Executive Privilege Ch. 05

Traffic was always lighter first thing in the morning. That's why Jon insisted they leave the house before six, something about a large percentage of people waking up already feeling anxious and rushed. Wendy barely heard him. She sat in silence behind her oversized sunglasses, the early sun hitting her face like an interrogation lamp. All she could do was replay the moment in Michael's office when his fingers had pushed inside her. The memory sent rivulets of shame coursing through her body, making her press her thighs together instinctively.

Jon seemed more upbeat than usual, more engaged. She'd worried that he was going to be upset that she was going on a two day trip with Michael, she certainly was. But instead, he was supportive, almost eager. Was he happy to see her go? She dismissed the thought immediately. That was just projection, as her therapist would say. She was the one who was guilty, not Jon. She twisted her wedding ring, one, two, three, four. How could she have been so stupid?

In the moment, the bet with Michael seemed so logical, a calculated risk that would allow her to focus on the Fireball project instead of Michael's stupid IOU. Yet somehow she'd ended up even deeper in his debt, with his smug smile burned into her memory and the ghost of his touch lingering on her skin.

"They were using outdated models that didn't account for migration patterns after COVID." Jon was going on about an article he read about marketing metrics. Outside the window, early morning fog clung to the tree line, obscuring her view ever so slightly. A flash of red caught her eye. A balloon had drifted between the branches, tugged one way then another as it tried to break free before popping to the pressure.

Her stomach clenched as she thought about the upcoming trip. Two days in New Orleans. Two days of avoiding Michael's lingering looks, of maintaining professional distance while presenting their work. Of pretending yesterday hadn't happened. The balloon vanished into the mist, leaving her with an uncomfortable sense of her own uncertainty - caught between the safety of what she had with Jon and the intoxicating pull of professional recognition.

"Can you imagine basing an entire campaign on data that's practically obsolete?" Jon's voice filtered through her thoughts.

"That's crazy," Wendy said with a chuckle, barely registering in time that he had stopped talking.

As they curved onto the on-ramp, a sudden burst of barking drew her eyes to a small fenced-in yard beside the road. A German Shepherd was pacing, muscles tense beneath its coat. The dog paused at each corner, testing its boundaries before resuming its endless circuit. Something about its restless energy resonated deep in her chest.

She used to feel that way, trapped behind invisible barriers. Before the Fireball campaign. Before Michael saw beyond her... physical attributes and recognized something in her that no one else at the company had bothered to see. The thought sent conflicting waves of pride and shame through her body. He had given her a chance, that much was undeniable. Under his mentorship, she'd done work she never thought possible, reached heights that had seemed forever out of reach.

But his recognition came with a price she hadn't meant to pay. Wendy pressed her thighs together, her body betraying her with unwanted heat as memories flooded back. The way he would look at her during those late-night strategy sessions, the way his tongue invaded her mouth like he was claiming her. His fingers sinking into her core making her...

The dog's bark echoed across the parking lot as they passed, sharp and desperate. Wendy turned away from the window, but couldn't escape the gnawing certainty that she was still pacing her own invisible cage.

"You're going to blow them away." Jon put his hand on her knee in a way that made her flinch. Would he be able to sense Michael's hand had been there? "When you talked through the concept last night, even I was convinced, and I've seen all the numbers."

The pride in Jon's voice twisted like a knife in her gut. When had he gone from the jealous husband who called out her ideas during presentations to this loving and supportive version? And more importantly, why hadn't she realized it sooner?

"You're going to knock their socks off in New Orleans, Wendy."

Wendy turned toward him, momentarily distracted from her guilt. "Really?"

"Really. No one knows this data as well as you." He kissed her hand with a tenderness that made her sigh. "Not even Michael."

Michael. Hearing his name out loud made her stomach clench. She needed him to know this trip was all business nothing more. She had a momentary lapse in judgment yesterday. It wouldn't happen again and she wouldn't let him use this trip as an excuse to harass her.

"I know you usually get a little anxious before flights," Jon said, misreading her silence. "But, in forty-eight hours you'll be back home, with a successful campaign launch under your belt. You'll be the talk of the office."

The talk of the office, pride swelled in her chest as she imagined all the congratulatory looks and handshakes. This was her dream chance. She just had to get through two days without compromising herself further. It seemed both impossibly long and mercifully short.

"I'll text you from the hotel," she promised, unbuckling her seatbelt as they pulled up to the departures terminal.

Jon put the car in park and turned toward her. "Only if you have time," he said, surprising her. "I don't want to distract you when you're in the zone."

The response was so unlike his usual checking-in behavior that Wendy stared at him for a moment.

"What?" he asked with a self-conscious laugh. "I'm trying this new thing where I don't need to know your exact GPS coordinates at all times."

She leaned across the console and kissed him deeply, trying to pour every ounce of regret and love into the gesture. When they separated, Jon blinked behind his glasses, pleasantly surprised.

"What was that for?"

"For being you," she whispered, gathering her courage along with her carry-on. "I'm going to miss you."

With a final exhale of self-doubt, Wendy stepped out of the car into the crisp morning air. Movement in the manicured airport landscaping caught her eye. Two squirrels fighting in the underbrush. She watched as one mounted the other in a frenzied blur of motion. At first, she couldn't tell if they were fighting or fucking. The squirrel on the bottom thrashing and wrestling until eventually giving up and accepting its fate.

"Fuck," she whispered, the word barely a breath as she turned toward the terminal, her fingers reaching for her ring as Michael's bulk loomed like a shadow in her mind.

***

The moment Wendy turned the corner after security she saw Michael's imposing silhouette pressed against one of the windows. She hesitated, momentarily considering a detour to the restroom to delay the inevitable, but he'd already spotted her. He raised a hand in greeting, two coffee cups clutched in his meaty palm.

"The beauty queen has arrived," he called out, smirking as he watched her face contort like the words were a physical jab. Several other travelers looked up from their phones, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever famous person he was referring to.

"Not a pageant girl," she mumbled under her breath, unable to keep herself from turning red from the unwanted attention.

When she finally reached Michael he extended one of the cups toward her. "Black coffee. I wasn't sure how you liked it, so I figured you could add whatever you needed."

She accepted it cautiously, their fingers not quite touching during the handoff. The simple gesture felt loaded with subtext after yesterday. She wondered if the other passengers could sense the tension in the air between the two of them. Could they see her guilt? Her shame?

"Thank you." She kept her voice professional, cool.

The boarding process moved with surprising efficiency, and before long they were settling into the spacious first-class cabin. Wendy had flown business a few times for modeling gigs, but never first class. The seats were wider, the legroom generous. Yet somehow, as Michael lowered himself beside her, the space felt suffocatingly small.

"First time up front?" Michael asked, noting how she explored the seat features.

"Is it that obvious?"

"You've got that wide-eyed look." His smile seemed genuine, almost as if he was a friend. "Reminds me of taking my nephews to Disney last year. They'd never flown before, let alone first class. You'd have thought they won the lottery the way their faces lit up after the flight attendant brought them pre-flight cokes." He chuckled, a noise that almost sounded foreign coming from him. "Tommy, the youngest, just turned eight. He kept asking if we were in a spaceship."

The image was disarmingly human. Wendy couldn't help but smile at that version of Michael. The doting uncle, who just wanted to have fun with his nephews. He seemed worlds away from the man she knew. The one that... she didn't want to finish the thought.

As the plane began its taxi, Michael settled deeper into his seat causing his thigh to press against Wendy. She shifted closer to the window rolling her eyes. Of course he would still find a way to touch her despite all the extra room they were afforded.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we're cleared for takeoff," the captain's voice crackled over the intercom. As the plane accelerated down the runway, Wendy closed her eyes. She hated this part. The nose of the plane tipped into the air, causing her stomach to do somersaults as she balled her hands into a fist.

"I'm here if you need me," Michael whispered placing his hand on hers. Images of last night flashed through her head. Michael's touch, his knowing glare, the way her own body betrayed her.

