Executive Privilege Ch. 02

Wendy was awake before her alarm went off. She expected to wake up refreshed and ready to take on the day. Instead, her mind was instantly back to the events of yesterday. The embarrassing scene at the Christmas party, Michael's cryptic conversation about a new account, even her evening with Jon left her... frustrated.

She slipped out from beneath the sheets, not wanting to wake Jon. His light snoring followed her as she padded across the hardwood floor on her toes, she was freezing. She wrapped her hands around her shoulders, her nipples straining against the fabric of her nightgown. She couldn't wait until they got some warmer weather.

The shower hissed and stammered to life as she pulled her nightgown off and waited for steam to begin to rise before stepping under the spray. She let out a long sigh, running her fingers through her hair while the hot water pelted her skin. She closed her eyes, letting the water wash away her frustrations and fear of what the day would bring.

"Everything's going to be fine," she told herself, pouring body wash on her loofa and scrubbing her sensitive skin.

Maybe Jon was right, Michael would just laugh the entire thing off and things would go back to normal. Besides, what could he possible think would happen with that dumb IOU anyway?

"Ohhh." The coarse fabric of the loofa slid across her chest, surprising her with just how nice the texture of it felt against her chest. Images of Michael leering at her flooded her mind. Her nipple throbbing for attention. She bit her lip, giving into the sensation for just a moment before allowing the water to wash away the soap, and perhaps also the shame.

"This is ridiculous," she mutter to herself, lathering up her stomach. Even that simple touch seemed to ignite sparks between her thighs. Wendy peaked her head out of the shower, it was faint, but she could still hear Jon's gentle snores.

"It's his fault," she thought to herself as her hand began sliding lower on her body. "He got me so close last night and then just..." Her mouth opened in shock as her finger slipped across her smooth bolds to find them wet from something other than the shower. She consider turning the shower off and crawling back into bed with Jon. He would take care of her, and be happy to do so. But she was running low on time, and as attentive as Jon was at times, he was also slow to get her there.

She let her left hand dip between her folds, feeling her warmth as she spread it over her parted lips. "Mmmm, I can be quick." She dropped the loofa to the ground, her right hand cupping her breast roughly, allowing her pointer finger and thump to pinch the engorged pebble.

This sent an immediate thrill to her core, and Wendy let her fingertip tease her entrance. She'd asked Jon in the past to be a little rougher with her, and he tried, bless his heart. But he didn't have it in him. Jon was a kind, gentle lover.

She pinched her nipple harder, feeling the blood rush to it as she dipped her finger inside her sex. She felt her walls closed around her and her eyes fluttered shut. "Mmm yes, right there," she moaned squeezing her chest. God, she wished Jon would treat her like this. A second finger joined the first as she imagined Jon pushing her against the wall. His teeth trailing down her neck, across her collarbone, down the swell of her chest until he took her eraser sized nipple into his mouth.

"Ah, yes. Just like that baby. Fuck me, Jon. Fuck m-"

The image of Jon disappeared, replace by Michael. He had her glued to the wall, his large frame practically swallowing her as he fucked her without a care in the world. Wendy's eyes snapped open, her breathing heavy, her fingers still buried deep inside her as she tried to process what had just happened.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" Wendy hissed, shaking her head as if trying to physically remove the image. Yet even as disgust churned in her stomach, she couldn't deny the confusing heat that spread through her.

She thought back to Jon, to his tongue dancing over her clit. "Mmm yes, baby," she moan slipping her fingers over the sensitive bud. She could practically feel his tongue pushing past her folds, his lips creating a perfect suction on her clit.

Her pace began to quicken. Her fingers slipping back into her wet, hungry pussy then back out. She brough them to her mouth sucking them eagerly into her mouth, tasting her sweetness. Her tongue ran across the length of her digits, imaging it was Jon... his cock. She wished he tasted sweet like this, wished he would have nudged it into her mouth last night despite her protests.

"Ugh yes, baby. Use me, mmmmph, fuck me." She arched her back up from the wall, pulling her fingers from her mouth and slamming them back inside her. Her thumb circled her clit, light flicks that grew harder as her body began to come alive.

The chill of the tile on her back caused her to yelp, her hips driving to match her thrusts. She could feel Jon's hands on her thighs. Holding her in place as he lapped at her juices. "Uggh yes, baby. Don't stop. Don't fucking stop." Her orgasm was nearing, the water beginning to cool as it hit her skin.

Her fingers worked faster, her eyes shut tight as she imagined Jon's tongue boring deeper inside her. But then the fantasy morphed. Jon's gentle grip tightened, his fingers digging into her skin so much it hurt.

"Ffffuuu..." Jon's face was gone now, transformed into Michael's sneer. His thick fingers digging into her flesh, holding her in place with an authority that made her pussy drip with need.

"I knew you were the right choice," phantom-Michael growled against her slick folds, his voice reverberating through her pelvis. "Someone who understands commitment."

"No," Wendy gasped, shaking her head violently, droplets spraying from her wet hair. But even as disgust and shame flooded her consciousness, her fingers moved with renewed urgency, her body betraying her mind.

She forced Jon back into her fantasy, desperately focusing on his lean frame, his tender touches, the way he knew how to hit just the right spot. "Jon," she whispered urgently, pinching her nipple harder, the pain grounding her in reality. "Jon, Jon, Jon..."

Her fingers continued to tweak her nipple, the pain combining with the pleasure building between her legs and sending her body into overdrive.

Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, making her legs give out from under her. She slid down the tiled wall, her fingers working feverously inside her pulsing cunt. Goosebumps rose on her skin, as she threw her head backward, her ass splashing in the water underneath her. Her legs quivered in front of her, her belly rolling as the assault continued inside her.

"Ohhhh God. Oh fuck, yes, yes. Uggggh."

"Fuuuck," she sighed pressing the back of her head to the tile, ensuring Michael was the furthest thing from it. she couldn't believe she would think about him during such a moment. She blamed the stress, this was just more proof of how badly she needed this release. She sat on the floor of the shower trying to catch her breath, the sound of the water pulsing against the floor of the tub slowing her racing heart.

Ten minutes later, Wendy stood before her walk-in closet with a heightened sense of scrutiny. Her wet hair dripped down her back as she surveyed the outfits in front of her. Everything had to be perfect today, starting with what she wore.

