It's fine. I'll stop at a pharmacy on the way back." He shifted beneath her, and she winced as he slipped out. She could feel him leaking out of her, warm and obscene.

"It's not fine." But the words had no heat behind them. She was too wrung out, too sated to fight. "You can't... next time, you have to pull out."

His smile was slow and victorious. "Whatever you say."

She didn't have the energy to argue. Just climbed off his lap and curled up in the backseat, her skirt still bunched around her waist, her underwear abandoned somewhere on the floor. The leather was cool against her overheated skin.

"Get some rest." Michael was already climbing out of the car. She was so exhausted she didn't even notice him grab her panties and tuck them into his pocket. "I'll wake you when we get back to Columbus."

She closed her eyes, felt the engine rumble to life beneath her. The vibration against her oversensitive body almost felt good. She pushed the thought away and let exhaustion claim her.

***

Jon checked his phone. 6:28 PM. The office had emptied an hour ago, the fluorescent lights humming as only a handful of people remained. He told himself he wasn't waiting to catch Wendy doing anything. He just thought it would be nice to ride home together. They used to do that all the time, back when things were easier between them.

His last message to her was at 5:37, still unread.

*Jon:* Hey, how late do you think you'll be? Want to grab dinner when you get back?

He set the phone face-down on his desk and rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. This was the part he was bad at. Filling in the blanks when he didn't know the answer. So, what were the facts?

Fact: Wendy hadn't responded to his text.

Fact: She'd been gone since early this morning with Michael.

Fact: The Skyline account was in Cincinnati, just under a two hour drive. They'd get there. Have a meeting, probably grab lunch and head home. So why was it taking all day?

His chest tightened. He was doing it again. Building false narratives from nothing. It was just as likely that the meeting ran long. Or didn't get started until after lunch then they hit traffic. There were a million perfectly reasonable reasons why it was taking longer than he'd expected. But he kept hearing Jenny's voice in the back of his head. Confirming he wasn't imagining all the time Wendy and Michael were spending together alone.

His mouth was suddenly dry. He grabbed his water bottle and shut down his computer. If Wendy hadn't responded back by the time he'd refilled his water then he would go home. They could talk about it when she got back.

The break room was dim. He wasn't sure anyone was left in the office. Most of the lights were off and even the glug of the water cooler felt loud as Jon refilled his bottle. He was being ridiculous. Wendy was probably already on her way back, maybe even pulling into the parking garage right now. They'd laugh about this later.

When he returned to his desk, movement in the corner of his vision made him freeze.

Trevor was at Wendy's desk, rifling through papers.

"Can I help you with something?"

Trevor jerked upright, papers scattering. "Jesus, Jon. You scared the hell out of me."

"What are you doing at Wendy's desk?"

"I was just—" Trevor smoothed his shirt, that cocky smirk faltering. "Looking for Wendy. Wanted to talk to her about Skyline."

Jon crossed his arms. "She's not here. She and Michael went to Cincinnati this morning for the account."

"Right. Of course." Trevor nodded, and made his way back around her desk. He started toward the door, then paused. His hand rested on the doorframe as he turned back. "You know what's interesting? I was on the Skyline account for two years. Only ever went out there twice. Wendy's been on it for less than twenty-four hours and she and Michael are already running off together."

The hairs on the back of Jon's neck stood up. "It's perfectly normal to visit a client in person when we switch account managers. Builds rapport, shows we're taking the transition seriously."

"Oh, absolutely." Trevor looked like he was sizing Jon up. "I'm sure that's all it is. Just seems weird is all. Those two have been practically attached at the hip lately." He emphasized the last word in a way that made Jon's jaw clench. "But I guess that's the price it takes to become Director, right?"

"What are you implying?"

"Nothing." Trevor held up his hands. "Just making an observation. I'll find Wendy tomorrow. Have a good night."

He left before Jon could respond, footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Jon stood there, Trevor's words circling in his head like vultures. Too similar to Jenny's to ignore. He tried telling himself Trevor was just being petty. He was upset that he lost Skyline to Wendy and was just slinging mud. It was transparent, manipulative, and Jon wasn't going to fall for it.

He grabbed his messenger bag and slung it over his shoulder. His phone buzzed.

*Wendy:* Sorry! I fell asleep in the car. The meeting ran a little long, but we should be back in twenty minutes. Want to take me to that Thai place you've been raving about?

Relief flooded through him, followed immediately by guilt. See? Perfectly reasonable explanation. He was being paranoid for nothing, letting Trevor's jealous insinuations and Jenny's observations get under his skin.