"I'm fine," she said, a little colder than she meant, as she jerked her hand away.

Once the plane reached its cruising altitude, Wendy relaxed a bit, opening her eyes. "Sorry," she said, trying to keep the edge from her voice. "I just..."

"It's fine," Michael said, dismissively before flagging down a flight attendant. "Could we get a blanket?"

The attendant nodded, returning moments later with a neatly folded blanket that Michael spread across his lap. "Want to share?" he offered, extending the corner toward Wendy. "Planes always get cold."

Something in his tone, or maybe the look in his eyes, made the hairs on the back of her neck stick up. "Absolutely not," she said, a little too sharp and drawing stares from across the aisle. She lowered her voice. "Michael, yesterday was a mistake. A momentary lapse in judgment that will never happen again." She folded her arms tightly across her chest. "And certainly not on a plane full of people."

For a heartbeat, she could see his eyes go dark, but then he just shrugged, pulling the blanket back over his lap.

"I apologize if I made you uncomfortable," he said like he was the most carefree person in the world. "You looked cold, I was just trying to be considerate."

Heat flooded her cheeks. Had she misread him? Was she wrong about this entire situation? She ran her hands over the front of her jeans in four quick bursts to try to gather her thoughts. Was it possible he was being sincere and she was just acting like a bitch? She watched him through the reflection of the airplane window. His hands were folded in his lap, his eyes closed. She needed to get out of her head before she cost herself the biggest opportunity of her career.

***

Ava was already on her third cup of coffee as she strolled through the dimly lit Buckeye Building towards Marcus's office. It was weird being here so early before the hum of the work day. Outside, the sun was just starting to rise. The busy Columbus streets that were usually lined with traffic sat empty, making Ava feel even more alone in her crusade to save her friend.

When she reached his office, Marcus was already inside, the glow of the computer screen painting his dark skin in shades of blue and white. His brown eyes were narrowed in concentration, his brow furrowed like he was trying to solve a math equation.

"Tell me you've figured out a way to use Lisa's story against Michael." Ava walked into his office like she owned it, closing the door behind her to ensure no one else could hear their conversation. Marcus didn't even bother to look up from his screen, his eyes studying the contents of it like he didn't believe it was real.

"What's wrong?" she asked, walking to his side of the desk and sitting on the edge of it. Marcus looked like he hadn't slept all night. His dress shirt, usually crisp and freshly stretched, was wrinkled in a way that made him look more like Michael. When he finally looked up from the screen, his eyes were blood-shot and there were heavy bags under his eyes.

"We're... too late," he whispered so softly Ava barely heard him despite the eerie quiet in the building.

Her eyes went wide as she tried to piece together what he meant. "What do you mean, too late?"

Without looking at her, Marcus turned his monitor toward her. Ava quickly scanned the contents. Her hazel eyes darted left and right as she read the email from Brian, a soft gasp escaping her lips as her hands flew up to cover her mouth. "They went to New Orleans together? How? Why?"

Ava's hands shook slightly as she pulled out her cell phone and tried to call Wendy only for it to go straight to voicemail. She fired off a quick text asking her friend to call her when she got her message. "We've got to do something Marcus. You heard what Lisa said."

He hung his head, shaking it slightly. "There's nothing we can do."

"What do you mean? Lisa told us how Michael would manipulate her. How he would get her alone then push just the right buttons to get her to bend to his will. Don't you see? He's doing the same thing."

Sunlight began to pass through the slates of the window shade. The burst of light causing Marcus to tilt his screen. "When I was a child we had this uncle who used to come over all the time." Marcus sat back in his chair taking a deep breath like the memory was too hard to get out. "He would tell me and my brother these grand stories about all the places he'd been. Germany, Japan, Thailand. I used to think he was the coolest guy ever. I would tell my mom, when I grow up I want to be just like Uncle Tommy."

"I don't--"

Marcus held up his hand. "My momma would just laugh and shake her head. I didn't understand why she was being so dismissive." He licked his lips. "The next time we saw Uncle Tommy, he told us another story. This time he was in South Africa and he saw all this crazy wildlife. Lions and cheetahs, and such. I just listened to him, starry eyed like always. Then momma," he gave a soft chuckle, "she asked Uncle Tommy, surely you must have some pictures you can show the boys, right? You went to all these magical places, surely you have a photo or two." He turned to Ava, his eyes moist. "You know what happened after that?"

Ava shook her head.

"Uncle Tommy never told us another story again. In fact, he stopped coming around all together."

The implication hung in the air, neither Ava nor Marcus looking away. Finally, it was Ava that spoke first. "But Lisa gave us--"

"Nothing," Marcus said, defeated. "She gave us her story. A story that came with zero evidence, zero facts."

"Her story matches exactly what we've seen Michael doing with Wendy," she sounded more defensive than she realized and Marcus reached out putting his hand on her arm to try to calm her down. "Michael got her to start working late, he engineered situations to get her alone so he could take advantage of her. Promised her promotions in exchange for..."

Marcus sighed, running his hand over his smooth head. "What she gave us was her version of the truth, Ava. No recordings, no emails, no witnesses."

"You don't believe her?" Ava's eyebrows shot up.

"Of course I believe her, but that doesn't change the facts. It's her word against his." He moved his monitor back to its original position. "Besides, even if just her word was enough, Lisa explicitly said she doesn't want to get involved. She won't talk to anyone else for fear of retaliation. So where does that leave us?"

"But we've seen him doing the same with Wendy, and now..." Her voice cracked as she wiped away a tear. Marcus grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze.

"What we've seen is a director working closely with a talented employee on a major campaign."

"We have to do something. If she's already in New Orleans with him. Christ Marcus, there's no one there to stop him."

"I know," Marcus nodded still holding her hand. "I'll talk to Jon. See if there's anything--"

His office door swung open without warning causing them both to jolt. Brian stood in the doorway, his eyes moved from Marcus to Ava, noting her position on the desk, the closed door, their hands touching.

"Hope I'm not interrupting," he said, his gaze shooting lasers at Marcus.

Ava looked to Marcus, waiting for him to explain, to make this look less... intimate. The silence stretched uncomfortably.

"I wanted to make sure you saw my email about Michael and Wendy." He looked at Ava, noticing the way she slinked off the desk, her eyes avoiding his. "In fact, can I have a word with you, alone?"

"I um... I was just leaving," Ava said, unable to get out of the office fast enough.

"You know," Brian said once Ava had left, closing the door behind her, "I've always respected how you develop talent, Marcus. But there are... boundaries that need to be maintained. Especially when the parties involved are married."

"It wasn't like..."

"Save it. I don't need details. Just... be mindful of appearances. The wrong kind of attention can derail promising careers." He paused before walking away. "For both parties."

Marcus sank into his chair after Brian left, staring at his computer screen without really seeing it. He needed to be more careful. He could already see how this conversation must have looked from Brian's perspective. He couldn't have another misstep.

***

Louis Armstrong Airport wasn't the biggest airport Wendy had ever been to, but it made Columbus feel tiny in comparison. Michael led them to the baggage claim area, like he'd been there a million times in the past, and they got there just as the groan of the carousel came alive and began to dump bags onto the carousel.

The plane ride had been smooth, and uneventful which surprised Wendy most of all. For the most part, Michael either slept or was on his laptop and barely paid any attention to her at all. Maybe he realized yesterday was crossing a line. Maybe he was actually going to back off.

She spotted her purple suitcase almost immediately, but before she could reach it, Michael shouldered his way through the crowd, nearly knocking a woman onto the carousel as he grabbed both their bags.

"You didn't need to do that," Wendy said when he was back at her side, both their bags by his side. "I was just waiting my turn."

"Have you never heard the expression nice guys finish last?" Michael pulled out his phone, ordering them an Uber as he pointed her toward the exit.

"You mean the excuse assholes use to justify being assholes?"

Michael's laugh echoed through the terminal, drawing glances from passing travelers.