"Everything okay?" Jon asked,  yawning, stretching out his long body. "I could have sworn you were calling me in there." He noticed Wendy's face redden as she considered her choice of attire. _She does too much with her clothes_, he said to himself, his gaze on her heart-shaped bottom as it bounced from left to right deliberating.

"Oh, um... yeah. Thought I was low on shampoo, but I managed," she replied, not looking back at him. "I need today to go smoothly." Her eyes stayed on the green Roland Mouret dress that fell just above her ankles. The color was strong without trying. She held it against her hips, checking out her body in the floor-length mirror.

"Everything you wear looks great."

He wasn't lying. Wendy really was the definition of natural beauty. He still didn't understand how he'd ended up with her. One minute he was crunching statistical oddities for a local brewery while recovering from his breakup, and the next he was having drinks with Wendy, their heads bent together over a baseball betting sheet he'd brought to the bar. She had surprised him once before with challenging his margin estimates, her eyes sparkling with victory when he'd double-checked the math and found that she was right. That was what had first drawn him to her - not just her beauty, but the way she could cut through his careful analysis with quick, intuitive insights that were usually spot-on. Back then, he'd loved how she'd squeeze his arm whenever he corrected their friends' probability estimates, whispering "you're such a nerd" lovingly in his ear.

"Thanks, babe," she said distractedly. She wasn't listening. Instead, she was holding up a cream-colored blouse and comparing it to the dress. A smile crept across her lips as the combination was perfect - elegant and commanding. Her hands automatically smoothed the way the clothing fell, a residual habit from modeling. She'd left it behind, tired of being valued solely for her looks, but she couldn't help but admit the talent it had taught her was priceless.  A glance was all it took to tell her exactly how others would react to a garment, what it would say. Today, that message was that she deserved a seat at the table.

She shrugged into the blouse, adjusting the collar as Jon finally emerged from bed. The neckline was respectable enough, though no amount of careful construction could completely conceal her figure. A problem that would haunt her, despite her best efforts.

Jon was a creature of habit in his own closet. His was mundane compared to hers.  The same boring colors of black, white, and beige reiterated,  and so did the same boring heap of khakis. It was functional, he'd always protest. Time wasted thinking about what to wear was time wasted.  Every now and then,  Wendy was jealous of its simplicity, the freedom that men had to wear the same thing day in and day out without criticism.

Right on cue, he appeared behind her, already dressed in his standard Oxford and khakis, fumbling with his striped tie. "Here, let me," Wendy offered, turning to face him. Her fingers making quick work of the half Windsor knot as he settled his hands on her waist. She couldn't help but smile at the warmth of his skin against hers. These quiet moments were when everything made sense, when the complications of work and ambition fell away. If only that clarity could follow her to the office.

"Thank you again for last night," he murmured, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. "I'm sorry I couldn't... you know. Last longer."

A smile edged its way around behind Wendy's firmly closed lips,  replacing the lingering irritation she'd felt last night. "You enjoyed yourself. That's all that matters." She ran a smoothing hand down his tie,  her palm hesitating on his chest.  She glanced toward the clock on the nightstand. She was still slightly worked up from her time in the shower. If she had a few more minutes she wouldn't object to pushing him back onto the bed and taking advantage of his guilt, but today she had things to do.

"Still..." He kissed to her forehead. "I'll make it up to you this weekend."

The tenderness of the moment warmed her skin, but Michael's voice echoed in her head - "someone with your instincts" - sending an involuntary shiver down her spine despite Jon's warmth against her. Work wasn't just waiting. Michael was waiting, that damn note probably already framed on his desk.

"Do you think anyone will remember? The gift mix-up?" She turned back to the mirror, grabbing her mascara as an excuse to avoid his gaze. "God, Michael's face when he read that card..."

Wendy's fingers trembled slightly as she applied her mascara, the memory of the event made her stomach flip. The way Michael punctuated every word, the way his expression shifted when his gaze caught hers. She added another coat, steadying her hand, pulling at the collar of her blouse to fan her suddenly overheated face.

"Everyone was half-drunk by then," Jon assured her, already distracted by his phone. "Besides, Michael's probably done something inappropriate to three other people since. No one will even remember."

But Wendy remembered the hunger in Michael's eyes, the way he'd folded that note into his pocket without ever breaking eye contact. She added another coat of mascara, the repetitive motion helping steady her nerves. Power pose, she reminded herself, squaring her shoulders the way she'd practiced in countless casting calls. The irony wasn't lost on her - she'd left modeling to be taken seriously, yet here she was, still performing, still being judged on presentation. Only now the stakes felt higher. This wasn't about looking pretty; it was about looking powerful. About being seen for her mind rather than her measurements, even if Michael's lingering gaze suggested he noticed both.

"Ready?" Jon asked, keys already in hand.

Wendy nodded, grabbing her leather portfolio. "Ready."

***

As Jon and Wendy made their way into the building, they could already feel the shift in the atmosphere from last night. All of the party decorations were discarded, not a trace anywhere in sight. The floors had a high shine to them that suggested the cleaning crew must have put in long hours after the event to ensure nothing looked out of place. Wendy grabbed Jon's hand, taking a deep breath as she prepared to face the whispers and sideways glances of the day.

"Well someone looks like they are in bad bitch mode. What's up with the outfit choice?" Ava's smiling face called out from just behind her cubicle wall. "Did Michael go out and promote you after reading the card?"

Ava's voice was light and playful, but as the words fell from her lips Wendy's stomach tightened and her face went pale. "Fuck, I told Jon this was going to happen. I'm going to be the laughing stock of the office now."

"I was just playing with you." Ava's bright smile disappeared in an instant, as she didn't think Wendy was going to be this upset about it. "Honestly, it wasn't even that bad. Had it been anyone else it could have been laughed off. But of course creepy fucking Michael was the one to open it." She placed a hand on Wendy's arm. "How'd that happen anyway? Did you talk to Jon about it?"

"He doesn't know. Even implied I did it on purpose. Like I want to sleep with Michael or something."

"Tell me you're kidding."

Wendy managed to let out a stiff laugh, while she struggled to hold back tears. "Yeah, but it's Jon, you know. He didn't mean it like that. He was just as confused as I was." She stood up straight allowing the emotions to wash over her. "This is all your fault you know," she said with a laugh turning to look at Ava. "You and your slutty ideas about sexual favors."

Now it was Ava's turn to laugh. "Hey, I told you to be a good wife and give your husband a blowjob. It's not my fault you decided to give it to Michael instead." She took a step closer to Wendy so their playful banter couldn't be heard by others still coming into the office. "I'm actually surprised he didn't greet you at the door this morning expecting you to let him cash it in."