*Jon:* I'll head there now and get us on the list. Love you.

He hit send and locked his computer. As he walked toward the elevator, he tried to ignore the small voice in his head pointing out that she always complained she couldn't sleep in the car, could never get comfortable. That Cincinnati was barely two hours away, but she'd been gone for over ten hours.

He'd write it in his thought journal when he got home. Dr. Carson would help him make sense of all of it.

***

The phone rang twice before they answered. There were people in the background, dozens of fragmented conversations that couldn't be placed.

"What is it?" The usual greeting. They were never one for pleasantries.

"They spent the day in Cincinnati meeting with the Skyline team."

Silence on the other end. Just the murmur of distant conversations and what sounded like silverware clinking against plates.

"All day? That's... interesting. Did you plant it?"

A stab of panic. They weren't going to like the answer. "No. I didn't get a chance. Jon was always right there. She'll be named director soon. It will be easier when she has her own office."

Seconds seemed to tick by in slow motion as the person on the other end of the line decided what to do with this information. "We can't afford to mess this up."

"I know I just—"

"Right this way, your table is ready." A waiter's voice emerged over the others, thick with an accent.

"I need to go. Get it done." The line went dead.

***

Jon's mind continued to race as he turned onto High Street. Sala Thai was still ten minutes away, despite it only being a few more blocks up the street. Crowds of people seemed to be scattered all over Short North tonight as traffic continued to crawl.

He was finding it increasingly harder to dismiss all the signs that something was going on with Wendy and Michael, despite how much Dr. Carson demanded he only focus on the facts. The facts were that both Jenny and Trevor saw it too. The facts were that Wendy was still too green to be a director, yet both Trevor and Jenny thought it was inevitable.

The light turned red and Jon nearly plowed into the car in front of him. He slammed on his brakes, the seatbelt catching him before his head hit the steering wheel. He looked to the left, at the rows of people spilling out of restaurants, all laughing and having fun. He couldn't remember the last time he and Wendy looked like that, and his chest ached at the admission. He continued to scan the street, hoping that the brief bout of people-watching would help keep his mind off Wendy and Michael. Happy couples were sitting in restaurant windows laughing and sharing dinner. An older lady sat alone in what appeared to be a taco joint scrolling her phone while snacking on chips and salsa. One couple looked to be having an intense conversation inside what looked like an Italian restaurant, although they had no food in front of them. Another...

His breath caught and his head snapped back to the window of the Italian restaurant.

It wasn't just any couple sitting there. It was Marcus. He was in a corner booth, the lighting low enough it wasn't a surprise Jon missed it the first time. Across from him, Ava leaned forward, her face flushed, one hand slicing through the air as she spoke. Even through the glass and distance, Jon could see the intensity of whatever she was saying. Marcus reached across the table, trying to take her hand. She pulled back, shaking her head.

The conversation looked heated. Private. The kind of thing two people fired for an inappropriate relationship would be having if they were still—

A horn blared behind him.

Jon's head snapped forward. The light was green. The car he nearly rear-ended now almost a block ahead of him. He hit the gas, causing the car to lurch forward as he caught up with the car in front of him.

Why were Marcus and Ava having dinner together? And why did their conversation look so intense?

The narrative built itself in a matter of seconds. They'd been fired about a month ago. Jon didn't want to believe that Marcus would ever do such a thing, but Wendy had tried to tell him the night before. Jon was sure it was all just a big misunderstanding. Except... if that were true, if they were innocent, why would they be meeting? Why the secrecy in what looked like a more intimate restaurant?

The taillights from the car in front of him began to blur. He was feeling lightheaded. He didn't know what was real anymore. He wasn't sure he could trust his own instincts anymore. He'd been wrong about Olivia. Now it seemed he'd been wrong about Marcus. Was he making the same mistake with Wendy?

His phone buzzed in the cupholder.

*Wendy:* Almost there! I'm starving. Do they have Massaman curry? I can't wait to see you. I've missed you.

Jon forced himself to breathe. He pulled into an empty parking spot, throwing his head back and taking deep breaths. He'd never had a panic attack before, but he was pretty sure he was having one now. That or a heart attack.

He just needed to talk to Wendy. Let her know what he was feeling. They could work through it. She would help him make it make sense. This was all just going to be a giant misunderstanding. He got out of the car and headed inside to put their name on the list. By the time Wendy arrived, he'd be smiling.