"Is that what you do? Just go through life like a wrecking ball taking anything you want?" The disdain in Wendy's voice was practically dripping, but it just rolled off Michael like she was paying him a compliment.

"Seems to be working out for me just fine so far," he said, letting his eyes scan her body in a way that made her want to crawl away and die, even as he held the outside door open for her.

Despite it being January, the air in New Orleans still felt sticker than Ohio. There was still a chill in the air that made Wendy wish she'd packed warmer clothes, but it felt different, thicker. She was happy to see the Uber pull up to the curb just a few minutes after they got outside. Michael gestured toward the back seat, allowing Wendy to slide in first.

"Ever met Jack Peterson before?" Michael asked once they were underway, his leg brushing against Wendy's despite the added room in the SUV. She ignored it, choosing instead to focus on his question

Wendy shook her head. "Only the few calls we've had when I've been with you."

"Thirty-nine and already CEO. Youngest in the company's history," Michael gazed out at the passing scenery. "He's the type of guy who's used to getting what he wants. His father was the CEO before him, and if the rumors are true... Let's just say he wasn't the most qualified for the job. Turns out being the son of the man in charge has its perks."

"Great," Wendy said, shaking her head. "More assholes failing to the top."

"Hate to be the one to break it to you, sweetheart. But here in the real world if you want to make it to the top. If you truly want to be seen, you have to fight dirty and use every advantage you have to get there."

"Don't call me that."

Such a cynical outlook on life. There was no way that was true for everyone, was it? She didn't want to believe it. Just because Michael was cut throat it didn't mean she needed to be, and it definitely didn't mean Jack was either. "You seem to know a lot about him."

"Met him at a few industry events over the years. Friend of a friend situation. Smart guy, but gets bored faster than my nephews."

"So, how do we use that to our advantage during our meeting?"

Michael laughed, his belly bouncing on his legs as he kicked his head back. "Now you're getting it," he said wiping tears from his eyes. "You'll want to keep him engaged. The guy has the attention span of a goldfish." Michael stretched out his body a bit, hit arm falling behind Wendy's headrest. She rolled her eyes at the move, but didn't bother to say anything. This was the Michael she was drawn to. The business shark who would help her achieve her goals. "Mix up your delivery, make sure you ask him a lot of open-ended questions."

"So that means you're letting me lead the presentation?" She didn't mean to sound as shocked as she did. When Michael had told her about the trip last night she had just assumed they would have equal speaking parts.

A smile appeared on Michael's face as he turned to look at Wendy. "Of course. I told you already. I trust you. I know you've got the commitment needed to see this thing through."

A tingle of something that wasn't pride ran up Wendy's back. He'd been using that word a lot lately, commitment. Her fingers spun her ring, unsure of how to answer.

"Just remember, we need this to go well," Michael continued, his tone serious as he made note of Wendy's movements. "If we get his green light today, we can start the soft launch next week, then go straight to the community launch and then, hopefully, the regional blitz we've been discussing. But his team will try to push you on the numbers, so be ready." He leaned closer, his hand suddenly resting on her shoulder. "Remember, you know this data better than anyone. Even better than that husband of yours." He chuckled, locking eyes with her. "Just watch Jack for your cue. If he starts to zone out or check his phone, you're losing him. That's your sign to switch tactics."

By the time they pulled up to the hotel, Wendy felt confident, maybe even excited, for the meeting ahead.

The Hotel Monteleone sat in the heart of the French Quarter. As Wendy stepped out of the car, she couldn't help but admire the elegant architecture.

"They have a bar inside that's in the middle of an actual carousel. We should check it out later if we have time," Michael said, observing how she admired the building.

"Let's just focus on the meeting," she replied, determined to ensure Michael knew this was strictly business.

"Reservation for Reynolds," Michael said to the front desk attendant, a young woman whose professional smile brightened as she took in Michael's expensive suit.

"Of course, Mr. Reynolds." She tapped at her keyboard, her manicured nails clicking through the empty hall. "I see two reservations. One for you and one for Ms. Taylor as well?" The woman looked at Wendy as if to confirm.

"That's right," Wendy said, stepping forward.

The attendant printed out their registration cards. "You're both on the fifth floor. Elevator is down the hall and to your right."

The elevator ride was silent, tension building with each ascending floor. When they reached the fifth floor, Michael led the way down the corridor, stopping at room 512.

"This one's yours," he said, handing Wendy her suitcase. "I'm in 514."

Wendy slid her keycard into the lock, the green light blinking as she pushed open the door. The room was nice. Way nicer than anything she was sued to. It had tall windows, plush bedding, classic New Orleans decor. But her eyes immediately locked on the interior door nestled in the wall to her right. A connecting door.

"Are you kidding me?" she muttered.

Michael appeared in her doorway, confusion crossing his features. "Something wrong?"

"Connecting rooms." She gestured toward the interior door. "You really think it's going to be that easy?" Anger bubbled in her chest. She couldn't believe she'd been so stupid. Of course Michael behaved himself on the plane. He knew he didn't have to rush, cause he'd have a door that led straight to her bed. The audacity of that man.

Michael's eyebrows rose. "Excuse me?"

"I already told you. Last night was a mistake and it's not going to happen again. Getting adjoining rooms sure as hell isn't going to make me any more likely to sleep with you." She realized her voice was getting louder, a few guests from down the hall stuck their heads out to see what the commotion was all about.

A look of confusion crossed his face before morphing into something like amusement. "Wendy, I booked the room at the last minute at the same time. The hotel probably just booked them together because that's standard practice." He shook his head. "You know, for someone who is constantly saying you don't want to sleep with me, it sure seems to be on your mind an awful lot."

Heat flooded her cheeks, embarrassment mixing with doubt. Was she overreacting? Projecting intentions that weren't there?

"We need to head to Fireball headquarters in a couple hours," he said while she was still wavering from her outburst. I suggest you get settled and review your notes." He turned and took the few steps to his room before turning back to her. "Oh, and the door looks from both sides. So you hardly have to worry about me sneaking into your room."

"Michael, I didn't mean--"

His door clicked shut, leaving her alone in her room and feeling more stupid than ever.

Wendy fell back onto the king-sized bed, letting her body sink into the foam mattress. She released a frustrated sigh before digging her phone out of her purse. She had a missed call and a text from Ava. She wondered what could possibly be so important. She'd call her back later, first she wanted to check in with Jon. Knowing him he had calculated up to the minute the plane had landed and was wondering where she was. A smile formed on her lips, it was nice to be wanted.

Jon answered on the third ring, the familiarity of his voice making her feel homesick despite the fact that it'd only been a few hours.. "Hey, you made it! How was the flight?"

"Fine," she said, hearing the tension in her own voice. "Michael and I are at the hotel now."

A brief pause. "Everything okay? Is he behaving himself?"

Wendy glanced at the connecting door. Had she misinterpreted the situation? Was she the problem?

"Yeah, he's been... professional, actually." She replayed their hallway conversation in her head. Stupid. "We have a meeting at Fireball headquarters in a couple hours."

"That's great." He sounded more upbeat than usual. "After your meeting, you should explore the city a bit. I hear there's tons to do there."

Wendy frowned. This didn't sound like the Jon who tracked her movements and worried when she was five minutes late. Was he glad she was gone? "We'll see. Apparently there's a bar here that's inside a carousal or something. Michael was telling me about it, but he's the last guy I want to be in a bar with."

There was a pause and for a moment Wendy wondered if she lost connection. "Yeah Michael can be... You should go though. I mean, I don't love that it's Michael either, but you deserve to unwind a little. You deserve it."

"Okay, who is this and what have you done with my husband?" she asked, only half-joking.

Jon laughed. "You're the one always saying I work too hard. I don't want you to suffer the same fate. Besides, 38% of workplace stress has a direct impact on stress at home."

"And he's back," Wendy said with a giggle. "How's everything there? I miss you."