"Have you seen him yet this morning? I want to get whatever's going to happen out of the way so we can move on."

"Michael? No, not yet." She glanced around instinctively. "But this is Michael we're talking about. He's not just going to forget about it."

Wendy didn't get a chance to respond before Jon appeared at her elbow. "I'm going to go fill up my water bottle.  Want to come with me?"

"I'd love that," Wendy responded thankful to not be discussing Michael anymore.

The industrial water cooler gurgled as Jon filled two paper cups. "Marcus seemed receptive to my demographic analysis this morning. I really think-"

He stopped in his tracks as a large shadow illuminated on the breakroom wall. Wendy cursed her luck under her breath as she turned to see Michael standing in the frame of the doorway his bulk causing him to turn slightly to fit through the passage. "Hell of a party last night, wasn't it?" He tightened the scarlet and grey tie around his neck, his gaze fixed solely on Wendy.

"Good morning Michael," said Jon friendly, completely missing the fact that Michael hadn't so much as looked at him.

"I was just thinking about you two," Michael continued,  making a beeline for the coffee maker. His shirt was more wrinkled than usual,  as though he'd slept at the office. "That creative little gift exchange last night set me thinking - did you know that in some jurisdictions, a written promise like that is legally enforceable?"

And there it was. She was a little surprised his comment was as muted as it was. Michael usually was much more direct in his harassment. Her thumb found her wedding ring, spinning it four times around her finger, the soothing habit stealing the seconds she needed to respond. By the time she got herself together, Jon already had stepped in.

"He's right,  actually," Jon perked up,  interest coloring his tone. "In British Common Law, specifically in cases like Edwards vs. Skyways, the courts have ruled that written agreements, even informal ones, can constitute binding contracts. Fascinating stuff really."

Wendy's face heated up.  That was typical Jon,  taking things so literally.  She often found herself marveling at how someone as smart as him could be so blind when it came to social cues and suggestive innuendos.

Michael's lips grew damp. His eyes darkening as the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air "See? Your husband understands." His eyes roved over Wendy's clothing slowly enough to make her writhe. "I like the wardrobe choice," he said to her,  after he managed to work his way back up to her face. "It screams...  commitment."

"Lucky we don't live there," Jon chuckled,  giving Wendy a quick kiss on the cheek. "I need to get that market research finished for Marcus.  Catch you later?" He was already heading for the door, his mind clearly on work and nothing else.

The silence left by Jon was shattered by the hum of the coffee machine, its steady buzz drowning out the usual office buzz of voices from the corridor. Wendy was aware of the windowless office shrinking with every passing second. The temperature was rising as Michael took a deliberate step forward,  allegedly to access the coffee creamer.

"Yes," he murmured, fingers brushing against Wendy's arm for the slightest second. Where Jon's kiss had been butterfly-light, Michael's touch felt like a brand on her skin. "Good thing indeed."

Michael shifted his weight,  managing to take up even more space in the small break room. His shoulders seemed to widen as he reached out to take the coffee, cutting off Wendy's path to the door without obviously moving into her path. The coffee machine spat and hissed, the sound oddly threatening in the confined space. Steam rose up between them, carrying the bitter scent of burned coffee that mixed with Michael's stale cigarette breath. She pressed against the counter,  heart pounding as the cold metal rim bit into the small of her back.

"I should go," she said,  amazed at how steady her voice was despite the sweat pooling at the back of her neck. "Lots of accounts to get through."

"Before you go," Michael stepped closer, and the last vestiges of Jon's innocent kiss were consumed in the suffocating warmth of Michael's nearness. The counter dug deeper into her spine as she fought to maintain the small amount of space that remained between them. His stomach grazed her arm, the unwanted touch causing her skin to crawl beneath layers of fabric. The hum of the coffee machine seemed to increase in volume, creating a sphere in which no one could hear her, no one could rescue her.

"Do some research on Fireball Whiskey while you're at your desk." The moisture of his lips brushed against Wendy's ear and she had to keep herself from recoiling. Was Michael helping her right now? "There's going to be a meeting announcement later. Coming prepared with some data would really show the team just how determined you are."

A wave of dizziness washed over Wendy as Michael stepped aside to let her pass. _Fireball Whiskey? Was that the project Michael was talking about yesterday? That's a global powerhouse. If she was on a project like that it could completely change the trajectory of her career._

Michael caught her hand as she was leaving through the door. She drew in a slight breath, the hairs on her arm standing on end. "And Wendy," he pulled on her,  causing her to stumble in her heels. "Let's keep this between us. Wouldn't want any rumors about me playing favorites would we?"

All Wendy could do was nod.

"Good girl," he whispered, winking at her. "Let's just keep it between the two of us. Like... other things." He tapped the breast pocket of his shirt gently.

Her legs went on autopilot as she escaped the break room, her fingers digging into her thigh each step with a silent four count. The Fireball Whiskey tip ricocheted through her mind, each bounce illuminating a possibility she'd only dreamed about. A career-making account dangled just within reach. But why was Michael suddenly so eager to help her? Did she make that good of an impression during the quarterly review meeting?

Back at her desk, Chrome's search results populated her screen: "Premium spirits market share continues to grow." "Millennial drinking habits evolve beyond shot culture." "Craft cocktail movement reshapes industry standards." A pattern emerged with each click, each market analysis. While Fireball dominated the party scene, their competitors were aging up, capturing the sophisticated cocktail crowd. Wendy's pen hesitated over her notepad. The obvious move would be to abandon the party reputation entirely, push hard into the premium space. But something about that felt wrong. Fireball's wild spirit was what made them special - trying to become just another sophisticated brand would kill their authenticity. Her pen started moving again, faster now as the idea took shape. What if instead of running from their party roots, they embraced them while reaching higher? Signature cocktails that celebrated their boldness. Partnerships that brought their energy to upscale spaces. Marketing that said you could command the boardroom and still know how to own the dance floor.

She pulled her desk drawer open with a little too much force sending paperclips flying. She would pick them up later. Right now she was determined. Her pen danced across the paper, compiling notes with growing excitement. This wasn't just another account - this was the kind of challenge that could prove she belonged in strategy meetings, not just execution. Her cheeks flushed as she remembered the way Michael had seen through her in the meeting yesterday, recognizing her capabilities when everyone else saw just a pretty face. The same heat that had sent her recoiling from his touch now drove her research frenzy. She hated the way her body reacted to being seen for her mind, especially by someone like... him. But wasn't that exactly what she'd been fighting for? Recognition. Validation. Power.

She click on another tab, drilling deeper into industry trends and competitor growth. If this meeting happened, she'd be ready. Perhaps then they'd finally look at her as the capable, self-starter she'd been so desperate to prove herself to be. The prospect sent a surge of determination through her, almost enough to overshadow the phantom feel of Michael's fingers against her skin.

Almost.

***

As promised, a meeting invite popped up on Wendy's calendar around lunchtime. The information was vague, but it mentioned something about a new client and assembling a team for a rough pitch. Her fingers drummed impatiently on her desk as she scanned the research she'd done on Fireball Whiskey. While everyone else would be flying in blind, she'd have facts at her fingertips, trends analyzed, target markets defined. For once, she was not going to be another face in the sea of people. She was going to be ready. She accepted the invite by clicking on the accept button, resolve resolve rising up,  overcoming all her previous doubts. She was going to get her opportunity to showcase what she was capable of and was not going to let that slip away.

Wendy took up her usual place on the wall, clutching her notebook of ideas to her churning stomach. She watched as the usual faces - account managers, directors, other higher-ups - came through the glass walls and take up their place at the solid oak table. Jon was one of them, spreadsheets tucked in a folder in front of him.  There were some knowing glances exchanged between some of the executives, and she knew Marcus had already briefed certain players - and was pretty sure Jon was among them.  That alleviated her nervousness - this wasn't any special treatment from Michael; she was just being brought up to speed on the game everyone else had been playing all along.

Michael was at the front of the room, a smug smile spreading on his face as he waited for the last person to come into the room. He had the same arrogant attitude around him. He appeared to have grown another foot taller. He commanded the room by force of personality,  daring anyone to look at how his Italian leather belt bit into his waist or how his neck strained against his collar. Even from her position near the wall, Wendy could feel the change in his energy. The same man who'd cornered her in the break room now exuding an aura of command that made his physical limitations almost irrelevant. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, turning off the lights for the presentation. "What I'm about to show you will transform this company."

The Fireball logo appeared on screen, but now with a level of sophistication Wendy had never associated with the brand. Wendy bit her cheek to prevent a smile, she was correct.  Out were the cartoon dragons and college bar aesthetic. In their place, warm amber hues and upscale typography conveyed something entirely more premium.

"They wanna grow up," Michael said,  crossing to the other side of the room. "Move past shot girls and spring break and compete in the high-end whiskey market." His eyes scanned the room's shocked faces before he locked eyes with Wendy. "We're talking global distribution, complete rebranding, eight-figure marketing budget."

Jon held his hand up in the air before Michael had finished speaking. "The figures support it. Numbers show that the premium whiskey circuit is more profitable than the party circuit. They must move away from the party circuit completely." He slid his glasses up, the gesture so familiar it ached in Wendy's heart. "Premium sporting events - baseball, golf - that's where the growth space is. My projections show an eight percent increase in revenue if we completely rebrand away from-"

"Numbers." Michael cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Always with the numbers." He turned to the larger room. "But what do numbers say about desire? About aspiration?"

"The demographics don't lie," Jon persisted, pulling up a chart on his tablet. "Our target market is evolving and-"

"And alienating all their current customers would only hurt their brand in the end." Wendy's retort surprised even herself, but she could not keep silent. Not even when she saw Jon hide behind his spreadsheets - a defense mechanism she was familiar with from their second date, when he'd told her how horribly he'd misread everything with Olivia. How his assumption that something was happening had destroyed a relationship where nothing was. He'd found comfort in figures since then. Data wasn't subject to misunderstanding like a late night at the office or a friendly dinner with a boss.  Numbers didn't lend themselves to the kind of disastrous assumptions that had cost him someone he loved.

Yet, knowing all this, seeing him clutch his pen the way he did each time emotions seemed to threaten that carefully constructed world of facts, Wendy continued on. Her thumb found her wedding ring, spinning it through that familiar four-count rhythm that always steadied her nerves during casting calls. This was her moment. She might hate challenging the very foundation of certainty he'd rebuilt himself on, but it would be worse to let his fear of trusting instincts blind them both. The conference room fell still. She could feel Michael's gaze on her, heavy with expectation. A smirk on his lips suggesting this was exactly what he expected her to do with the information he gave her earlier. Her pulse quickened, but she pressed on, forcing her fingers away from her ring. "Sorry, but these customers aren't just data points. They're brand loyalists. They've made Fireball what it is. Sure, they may see an eight percent spike in growth now, but those college kids won't forget that their favorite whiskey just dumped them one day. And when they grow up and start looking to move to a premium drink, Fireball will be further from their mind as a result."

She moved nearer the screen,  adrenaline coursing through her. She'd never felt this sort of adrenaline rush. All eyes were on her, and not just due to the fact that she was beautiful. They were concurring with her,  nodding in agreement with her keen market insight. It was intoxicating. She half-turned to glance at Michael as he nodded in approval. She felt her nipples stiffen, probably from the rush of power she was experiencing now. "Yes, they do need to change, but not by abandoning who they are. They need to cling to their heritage while reaching up." She stood at the front of the room now, all eyes upon her. "Imagine signature cocktails that bring that same edgy feel to upscale venues. Marketing that says you don't have to lose your edge to be classy."

Jon's brow furrowed as he glanced back and forth between his charts and his wife. "The demographic studies show-"

"Shows us where we might go," Wendy finished. "But not at the cost of who we are. We don't need to choose between premium and playful. We can be both." The words tasted like betrayal on her tongue, even while she knew they were true. She'd never spoken against him in public before, and the thrill of rightness mixed with guilt made her lightheaded.

Michael's slow clap sent a shiver unexpectedly through her. "Exactly. We're not selling a different drink - we're selling a different version of themselves." He turned back to the room. "Great observation, Wendy. This is exactly the kind of forward thinking we need on this. Which is why I want you to lead the creative on this project."

Wendy's jaw fell open. She'd wanted to be involved in the project, of course, but head the whole Creative? That was bigger than her wildest dreams. She looked around the room expecting shocked faces from the others, but they all nodded in accord.  All but one.

Jon's head snapped up.  Behind his glasses,  confusion was evident. "But I've already started the market analysis- "

"Which you'll continue to provide," Michael promised him readily. "But this campaign needs someone who understands both the numbers and the narrative. Someone who can translate data into desire." His eyes found Wendy again. "Someone who sees the big picture."