"I miss you too. Nothing new to report here. Marcus wants to have lunch with me tomorrow. Probably another project." She could hear papers shuffling in the background. "Oh, and I took a look at those demographic projections you're presenting. I found some interesting correlations you might want to--"

"Jon." She already knew where this was going. "I've got this. You don't need to check my work."

"I wasn't checking your work," he protested. "I just noticed that if you adjust for seasonal variance--"

"Stop." She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply counting to four. "I don't need you to fix my presentation. I don't need you to make it more... mathematical."

"That's not what I--" He exhaled heavily. "I'm sorry. You're right. You've got this."

Silence stretched between them, the loving moment from just a moment ago now long forgotten. "I should let you go. You probably need to prepare for your meeting."

"Yeah." Wendy said, flatly. "I'll talk to you later. I love you."

"Love you too," came his quick reply. Then the call ended.

Wendy tossed her phone to the side, Ava could wait, she didn't need any more drama right now. Why did Jon always think he needed to jump in and save her? Why couldn't he just let her prove herself for once.

She glanced across the room. The connecting door suddenly felt like it was pulsing with possibility. Michael was just on the other side, probably working on the presentation. Someone who actually trusted her instincts, who saw her potential without going behind her back and making adjustments without being asked. He actually trusted her, believed in her, even when all she did was throw insults and accusations at him. She sat up on the bed, running her fingers through her hair. She could do this. She didn't need Jon, or Michael. She had everything she needed to succeed on her own.

***

Wendy smiled at herself in the hotel room mirror. Her gray pantsuit was pressed and wrinkle free, the cream-colored blouse underneath buttoned to the top making her look as professional and powerful as she felt. She'd pulled her blonde hair into a low bun; she was ready to take over the world.

Two sharp knocks on her door announced Michael's arrival. When she opened it, his eyebrows shot up as he took in her appearance.

"That's what you're wearing?" His gaze swept over her suit with thinly veiled disappointment. "I've seen nuns show more skin than that."

She rolled her eyes, of course he expected her to dress more provocatively. "I'm wearing nearly the exact same thing as you. It's a presentation for a major client. They want to see professionalism."

"No, they want to see someone who resonates with their brand." He checked his watch, the single button on his jacket threatening to pop off and hit Wendy in the eye.

"I told you before, I want to be taken seriously. My ideas should speak for myself."

"Let's hope so," he said, gesturing toward the elevator. "It's too late to change now."

The ride to Fireball headquarters was quiet. Wendy looked out the window, mentally going over her notes. Her reflection stared back at her as the city slid by outside. She was bold, confident, everything Fireball represented. Michael was wrong, she was dressed exactly how she needed to be.

Once inside, Wendy felt like she'd stepped into another world entirely. A mural of the iconic red dragon covered the walls. Its body coiled along one side, its flames licking up around the windows like a border. The marble floors glimmered underfoot, flecked with red gemstones that sparkled in the light.

"Subtle," Wendy muttered as they passed a twelve-foot dragon sculpture breathing neon-orange fire.

"Authenticity," Michael corrected. "They know exactly who they are. They understand that trying to hide it only diminishes their value."

A prickle of recognition ran up Wendy's spine at the comment, but she dismissed it as the elevator doors opened.

The executive team was already in the room when Wendy and Michael arrived. They sat around a circular oak table, most of them dressed in either red or orange dress shirts.

Jack Peterson sat at the center of the table and stood as they entered the room. In his late thirties, he looked every bit the part of someone born into privilege. His piercing blue eyes danced over Wendy, his smile faltered only for the briefest of moments as he took in her outfit. He wore a dark colored suit with a red tie and a bright orange pocket square. Everything about him screamed money.

"Michael Reynolds." Jack's handshake was relaxed, as he clapped Michael on the back, "Long time no see. Your golf game improve much over years?"

"Still working on my putting game, but always happy to get out there and teach you a thing or two." Michael's laugh was loud, artificial.

"And you must be Wendy. I've heard great things."

Wendy's cheeks reddened. "Thanks for the opportunity. I think what we have outlined for the campaign will get you just as excited as we are about moving forward."

"So professional, this one." He shot Michael a wink before turning toward the other executives. "This is Bruce Kellerman, our CFO. Tom Miller, head of creative. And Sarah Chen, head of distribution."

Once introductions were complete, Wendy moved to the presentation area, her heart pounding against her chest. She took a deep breath as she connected her laptop to the display system.

The Evolve Your Fire logo appeared on the screen. "Based on the feedback you've given us, you'd like to start the campaign small. A more grassroots approach." She went to the next slide. "We've developed a three-phase implementation that starts locally before scaling to regional and national markets."

For the first ten minutes, the presentation flowed smoothly. Wendy walked them through the revised rollout plan, showing how they would target key metropolitan areas first, Lexington, Nashville, New Orleans and Columbus.

"Phase one focuses on community engagement," Wendy explained, clicking to a map with highlighted zones. "Partnering with influential local cocktail bars, retailers, and cultural events in each city. This creates genuine brand evolution that feels organic rather than imposed."

She noticed Jack checking his phone. Following Michael's advice, she shifted tactics.

"Jack, I'm curious, which of these initial markets do you think will respond most strongly to the premium positioning?" she asked.

He glanced up, putting his phone down. "Nashville, probably. They've got a whiskey culture and large cocktail scene."

"We thought that as well," Wendy said, noticing Michael's approving nod from the corner of her eye. "In fact, we've front-loaded some of the Nashville activates for that very reason." She advanced to slides showing consumers in upscale Nashville environments enjoying Fireball cocktails. "Phase two would expand regionally outward from these initial success markets over a 12-week period."

But as she moved into the budget projections and implementation timeline, she noticed Jack's attention wandering again. He let out a soft yawn, his thumb swiping something on his screen.

Bruce, the CFO, interrupted. "These numbers assume a 27% conversion rate when scaling from local to regional markets. What evidence supports that assumption?"

Wendy was prepared for this. "Historical data from similar spirits category expansions shows--"

"I've seen those models," Bruce cut in. "They typically show 15-18% conversion at best."

"For brands that abandoned their core identity during expansion, yes," Wendy smiled. "Our approach maintains authenticity, and as a result we expect existing customer sales to increase by 5% instead of the typical decrease brands see when they make this switch." Bruce looked like he wanted to cut in again, but Wendy powered on. "Authenticity is key. We believe as long as you stay true to your core--"

Jack's phone buzzed loudly. He checked it, typed a quick response, then looked up at Wendy with a thin smile. "Continue."

But she'd lost him. His body language had shifted entirely, his chair angled slightly away from the presentation area. She looked around the table, Sarah gave her an apologetic look as Wendy felt her hands start to shake. All that she had worked so hard to accomplish suddenly felt like it was in jeopardy.

Michael stepped in. "What Wendy's brilliantly captured here is the opportunity to build authentic momentum. Rather than forcing a regional blitz that might feel corporate, we're suggesting an expansion pattern that mirrors how actual trends spread naturally from cultural centers outward."

Jack nodded absently, his eyes returning to his phone.

Michael tried a different angle. "Jack, random question." He looked up from his phone momentarily intrigued. "Any indoor golf facilities around here where I can practice my swing? We have this charity event coming up in a few weeks and I'm a bit rusty."

"There's actually one just a few blocks from here." Jack's smile grew, his phone disappearing into his front pocket. "If you want, we can head over now. Pick this back up tomorrow morning at nine?"

The air seemed to leave the room, and for a moment Wendy felt like her heart had stopped. She had a second chance now, but she wasn't sure how. She'd followed Michael's advice, her pitch was flawless. Jack just didn't seem to be interested in what she had to offer.

"That sounds great," Michael confirmed. "Let me just run back to my room and get out of this monkey suit and I'll meet you there in an hour."

As they gathered their materials, Sarah, the distribution head, paused beside Wendy. Standing now, Sarah's fitted red dress caught Wendy's attention, and of course, Michael's. His gaze lingered on her exposed legs where the hem stopped just short of her knees. "For what it's worth, I think the presentation was great," she said quietly. "But Jack needs to be... entertained. He has his father's attention span."