Pride swelled in Wendy's chest, momentarily drowning out the hurt from Jon's reaction. Of all the people she expected to be on her side, she couldn't believe he wasn't. "I. Thank you, Michael. I promise I won't let you down."

"I have every confidence in you, Wendy." Michael turned his entire body toward her, his expression suddenly serious. "But let me make something clear. There is going to be a great deal of work involved.  A lot of late evenings working personally with me." His expression eased as he patted the pocket of his shirt. "But I get the impression you'll have no difficulty. I know that you won't back down from a commitment."

That small act made Wendy's neck burn.  Could he be hinting at that foolish gift mix-up? No, she was just paranoid. Michael simply had the habit of saying something that was sometimes a bit vaguely inappropriate. This had to do with work,  and recognition of all she could accomplish. If he occasionally made uncomfortable references, well, that was just Michael being Michael. Everyone knew how he was.

Other than that, this was exactly what she'd been working towards - a chance to show what she could do. She wasn't about to let one awkward moment at the party last night come between her and this opportunity. Even if Michael's hand lingered a moment too long on that pocket, even if his smile held something more knowing than businesslike - she could handle it. She'd have to.

The meeting continued, but Wendy didn't hear it. Her mind was already racing, thinking up slogans and images for the campaign. She'd never done a project this big, let alone been in charge of the entire creative direction. She knew that this would be the making or breaking of her career. If late nights and commitment were what Michael wanted then that's exactly what she'd give him.

She glanced at Jon, who slumped a little lower in his chair. He was upset now, but he'd understand. After all, how many late nights had he spent in the office with Marcus going over numbers and talking strategy? He knew how much she needed this, he'd see it for what it was. Maybe they could spend Saturday at the casino like they used to - settling into their favorite spot in the sportsbook, sharing knowing looks as they watched people bet against probability. She missed those moments, when his analytical mind and her intuition worked in perfect harmony, both of them whispering predictions about which unlucky gambler would ignore the odds next. As the room cleared, she became self-conscious of Michael's presence behind her. "Let's meet up in my office today at three and talk strategy," he whispered, close enough for her to feel the bulge of his stomach on her back. "We'll discuss how to properly... position things."

She nodded, her eyes finding Jon as he was gathering his papers with brisk, irritated motions across the room. She hated that he was the one she had to shoot down, but she was positive that she was right. Jon just wasn't seeing the big picture, he was too involved with the data to see what was the most reasonable solution.

Wendy stayed behind in the conference room after everyone had left, gathering her thoughts as much as her belongings.

The room was transformed now - no longer the war zone where she'd always been on the perimeter. She ran her fingers along the shiny oak table, allowing herself to imagine her presentations being made from the front of it rather than her usual spot beside the wall. The memory of standing there just minutes ago, commanding everyone's attention,  shot through her body in another rush. "Impressive work today." Marcus's voice pulled her out of her reverie.

He stood in the doorway, a warm smile spreading across his face. "I don't usually say this, but I agree with Michael. Based on what I saw today, you're the perfect person to lead this project. Keep up the good work." With a slight nod, he continued down the hallway, leaving Wendy to process the weight of his words. Was it possible everyone was wrong about Michael? If even Marcus was taking notice then she couldn't help but admit Michael was already doing more for her career over the course of a day than others had her entire time at the company. She checked her reflection in the darkened conference room windows, adjusting her blouse with trembling fingers, still feeling the effects of the meeting rushing through her. She was ready to step into a bigger role, even as part of her wondered about the cost. She had an hour to refine her presentation for Michael, to prove his faith in her was justified.

***

Jon grasped Wendy's elbow just past the conference room, pulling her into the corner of the room near the copier. "Hey, that was...  surprising." His tone was supportive but dipped between confused and defensive. "I didn't know you were interested in premium spirits marketing."

"Yes, if Michael actually understands the market." He ruffled his hair, already going over his figures in his head. "But the demographics here quite clearly-"

"Sure, if Michael actually understands the market." He ran a hand through his hair, already mentally reviewing his data. "But the demographics clearly show-"

"Could you just be happy for me?" The words spilled out before she could catch them. The excitement she had felt moments before disappearing right in front of her. "For once, someone is looking at me for my talent and not just..."

Jon's face dropped. "That's not fair. I've always been a supporter of your career."

"By explaining elementary marketing concepts to me? By undervaluing my suggestions because all you can ever do is see the numbers?"

"I wasn't--" He paused and took a deep breath. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'm happy for you. Really." He pulled her into his arms, his lips grazing her temple. "I just worry about you. It feels like Michael's attempting to make this project fail."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Wendy muttered, already turning away. She didn't want to do this right now. She needed to get back to her desk, to be preparing for her meeting later with Michael. She was going to make this the most successful campaign this company had ever seen. Then they'd have no choice but to show her a little respect.

"That's not what I meant!" Jon shouted after her, but she was already walking towards her cubicle.

Ava was already seated in her cube when Wendy came back to sit. "Girl, that was intense." She glanced around before leaning forward to speak in a hushed voice. "But listen, about Michael--"

"Don't start," Wendy warned, sorting through files with more force than necessary. "Jon already thinks this project is doomed. I don't need to hear it from you too."

"He said that?"

"Not exactly in so many words, but...  yeah." Wendy saw movement out of the corner of her eye but didn't bother to turn around. She was already opening her computer set on proving herself.

She could feel Ava standing behind her and then suddenly she was wrapped in a hug. Her first instinct was to recoil - she was done being emotional, done being the office wife in need of comfort. But as her friend's warmth pierced her professional armor, something cracked. The tears were silent and searing, frustration and triumph and terror all mixed up as Ava hugged her close, understanding without having to speak the price of coming out of Jon's shadow.

"I just..." Wendy's voice cracked as she pulled back from Ava's embrace, wiping her eyes. "My whole life, it's been about how I look. Even in modeling - stand here, smile like this, be pretty and don't speak unless spoken to. Then in corporate it's the same thing. Be decorative, take notes, let the men handle the real decisions."

"Girl, you're worth so much more than that." Ava perched on the end of Wendy's desk, her voice softening. "I've seen how that brilliant mind of yours works."

"That's what I liked about Jon at first. He was the first man who saw past the surface, who'd rather debate about market trends than just stare at my breasts." Her voice softened with the memory. "He still does,  actually. But he gets so hung up on his numbers sometimes, so convinced that information has all the answers, that he forgets to look up and see the human side of things. The side I keep trying to point out to him."