The ride back to the hotel was silent for the first several minutes. Wendy stared out the window, mentally replaying every moment of the presentation, searching for what she'd done wrong.

"Your presentation was great. The content wasn't the issue," Michael finally said, breaking the silence.

"Then what?" Wendy turned to him. "I followed your advice. I engaged him directly. I shifted tactics when he started looking bored."

"He didn't connect with you, Wendy. You were just another suit to him."

Wendy stared at him blankly, not understanding what that meant.

"Look, everyone has their thing, right?" He ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm, as you so eloquently put it, the asshole who takes what he wants. The receptionist, she's the care-free woman with fire hair. Hell, even the Sarah chick..."

"No one says chick anymore, Michael. It's degrading."

"See, too fucking corporate," he chuckled. "It's like she said, Jack wants to be entertained. You walked in buttoned up like a fucking Sunday school teacher and shook his hand like some corporate lawyer then dove into a power point presentation that put the room to sleep."

Tears stung the back of Wendy's eyes, but she pushed them back. "So, that's it then? you're saying I'm too boring for this job?"

"Jesus Christ." He drew a long breath trying to calm himself. "I'm saying THAT was boring. You're anything but, you just need to get out of your own head." He turned back to look at Wendy. He had that look in his eye that made her skin crawl while at the same time making her stomach clench. "Look, I have to go pretend to like golf for the next hour with Jack. Why don't you head down to the bar. Grab a drink. I'll meet you there when I get back. We'll figure it out."

Wendy looked out the window again with a nod, fighting back the urge to defend her presentation further. Something had gone wrong, something beyond the content or even her delivery. And she had a sinking feeling that Michael's solution would involve more than just tweaking slides.

***

The Carousel Bar was busier than Wendy expected as she stepped onto the slow rotating platform of the bar. She couldn't help but smile at the feeling of being a kid again, as she grabbed a golden pole and found an empty seat. The bartender, a middle aged man with a beard, chatted up a woman in a low-cut dress while Wendy waited to order.

The meeting with the Fireball executives had been a complete disaster, and all Wendy wanted was a drink to take the edge off while she figured out her next move. Maybe Michael would have a new strategy when he got back from playing golf. She threw up her arm to try to get the bartender's attention, but he had already moved on to some college girl whose chest was all but spilling onto the bar, completely over looking Wendy.

As the bar completed its first full rotation, Wendy found herself staring into a mirror on the other side of the liquor bottles, her mind replaying Michael's words from the car ride over. He wasn't wrong, she looked like she was a sixty old accountant. She reached behind her head and let her bun down, shaking her long blond hair out. Whether a coincidence or not, this seemed to get the bartender's attention.

"What will it be?" He had an accent, but she couldn't place where it was from.

"Can I get a Vieux Carre?" She asked, placing the menu to the side.

"Popular choice tonight," he said, already reaching for the Sazerac and Cognac.

Ice clattered into the cup, drowning out some of the conversation around her. She used this time to watch some of the other customers as the carousel made another round. A group of men at the far end of the bar was chatting up every girl in sight. Well, every girl except Wendy, that was. They wore expensive looking watches and designer suits. They carried themselves like Michael, smug, confident.

The burn of the Sazerac helped numb the humiliation she was feeling, at least a little bit. Why was it that when a man dressed in a suit with fancy jewelry he was taken seriously, yet when she did it she wasn't entertaining enough. What the hell did that mean, anyway? She wasn't there to entertain Jack. She was there to make him millions of dollars, so then why the fuck did he care how she dressed? One drink had turned into two, then three, time slipping away as she sat lost in thought. Her chest was beginning to feel warm, the soft motion of the carousel making her sway more than she intended.

Was this really what she'd worked so hard to become? She'd spent years fighting to be taken seriously, learning the lingo and hiding her figure in hopes to climb the corporate ladder. She'd abandoned modeling to escape being judged on her appearance, only to find herself being dismissed for entirely different reasons.

"Well, no one can call you a lightweight."

Wendy startled at Michael's voice. His large frame pressed against her as he maneuvered himself into the chair next to her. She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she watched him snap his fingers at the bartender only to have him rush over and get him a drink the second his butt touched the seat.

"How was golf?" she asked, noticing the way his chest hair stuck out of his unbuttoned polo.

"Awful. I'm terrible." Michael laughed, amused by his own incompetence. "But Jack had a great time showing off," he took a long drink of his whiskey. "And we got a redo tomorrow morning, which was the point."

"Great." Wendy's tone was flat. "I'll add some golf metaphors to the presentation. Maybe wear a caddy outfit."

"The caddy outfit isn't your worst idea."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh lighten-up, Wendy. You take yourself too serious."

Heat flared in Wendy's cheeks. "Maybe if men thought with something other than their dicks then I wouldn't have to try so hard."

"You trying so hard is the exact reason we are in the situation we're in." Michael's voice was low, calm. It made her hate him even more. Of course she was going to be the one that looked unreasonable in this situation.

"I want to be taken seriously. Why is that so bad? Why do I have to have my tits out in order for an executive to take me serious."

Michael shook his head, like it pained him to be having this conversation. His entire demeanor made her blood boil. Why couldn't he just say what he wanted to say. Why did he insist on being an arrogant prick about it?

"We don't need to choose between premium and playful, we can be both." Michael turned his body, facing her. "You're the one that said that, aren't you?"

"Oh, fuck you. That's different and you know it." Her fingers tightened around her glass. If it wasn't empty she would have considered throwing it in his face. "I was talking about brand identity not dressing like a whore."

"It's about authenticity." He finished the last of his bourbon and flagged down the bartender for another round. "Brands fail when they try to be something they're not. Well news flash, princess, so do people."

A tear rolled down her cheek, but Wendy ignored it. "So that's it then? I'm just reduced to being a set of tits?"

"You're not listening." He rubbed his temples like Wendy was the cause of all his problems. "You can be both. Who the fuck cares how you get their attention as long as you get it?" Michael's gaze seared into her like he was looking into her soul. "You've got an amazing mind, Wendy. But you have an even more amazing body." For once, his eyes didn't travel to her chest. "So if you have to use one in order for them to see the other then well... that's just using what you have to your advantage." He finished the rest of his whiskey in one drink. "Just like my terrible fucking golf game."

Michael pushed away from the bar and walked away, leaving her there alone with just her thoughts. The carousel continued its lazy rotation, while Wendy's mind raced. She'd spent so long fighting against being reduced to her appearance that she'd forgotten how to own it. But was embracing that power just another form of surrender, or was it just another form of leveling the playing field?

***

Back in her hotel room, Wendy sat on the corner of her bed swaying like she was navigating a small boat in the ocean. She'd only had a few drinks, she wasn't drunk, but she also didn't drink enough to handle so much in such quick succession. "Fucking Michael," she said under her breath as she pulled up her leg to slip off her heel.

The zipper of her pantsuit dangled just out of reach, leaving her thrashing on the bed trying to reach it. Her fingers felt clumsy, uncooperative. Eventually, after more time than she cared to admit, she was able to tug it down her body. "Why does he have to be such an asshole? For once, why can't he just help me without making it all sound so... sexual." The Fireball meeting played on endless loop in her mind: Jack's wandering attention, the way the CFO questioned the numbers then went right back to not focusing on her before she even finished her answer.

_He needs to be entertained. He has his father's attention span._

Wendy sat at the desk in the corner of the room, determined to come up with something that would salvage the meeting tomorrow. Michael was right, throwing in some golf metaphors wasn't going to be enough, she needed something that would keep Jack engaged. She pulled up her slide deck, going over each slide trying to find something she could enhance. Maybe she could run a quick interactive poll, show the executives exactly what customers thought. But there wasn't enough time to collect any meaningful data.