"And now you needed to validate your argument by shooting down his analysis in front of everyone," Ava said, understanding breaking on her face.

Wendy's throat clenched. "I didn't want it to end like that. God, Ava, I wish more than anything it hadn't been at Jon's expense. But he wasn't getting it - none of them were. None of them except..." Ava shook her head and opened her mouth to say something, but Wendy kept going. "I'd like to build something here, to show I can lead a project, make real decisions. Show everyone there's more happening behind this face than they suspect. I just.  I didn't expect my first real chance to come about from having to disagree with my husband in public."

"You know," Ava traced her finger along the edge of Wendy's desk, "when David first saw my promotion letter last month, he went quiet. Not angry, just... quiet. I found him later staring at our wedding photos, all worried that my success would change us." She smiled softly. "We stayed up all night talking about it. About how supporting each other doesn't mean holding each other back. Sometimes love means watching your partner shine, even if it casts shadows on your own light."

"Jon isn't like that," Wendy sighed,  even though she knew what Ava was getting at. "He doesn't resent the fact that I've done well - he just really believes that the information contains all the answers. Like there's no room for intuition or for humanity in his equations."

"Speaking of human nature..." Ava glanced around before leaning closer. "About Michael. I know you can handle the work - you're brilliant. But remember Lisa..."

"God, I haven't seen her in months." Wendy's stomach constricted as she recalled their former co-worker. "She just disappeared one day,  huh? I always wondered what really happened."

"Marius talked more of it lately," Ava murmured. "She started showing up later and later with Michael, working on the Hardrock deal. Became increasingly withdrawn each week. And the bizarre letter of resignation..." She hesitated. "Marius mentioned there were no complaints lodged ever, so nobody could do anything. Michael just acted as amazed as the rest of us did."

"Lisa was different," Wendy protested, though her voice trailed off. "She was.  vulnerable. New to corporate life."

"Just...  be careful, okay?" Ava squeezed her hand. "You're tougher than Lisa, but Michael.  I don't trust him."

Wendy returned the squeeze on Ava's hand but her attention drifted towards Michael's office. His eyes were fixed on his computer a look of half smile on his face. He had loosened his tie as he scrolled through whatever was on the screen before him. Whatever it was that he was doing, he was focused and Wendy must be so too.

"I get the worry," Wendy said,  stiffening her back. "But this isn't about Michael. It's about getting an opportunity to finally show myself." Her fingers found her wedding ring, the reassuring four-count turn stabilizing her spinning thoughts. "Besides, Jon will be working the account too. Michael may be a creep, but he wouldn't do something wrong in front of Jon."

Ava's expression suggested she wasn't entirely convinced, but she nodded. "Just remember, if you ever need to talk I'm right here." She stood, smoothing her skirt. "Marcus asked me to stop by his desk before heading out today. Call if you need anything." Ava gave her friend one final smile before disappearing down the hall.

Left to herself, Wendy retrieved her presentation notes, but her focus was still divided between Jon's and Michael's offices. Her husband's recent words echoed in her head: "Michael's setting this project up to fail." But was he worried the project would fail or worried that she would be successful without him?  

At 2:45 Wendy gathered up her notes, fighting the flutter in her belly that she told herself was just pre-meeting nerves. She had worked for this moment. She wasn't going to let anyone - not Jon's doubt, not Ava's reserve, not even her own reservations regarding Michael - take that away from her.

However, as she was walking away, her thumb got caught in her ring for the fourth time. Four times, just like last time. Some habits were harder to break than others.

***

Michael's office was darker than she would have liked as Wendy made her way inside. He had drawn the blinds and dimmed the lights while he worked on whatever he was doing behind his desk. The leather sofa that was usually in front of his desk had been pushed aside, creating more space in the middle of the room.

"Shut the door," Michael barked without looking up from his monitor. "Let me finish what I'm doing real fast and we can get started."

The hum of the outside world seemed to disappear as the large door clicked shut. Everything suddenly felt very intimate. She dragged her fingers across her palm as she looked at the pictures Michael had on the wall. Anything to distract her from how alone she felt with Michael. Her gaze caught a picture toward the back of the room. A smile tugged at her lips as she took a few steps to get a closer look. Michael was kneeling on the ground, wearing a pair of jeans and a loose fitting t-shirt. On either side of him were two young boys no older than ten. They were all covered in mud and smiling from ear to ear.

"My nephews," Michael noted from behind her. Wendy spun on her heel, surprised to see Michael so close.

"They're cute." Wendy kept her eyes trained to the floor. The picture was so out of character with how she'd typically seen him that she felt like she had witnessed something she shouldn't have. "I'm not sure I've ever seen you-"

"Happy?" Michael laughed but it sounded rehearsed, mechanical.

"Yeah, I guess so," she said with a nervous laugh.

"Can you blame me?" He sat on the corner of his desk, his eyes never leaving Wendy. "Kids are fun. There's no politics or ulterior motives with them. They just want to play and have fun." He paused and Wendy found herself looking up at him, this wasn't the conversation she expected to have. "Adults are assholes. You always have to guess what it is they are really after. They hide behind bullshit policies and social expectations."

The weight of the conversation suddenly felt heavy. "I guess I can see your point." Wendy shifted her weight looking up at him through a different lens. "childhood does have a certain freedom to it."

"Exactly." Michael's eyes lit up, reminding her of the photo. "They haven't learned to be ashamed yet. Haven't been taught what they should and shouldn't want." His gaze stayed locked with hers, lingering just long enough to make her pulse quicken. "Society hasn't beaten that natural instinct out of them."

Wendy's fingers found her wedding ring, but Michael pressed on, catching her attention before she could spin it. "Take you, for instance. Your instincts in that meeting were spot on. But you hesitated - I saw it. Worried about proper protocol, about stepping on toes." He leaned forward slightly causing her to take a step backward into the wall. "About challenging your husband."

"That's different," Wendy protested, though something in his words rang true. "Being professional isn't the same as being repressed. No one forces you to be an asshole."

"I disagree." Michael stood, his presence seemed to expand, consuming the space between them as she pressed against the wall. "We're taught to silence our desires. To follow rules made by others." His eyes flashed to her ring and she quickly removed her fingers not wanting him to see how nervous she was. "Being an asshole, as you so eloquently put it, allows people like me to get to the point. No dancing around it."