She paced the room, her buzz fading as her fingers drummed against her thigh to a four-count beat. She was right in the heart of bourbon street, maybe she could just get video testimony from bartenders about sales when brands try to evolve? But that too felt futile. Bars would be packed right now, and even if a bartender was slow enough to talk to her the audio would be trash with all the live music in the background.

After an hour of fruitless attempts, she slumped onto the bed. Nothing felt big enough to overcome Jack's wandering attention. She needed something bold, something that would force him to engage. But what?

With growing frustration, she threw open her suitcase, hoping inspiration might somehow hide between her carefully packed professional attire. Three pantsuits in varying shades of gray. Two button-up blouses, one cream and one pale blue. A modest navy dress for dinners. All professional, and boring. She sighed in frustration. What was she even doing? She wanted to be seen for her brain not her looks. Why was she pandering?

The adjoining door seemed to mock her indecision. Michael's words from the bar echoed in her head: _Who the fuck cares how you get their attention as long as you get it?_ She'd spent so long trying to prove herself on merit alone, but where had that gotten her? Jack couldn't even stay off his phone long enough to hear her ideas. She glanced past the door, catching her reflection in the mirror. The black bra hugged her chest tight. Pushing her chest up in a way that was all but invisible under the clothes she was wearing. The lace outline along the cups were just the right amount of playful she enjoyed, allowing the pink of her areola to peak through from the right angle.

She walked toward the mirror with a grin on her face. Her belly was smooth, flat. Her hip bones just visible as her stomach dipped into a V where her matching panties began. They were a little more provocative than her bra. Slightly more sheer in a way that always made Jon's mouth hang open. She ran her fingers through the back of her hair, fanning it out the way she used to do in her modeling days. She could already feel the heat begin to build in her core, she looked hot. The kind of hot she'd locked away all those years ago. "I bet this would get their attention," she mused to herself. "Do I have your attention now, Jack? Want to hear all about my... proposal again?" She leaned forward, letting her chest nearly spill out as she kept her eyes trained on her reflection. "See something you like, Jack?" She stood up straight making her chest bounce. "If you give me your undivided attention, you may get something you'll like even better."

"How's that for evolving my fire?" she scoffed, turning on her heel and walking toward the bed. The buzz between her legs had started to grow, her little roleplay having more of an effect on her than she realized. She fell back on the bed, grabbing her phone to call Jon. Perhaps they could play a little before bed, help take the edge off. Another message from Ava greeted her as she unlocked her phone.

Ava: I haven't heard from you. Call me back, please.

She stared at the message. Why was Ava so determined to talk to her today? She'd call her back, but first she needed Jon.

Unfortunately, after the third ring it went to voicemail. "Hey, it's me," she said after the beep, her voice wavering slightly. "The meeting didn't go great. I just... I missed you and hoped to hear your voice. Call me when you can."

She tossed the phone onto the bed and resumed her fruitless search. Nothing in her suitcase remotely suggested "playful." Nothing would capture Jack's attention tomorrow.

She grabbed the navy dress and pulled it over her head. It was loose-fitting, and while the neck-line was just low enough to show a hint of cleavage, it wasn't exactly going to set the world on fire. She needed a new plan.

"Damnit," she complained under her breath, glancing again at the door that separated her room with Michael's as she grabbed her phone.

Wendy knocked on the door, a little more forcefully than she'd meant to. She heard movement inside then the soft click of the lock, just like he'd mentioned earlier. When the door opened, his polo was gone, replaced by a white T-shirt with what looked like an old coffee stain on the front. His slacks had been traded for a pair of worn gym shorts that had clearly seen better days.

"Wendy," his gaze scanned her body, taking in her new outfit. "What a surprise."

She almost lashed out at his feigned shock. Instead, she gestured helplessly at her outfit. "This is the best I have. I didn't exactly pack for..." The words trailed off as she realized she wasn't sure how to finish that sentence.

"Come in," he said, stepping aside.

She bit her lip, warning bells sounding in her head as she contemplated going to his room. Her fingers curled pulling her dress before she took a step forward on shaky legs. With each step she convinced herself they were just going to talk strategy about tomorrow, to come up with a plan to get Jack excited about their vision. But the voice in the back of her head told her she knew better. Every time they were alone Michael tried something, she couldn't trust him.

Michael's hotel room was almost identical to hers, except he'd already made himself at home. His laptop sat open on the desk, his bed unmade with the blankets thrown about, along with an open bottle of whiskey on the desk.

"I figured you might stop by," he said, moving to clear some clothes from the desk chair. "After our conversation at the bar."

Wendy remained near the door, just in case she needed to make a quick escape. "I'm not here to rehash that. I just thought we should figure out a solution for tomorrow."

"And you expect me to bail you out?" Fire flashed in Wendy's eyes, her anger quickly replaced by self-doubt. He wasn't wrong, was he? Every time she found herself in hot water Michael was the only one who was able to get her out. If it wasn't for Michael she wouldn't even be on this project, so why was she acting so hostile toward him?

"I just...", she gestured at her navy dress. "This isn't going to work. You were right. We need to catch Jack's eye."

Michael studied her for a moment, licking his lips. There was something in the way he was looking at her. Something that told her she was in over her head. "You know, When I went to play golf with Jack earlier I passed this small little boutique." He made his way to the closet.

"What's your point?" She asked, even as the hair on her arms stood up.

"My point is that Jack responds to certain... visual cues." He pulled a bag from the closet. "I might have done a little shopping while you were at the bar."

Wendy didn't have to be a genius to know what was in the bag, she didn't even need to be sober, although she was beginning to sober up very quickly. She held her breath as Michael pulled out a gold dress that shimmered in the light. the neckline was accented by red gem stones that hung way too low for Wendy's liking. To make matters worse, there was a slit down the side that she was pretty sure would come all the way up to her hip.

"Fireball gold," Michael said, holding it up. "On brand, don't you think?"

"No." The word came out instantly. "Absolutely not."

"You haven't even tried it on."

"I don't need to. Christ my entire body would be on display." Heat flared in her cheeks.

Michael draped the gold dress over the back of a chair. "What exactly are you against, Wendy? Being noticed? Making an impression?"

"Being reduced to my appearance." Her voice rose slightly. "You think I don't know what happens when I dress like that? How men stop listening to what I'm saying because they're too busy staring at my chest?"

"They're not listening to you now," Michael countered, his voice maddeningly calm. "At least this way you get his attention long enough to make your point." He chuckled to himself. "Then, when you catch them looking you call them on it. They will be so embarrassed they'll have to give you their undivided attention."

She hated how right he was. Hated even more that she had just played out that exact fantasy in the mirror before coming here.

"I can't," she said quietly. "Not that one."

Michael rolled his eyes and reached back into the bag, pulling out a second dress. "I had a feeling you'd say that. You're too afraid to take any real chances."

The dig stung, especially after the rejection from earlier today. Her insecurities intensified and she worried that perhaps she wasn't cut out for this after all. Maybe she should just go back to Columbus, turn down the promotion, the Fireball project, and just go back to writing twitter campaigns and website tag lines.

The dress he pulled out next was black with gold flecks woven through the fabric. It was significantly less flashy than the first, but still more form-fitting than anything in her suitcase. The neckline was modest by comparison, hanging slightly lower than the dress she was currently wearing.

"This one is probably more your speed," even that felt like a dig. Was she just being sensitive? "Personally, I don't think Jack will notice it, but good to have options I suppose."

"It's not a bad compromise." She ran her hand over the dress trying to convince herself that it just may work.

"That's the problem. You're compromising. Jack doesn't respect compromise he wants someone with commitment." Michael gestured toward the gold dress. "This is what will get his attention."

Wendy took a step back, frustration building. The way he was looking at her, the way he said commitment. "You just want to see my chest. Jesus, why are all men such pigs."

"What can I say, we appreciate a good rack," he said with a laugh.

She fought the urge to slap him, to run back through the door and leave. Then a thought popped in her head.