"Structure isn't always bad," she managed, forcing herself to stand up from the wall despite his closeness.

"No, but neither is letting go sometimes." Michael moved to his chair, giving her space to breathe. "That's what I want for this campaign. Raw honesty. Primal appeal. The kind of marketing that speaks to what people really want, not what society thinks they should want."

His words struck a nerve. This wasn't just going to be a rigid look at the numbers type of campaign. It was going to be full of creativity and attitude. She felt her confidence swell. This was exactly the type of campaign she could excel at. "Like embracing Fireball's wild spirit instead of trying to tame it," she offered.

"Now you're getting it." His smiled widened filling Wendy with a sense of accomplishment. "Sometimes the best things in life happen when we stop overthinking and just... be in the moment."

Wendy found herself writing down the note. It felt like the start of a new tagline, she just needed to tweak it a bit.

"Now, your first lesson for the day is all about presence."

"Presence?" Wendy asked arching her eyebrow. She wasn't sure how this connected with the Fireball campaign.

"Exactly." He made his way back around the desk ushering Wendy to the center of the room. "We are going to have lots of meetings with executives over the course of this project. Some of them will be on the phone, but at least a few will require us to travel on site."

"O- on site?"

"That isn't going to be a problem is it?" Michael looked down at her hands studying her as she balled her fingers into a fist. "You can't expect a customer this size to do everything over the phone. Even with video calls there's still a lot you can learn about a person when you're in a room alone with them."

Wendy was finding it hard to breathe. She knew the project would require late nights with Michael and perhaps a couple of hours alone, but did she really trust him enough to go out of town with him? Her mind went back to Ava's warning and the conversation about Lisa. She couldn't remember hearing that they ever went out of town, but she also wasn't close to the project. She could ask Ava, but would that turn into another lecture?

"It's fine," Wendy said, forcing confidence into her voice while her fingers found her wedding ring despite her best efforts. Since stepping into his office, Michael had shown a different side - professional, insightful, even warm when talking about his nephews. Maybe she was letting Ava's warnings and her own prejudices cloud her judgement.

"I'm glad to hear that." He licked his lips as he stepped closer to her. "Now, presence. You'll be doing a lot of speaking and the way you command attention is just as important as the pitch itself."

The words triggered a flood of memories - photographers barking orders, agents critiquing every curve, casting directors treating her like a mannequin to be posed. But Michael's next words cut through the familiar panic:

"You're not here to be looked at," he murmured, his hand settling between her shoulder blades. The touch made her gasp, but instead of the usual urge to shrink away, something else stirred. "You're here to be listened to. To make them see past the surface to the mind beneath."

Wendy's breath caught. In all her years of modeling, no one had ever framed it that way - as taking control rather than being controlled. His palm remained steady against her back, radiating warmth through her silk blouse as her spine straightened instinctively.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice carrying an intimacy that should have made her uncomfortable but instead felt... empowering. "Own the space. The second they sense weakness they will pounce." His hand lingered on her back just a touch longer than being professional or instructive.

Michael sensed the shift in her energy. He wasn't exactly sure what triggered it, but he knew he had discovered something. "Now," his fingers brushed her collarbone, seemingly adjusting her posture. He studied her face, her hands, the anxiety was gone for at least a moment she was letting her guard down. "The Fireball campaign needs that same balance of strength and sophistication. They're not just selling premium whiskey - they're selling transformation."

A smile formed on Wendy's lips another idea passing through her. "Like their target audience itself," she finished his thought. "Young professionals aging out of shot nights but not ready for their father's scotch."

He took a step back, disappointed to no longer be maintaining physical contact with this beauty, but genuinely impressed with how quick she was catching on. "I knew you'd be the right person for the job." He moved back to his desk, but not before noticing the look of accomplishment on Wendy's face. "Now we just need a slogan we can pitch them. Something to-"

"Evolve your fire."

Michael's face lit up like it was Christmas morning. "What did you say?"

For a moment, Wendy thought she'd said something wrong. She'd never seen Michael smile like that. "Evolve your fire. For the slogan, I mean."

Michael studied her, not with the same predatory stare he usually studied her with, but instead with a look of awe. After several seconds Wendy shifted her feet, the silence growing awkward.

"Picture this," he said coming back around the desk. "We showcase young successful executives, artists. All with a hint of rebellion in their eyes then above them... Evolve your fire."

Goosebumps covered Wendy's body. She could see it. In less than an hour Michael had managed to take just a few off-hand ideas and concepts she threw out and built an entire mental image from it. "Premium and playful," Wendy added with a grin. "We thread the needle between brand heritage and sophistication perfectly." Any hint of discomfort she felt earlier faded into the ether as their new creative energy filled the room.

"But with an edge." Michael stepped closer, enthusiasm making him seem less creepy, more mentor. "Instead of dragons, we use phoenix imagery. Transformation through fire."

"Rising from their old brand identity," Wendy found herself moving toward his desk, caught up in the creative flow. "We could do a whole social campaign about personal evolution stories-"

"Brilliant." His hand found her waist as he reached past her for a marker, the touch casual enough she didn't seem to notice. "And here's where it gets interesting."

He sketched rapidly on his whiteboard, ideas flowing. Each concept was brilliant, elevating her suggestions while adding layers she hadn't considered. Wendy found herself drawn in despite her reservations, offering insights that Michael shaped and refined with years of experience. Before long, the room grew even darker as the sun set behind the closed curtains.

Michael loomed behind her at the whiteboard while Wendy made some last minute addition. He was close enough that his breath stirred her hair. Each time she stepped away, he would shift position, always maintaining that suffocating proximity while keeping his movements just professional enough to seem innocent to an observer.

Wendy took a step back nearly colliding with Michael as they observed their handywork. "That's what people like Jon miss with their numbers," Michael whispered, making Wendy realize just how close they were. "Statistics can't capture transformation. Can't measure... desire." His breath was warm against her ear. "But there's something special about you, Wendy. Something tells me you understand it a lot more than you lead on."

A draft must have pushed in through the window, or perhaps it was because it was getting dark. Whatever the reason, Wendy felt a chill creep up her spine. She stepped forward, putting space between them, but Michael simply moved to adjust her stance again. "Confidence," he instructed, hands on her shoulders. "You have to own your power."

"Speaking of owning things," his tone shifted slightly as he circled to face her. The air in the room suddenly felt thicker as Wendy's breath caught. "We wouldn't want you growing a reputation for not following through on promises would we?"