"Fine, you want me to wear that one?" She took a step toward him, her confidence growing slightly. "You want to see me walk around their conference room with my tits out?" She smirked as Michael's eyes went wide at her sudden change in tone, her words laced with a seductive edge.

"You tear up the stupid IOU. Stop badgering me about commitment, and I'll wear your dress. I'll prance around Fireball headquarters showing so much skin Jack won't dare look away." She stopped just a couple of steps in front of him. She could feel the adrenaline rushing through her veins. The surprised look on Michael's face made her burst with pride. She was tired of his smugness.

But then, something changed. Just as quickly as she'd turned the tables on him, Michael seemed to find his bearing. He cocked his eyebrow, closing the small gap between them. He was close enough now, she could smell the whiskey on his breath.

"Allow me to give you a lesson in leverage, Wendy." His voice dropped lower. "I hold all the cards here, not you. If tomorrow fails, my reputation takes a hit, but I survive. You don't. You need this more than I do." That cocky smirk was back, and Wendy felt herself go ghost white. "Why would I give up something so valuable when I'm getting nothing in return?"

Panic rose in Wendy's chest. He was right, of course. If Fireball pulled the plug on this then Michael would be fine. Sure, his bonus check might take a hit, but the world would continue to spin. For Wendy, this presentation was everything. If she failed no one would take her seriously.

"What if...," she chewed on the inside of her cheek. "What if I sweeten the deal for you?" Her stomach did a summersault. This was a bad idea.

"I'm listening."

The room felt suffocatingly small as Wendy tossed her phone onto the bed. She could do this. She could leave here with Fireball excited about the go-forward strategy, without reducing herself to a pair of tits for Jack. She knew if Michael really wanted to, he could keep Jack's attention. He just needed the right... motivation. With a deep breath and a fake smile, she sunk onto her knees.

Michael's expression shifted instantly. His eyes went wide in shock, his mouth hanging open, for once in his life at at loss for words. She'd managed to catch him off guard, and the momentary flicker of surprise in his eyes gave her a small surge of power.

"Two minutes or less, those were our terms last time, right?" She let her fingernails scrap over his stained t-shirt, dragging toward his shorts. She fought back the burning in her chest, the tears stinging her eyes. She knew she was crossing a line, but Michael had been right. She had advantages of her own she could play, and didn't it make more sense for her to use them on Michael instead of a room full of people she didn't know?

"It..." he cleared his throat realizing his voice was an octave too high. "It was one minute."

Her fingers sank into his flesh. "Oh, you're one of those guys?" Wendy saw his nostrils flair, but a laugh still crept from his lips.

"Two minutes is fine. What exactly are you suggesting?"

"If I win, I wear the black dress," her fingers teased the band of his shorts. "And you do everything in your power to convince Jack that despite my lack of... commitment he still agrees to our strategy."

She looked up at Michael. He had at least three different chins from this position, his beaty eyes filled with lust. She had him on the hook, she just need to keep him there. "And you tear up that stupid IOU."

"And when you lose?"

"If... I lose," she let her nails rake over his thighs. His gut pressed against her forehead, his breathing intensifying. She tried not to think too much about what she was about to do.

"Then I wear the gold dress tomorrow." She nodded toward the more revealing option. "Your choice, no complaints."

A slow smile spread across Michael's face as he considered the offer. "What's in it for me? I already have the IOU. I still have all leverage."

No, Michael. This time I have it." Heat throbbed between her legs, even as bile clawed at the back of her throat. She tugged the sleeves of her dress down her arms before she could stop herself, dragging the neckline with them until her bra was fully exposed. The black lace snapped into view. She heard his sharp gasp, wondering if he could see the pink of her nipple from that angle.

"But if you're not interested, then I guess I will go back to my room and try on the black one." She began to stand, only to feel his hands on her shoulders.

"No, I'll accept your terms," he said quicker than he intended. He'd expected Wendy to eventually relent and accept that the gold dress was the right option. But this... this was better than his wildest dreams.

"So, should we start the clock?" Her tone was mocking as she felt a slight shake in his hand. she'd never seen Michael nervous before. Her body pulsed with energy as she realized the power she held over him.

"You sound awful confident." His fingers slid across the exposed skin of her arms. "It didn't go too well for you last time."

Goosebumps littered her arm as she tried to focus on the task at hand and not the throbbing between her thighs. "Last time caught me off guard. This time, I know what I'm dealing with."

"Ok, time starts now," Michael said with a snicker. "But, I don't think you have any clue what you're dealing with."

Wendy rolled her eyes. If she had a dollar for every guy she met who thought he was packing she wouldn't need this job. With the clock officially started, she brought her hands back to the band of his shorts, pulling them down with ease.

"Don't flatt--" Her words caught in her throat as his cock popped into view, thick and heavy-looking despite its semi-hard state. It was easily thicker than Jon's, nearly as wide as her forearm. It looked to already be longer as well. Her body tingled at the wonder of what it would look like fully erect. What it would feel like. A thought she quickly dismissed. The skin was smooth, with a slight curve that made her pulse stutter, a large vein traced along the underside leading to his two heavy, and wildly hairy, sacs. The head was wide, flushed a deep pink, and just beginning to swell. Her breath hitched before she could stop it, a quiet, involuntary sound betraying her surprise.

Michael's laughter rang in her ears, fanning the heat now spreading between her legs.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? Jon not as... impressive?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She was truly speechless, caught somewhere between shock and wonder. Her hand raised on its own, her manicured nails disappearing in the unkempt bush of hair as she cupped the weight of him in her palm.

"Time's ticking," Michael murmured, closing his hand around hers, forcing her fingers to curl around his girth. The heat of his flesh seemed to intensify as she struggled to wrap her hand fully around him.

Her fingers didn't quite meet around his shaft, not without Michael's help guiding them there. The weight of him, the heat, the way his cock throbbed gently against her palm, it was all more than she expected. She was still reeling, still stunned. She felt his cock start to rise, blood filling it as she stroked him slowly.

"At this rate, you're not even going to get me hard in two minutes," he taunted, releasing his grip on Wendy's fingers, pleased that she continued to stroke him without his guidance. "Maybe you should use your mouth. A little spit goes a long way."

"I... I don't do that." Michael was right, she needed to focus otherwise there was no way she was going to win. she had given him back control. She needed to snap out of it. To find what drove him crazy and use it against him. Just like he'd done when he... she didn't finish the thought.

"But you're not wrong." Her grip tightened slightly causing Michael to gasp. "This is the biggest I've ever seen. I'd love to see what it looks like when you get fully hard." She looked up at him, biting her lip as she met his gaze. "Can you do that for me? Can you show me how hard you can get?"

Michael's grin widened at her praise, cocky and expectant, like he'd already won.

"All you had to do was ask," he said, rolling his hips just enough to make her hand shift on his length. "I knew it wouldn't be long before I had you on your knees."

Wendy let out a soft breath, her grip adjusting, smoothing her thumb over the ridge of his head. She felt the twitch in response, his length continuing to respond.

So, he liked the talking. Of course he did. She shouldn't have been surprised. But if that's what got him off then that's what she'd do. She'd crank it up to ten if it meant winning and ridding herself of all this.

"Had I known you had all this between your legs maybe I would have asked sooner." Another pulse from his cock, as the space between her fingers grew. _Gotcha_ "You feel so hard already. So excited." She felt the first drops of precum slide across her fingers.

"Are you excited, Michael? Excited to finally feel my hand around your cock." She emphasized the word cock, drawing a grunt from him. Excited to cum all over my chest? That's what you want isn't it? To cum on my chest?"

Reluctantly, Michael closed his eyes. He didn't think holding out for two minutes was going to be a problem. Wendy was hot, but he had already factored that into his plan. He'd controlled his breathing, thought about all he was going to get after he held out. But, he didn't account for this. He had no idea this innocent little wife could have such a dirty mouth. That along with the sight of her tits on display was more than he'd bargained for.