The room grew smaller as Wendy watched Michael move closer to her. His gaze had the intensity of an inferno turning her legs to cement. She knew she should run, but she felt like a deer in headlights, unable to move. A knock on the door broke the tension and Wendy let out a long exaggerated breath. Marcus stood in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral. "Hope I'm not interrupting. Just wanted to let you know I'll be the executive overseeing this project."

Michael's face contorted. It was subtle, but Wendy saw it. There was a history between these two. Something she wasn't sure she wanted to know. Michael's hands slipped off Wendy's shoulders as he stepped back. "Of course. We were just discussing campaign concepts. Wendy already has a lot of great ideas." He gestured toward the whiteboard.

"Wendy," Marcus's voice was gentle but firm. "Would you mind if I borrowed Michael for a moment?"

She nodded, gathering her notes. The work they had accomplished today was nothing short of brilliant and reassured her that she made the right choice taking this opportunity. However, as she exited The Buckeye Building and looked up at the moon hanging low in the sky, she couldn't help but wonder what Michael was going to say before Marcus interrupted. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders making a mental note to bring a coat tomorrow.

***

Marcus stood at his office window watching as Wendy made her way to her car. He could tell by their reaction that he'd walked in on something between her and Michael, though nothing blatantly obvious. He tracked her until she reached her car. No visible signs of distress in her walk, no obvious discomfort - not yet. But he'd felt the tension when he announced himself in Michael's office. The same tension he'd dismissed nearly a year ago with Lisa.

His jaw clenched. Lisa's transformation had been so gradual he'd missed it. The way her smile seemed to dim with each passing week, her voice growing smaller in meetings, and then her sudden change in style. By the time Marcus realized something was off, it was too late. The resignation letter was already on his desk. He'd vowed not to let that happen again.

Turning from the window, he recalled Ava's worried state just hours earlier. "He's trying something again. I can feel it," she'd said, words tumbling out as she glanced around his office like she expected it to be bugged. "Wendy is too stubborn to listen. She thinks she can handle it, but I keep thinking about Lisa."

Marcus ran his hand over his bald head, pressing fingers into his temples. The Fireball account was too important to pull Michael from, but he'd be damned if he'd let another promising career get destroyed. This time he'd watch more closely. He pulled out a notepad from his desk drawer, jotting down the time and date followed by:

Late meeting just the two of them. Energy felt off when I walked into the room.

He knew he couldn't just go to HR without evidence. He needed concrete details, inappropriate behavior patterns they could use. The Fireball campaign would give him the opportunity to stay close and observe their interactions. Once he'd built a case, he could take it to HR and get some justice for both Wendy and Lisa.

***

Dinner was already on the table when Wendy got home. Between taking an Uber home so Wendy didn't have to and making dinner, Jon was clearly trying to make amends. She wrapped her arms around his wiry back, breathing in his scent as she felt the stress of the day melt away.

"I really am happy for you," Jon said as he finished putting the sauce on her pasta. "I did some research after our conversation in the hallway." He handed Wendy her plate and they walked toward the dining room table. "Did you know the demographic spread for-"

"Jon." Wendy sat her plate on the table and grabbed his free hand. "Can we not turn this into another lecture, please?" She smiled sheepishly at him. She was drained, and despite all that he'd done to make things right, she was worried he was going to take it a step too far.

He squeezed her hand, genuine confusion on his face. "I'm not lecturing. I'm just trying to be helpful." He returned her smile, though it felt more forced than it should have been. "This is a huge opportunity, and I thought if you understood the market segments-"

"Stop mansplaining marketing to me!" She felt tears sting her eyes. She closed them, counting to four in her head while she tried to control her breathing. "I understand the market and the demographic. I know what I'm doing."

The pain in Jon's eyes was evident, but he managed to smile and nod. "I'm sorry," he whispered as he sat down at the table across from her. "I'm just trying to contribute. To be supportive."

The genuine bewilderment in his expression deflated her anger. He was trying, in his analytically obsessive way. "I know," she softened. "But sometimes I need you to just be my husband, not my marketing consultant."

Jon chewed on the inside of his cheek. This wasn't going like he'd planned at all. He was trying to make amends with Wendy, but in doing so it seemed like he was only making it worse. He looked down at his pasta, steam still rising from the fresh noodles. "Tell me about your vision for the campaign," he said after taking a moment to rethink.

Jon moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. His familiar warmth settled something restless inside her. "You're right. I'm sorry." His lips brushed her temple. "Tell me about your vision for the campaign instead."

Wendy's face lit up as she described the phoenix imagery, the evolution theme, the way they planned to thread that needle between premium and playful. All the ideas that she came up with and Michael helped bring to life. "It's about transformation without losing your essence," she explained, eyes bright with passion. "About growing up without growing old."

He smiled as he watched her. This was more what he had in mind. He could feel himself getting caught up in her enthusiasm as she painted the picture of what he was sure would be a great campaign. Her phone buzzed against the table cloth while she talked about ways they could use "Embrace your fire." She glanced at the screen and saw Michael's name appear. she tried to continue her thought, but the message had derailed her causing Jon to chuckle.

"You should check that," Jon said, nodding toward the phone. "Show him how committed you are to your new role."

Wendy's stomach clenched at his choice of words, as images of Michael tapping on his pocket flashed behind her eyes. Still, Jon's encouraging smile made her reach for the phone.

Michael: Great work today. Your fire evolution concept is exactly what we need. Looking forward to working closer with you.

The double meaning wasn't lost on her. She rolled her eyes, this was the Michael she was familiar with. Her fingers trembled as she typed a more professional response: Thank you. Excited to develop the campaign further.

"Everything okay?" Jon asked, noting her hesitation.

"Just Michael checking in about the campaign," she said, trying to keep her voice neutral. The screen lit up again almost immediately.

Michael: I knew you were the right choice. Can't wait to see how far we can progress things tomorrow.

Jon squeezed her hand. "See? He recognizes your talent. You should answer him - show him choosing you wasn't a mistake."

Wendy stared at the message, caught between her husband's innocent encouragement and Michael's loaded words. She stared at the words on the screen as she fought the urge to spin her wedding ring. Finally, she typed: Looking forward to proving myself.

Setting the phone face-down, she forced a smile for Jon. "Now, where were we?" But as she launched back into campaign details, she couldn't shake the feeling that things with Michael weren't what they appeared to be.

***