"Mmmm, there is it is," Wendy continued, the excitement of now being in control causing her to rub her thighs together, feeling the full weight of his impressive hardness in her hand. "Open your eyes, big boy. Don't you want to see how good your dick looks in my hand?"

Each stroke felt like a new wave of power pumping into Wendy's blood. She knew she should feel repulsed, regret, and she would later. But right now, she was drunk on power. She was going to win, she was finally going to get the best of the man who had been tormenting her since Christmas.

With gritted teeth, Michael opened his eyes, his hips working in time with Wendy's hand as he raced closer to his climax. "Sixty... fuck, sixty seconds," he called out, glancing at the clock on the night stand.

"Mmmm I can feel it coming. Give it to me, Michael. Give me your cum." Wendy's voice was dripping with seduction as wet sloshing noises filled the room, Michael's pre-cum acting as its own form of lubricant.

Wendy leaned in, brushing her chest just slightly against his hip as she dragged her hand upward.

"You've thought about this before, haven't you?" she whispered. "Me... stroking your cock. You've looked at me. I've seen the way your eyes always drop to my chest when you think I'm not watching."

He chuckled, but it lacked the bite from earlier. He was trying to control his breathing. Wendy's phone buzzed from the bed, breaking her concentration for a moment, but she recovered quickly.

"Maybe I should give you a real treat," she purred, curling her fingers with more confidence, letting her other hand come up to cup his balls, her nails grazing his skin. "You want to see them don't you? You want me to take off my bra so you can see if they look as good as you imagined?"

She heard the shift in his breathing, felt the way his body responded.

"I bet you'd give anything to fuck my tits right now," she added, casually, like she was talking about the weather. "You've stared at them enough. Mmm I've never had anything as impressive as this between them before. Do you want to see it as bad as I do?"

Michael's hips flexed, just slightly. She had him. His breathing had turned into a series of grunts. In just a few short seconds this was all going to be over.

"for... forty five seconds left." He tried to focus on the clock, on anything other than her words. She seemed to be enjoying this even more than he anticipated and the thought of that made his balls ache for release.

Wendy took her time now, deliberately reaching behind her back, her strokes never stopping. Her fingers worked at the clasp, slow and intentional. "Are you ready for the big reveal?" She dragged the straps down from her shoulders. "Are you going to last long enough to see them? To feel them wrap around your hard dick?"

"Oh fuck." He couldn't even pretend like that didn't have an effect on him. This was it, she was going to win. He felt his balls tighten, on the verge of exploding. All he could hope for now was that he had corrupted her enough that they didn't have to hide behind the IOU anymore.

Another round of vibrations on the bed caught his attention. Jon's face lighting up on Wendy's phone screen. At the same time, the cups of her bra dropped free, and her breasts bounced slightly as they were released. Michael looked at the clock, thirty seconds.

"Jon's calling," he said, noticing how Wendy's body went rigid even as she continued to stroke him. "that's the second time he's called. He's probably worried what his wife is doing." Her strokes slowed, but didn't stop. He chewed on his bottom lip, doing everything in his power to slow his release.

Wendy's hand hesitated just slightly, a small tremor betraying her internal war. Jon. Michael was right. Jon was analytical, if she didn't answer his mind would go to the darkest places just like it'd done in his last relationship.

"What's that say about you Wendy? That you'd rather be on your knees, my dick in your hand, than answer your husband's call?" He saw her shake her head, her grip loosening just enough to give him some relief.

"I actually admire the commitment." The taunt in his voice was back. "In fact, I'll go ahead and answer for you. That way you don't have to stop what you're doing."

"No!" Her eyes went wide in fear. She could be quick. Just let him know she was about to get in the shower and she'd call him right back. Jon wouldn't suspect anything if she kept her voice light. It would buy her a little peace of mind. Just one second. Just one sentence.

Her hand left Michael's cock as she grabbed the phone, her exposed chest bouncing with the sudden movement. She answered, brought it to her ear, heart pounding.

This was all the distraction Michael needed. He smiled, noticing how flush her body was, her hard her nipples were. Wendy wasn't just flustered about Jon, she was turned on. Fortune seemed to be smiling down at him in more ways than one.

"Hey babe, I was actually just about to get in the shower. Can I call you back?" Her voice was sweet, but her breathing was ragged, her tone high pitched.

"Sure, sorry I missed your call early. I was just--"

"Okay, love you," she said, ending the call and tossing the phone aside like it was burning her. She turned her attention back to Michael, sliding off the bed and back onto her knees.

"Twenty seconds. There's no way you're... oh fuck."

Wendy pressed her chest together, her nails scrapping across her nipples as she lowered them around Michael's cock.

"Are they as soft as you imagined?" She pressed her breasts harder trying not to stare to hard at the impressive rod of steel sliding effortlessly between them. Her nails lightly teased her nipples causing her to squirm while rocking her body.

"Fifteen seconds..."

"Cum for me big boy." Her voice was trembling now, realizing she was on the verge of losing. "I bet these things produce so much cum." She reached down tugging and caressing his large sac. "I know you've always dreamed of this. Of covering my tits in your hot cum."

Michael's hips started to buck. He was still close. Maybe she could still win this. She just had to try a little harder.

Wendy leaned in, giving him everything. The weight of her breasts around his cock, her fingers squeezing from underneath to hold them just right.

"Five..."

"Cum for me, Michael," she whispered, desperate now, her voice a plea and a command all at once. "Do it. Cum all over me."

"Three..."

"Think about how good it will feel when it's in my mouth..."

"Two..."

"Oh fuck. Or in my pussy. You want that don't you? To cum in my pussy? Imagine how good that will feel."

"Uggghh, fuck. Time," he barely got the word out.

Michael grabbed her shoulders, holding her in place. He slid his cock deep into the tight press of her breasts, his head grazing her cheek.

Wendy gasped, trying to pull back, but he held her firm, her body frozen as she felt him pulse.

"Oh fuck, yes. Take it. Fuck, take it all."

Rope after rope of hot cum splattered her chest, neck and face. Her breath caught, not just from the shock of it all, but at the realization of just how wet she was at that moment.

The filthy words she'd whispered to get him off, _cum for me, Michael... in my mouth... in my pussy_ they hadn't just worked on him. They'd worked on her. She could still hear them echoing in her mind, but now it was like someone else had said them. She felt her juices slide down her leg, her body aching, desperate for attention.

Then, the moment passed.

Humiliation crashing through her as she felt the sticky evidence of what she had just done. She clenched her jaw, trying not to look down, but she couldn't help it.

She'd never seen someone cum so much and with such force. It was like he'd been holding back for months not minutes. When it was done, Michael let out a shaky laugh, taking a step back to admire his handiwork.

Wendy's chest was drenched in his white glaze, globs of it dripping down onto her dress, ruining it completely. She blinked, stunned, frozen in place. Her breath hitched as she looked down, her breasts glistening, the fabric soaked and clinging. Strands of hair clung to her face, caught in the beads of sweat and semen dotting her flushed skin.

For a moment, she didn't move, her head still spinning from what just happened. She felt... warm. The aftershock of arousal still pulsed low in her gut, but it was fading fast, replaced by fear, anger... repulsion, at both Michael and herself.

He should've stopped.

Time was up. He said it was over. He should have stopped instead of... she reached up to wipe her neck, but the mess only smeared. Her lip curled in disgust as the sticky wetness coated her fingers, the harsh smell of it assaulting her nose.

"Fuck," she muttered under her breath. That flicker of power she had felt was long gone. Replaced by a cold wave of shame, and worse, the heavy realization that she'd not only let this happen again, she instigated it.

"I'm not going to lie, I thought you had me." Michael was still trying to catch his breath, his gaze on Wendy's chest.

Wendy's eyes snapped up to meet his. Her face twisted into something ugly. Rage. Embarrassment. Confusion.

"If Jon hadn't called..." He paused, stepping toward her as he pulled his shorts back up. "I really should take him to lunch. Maybe send a thank you card. If it wasn't for him, you would've won."

Wendy stared at him, she didn't know what to say. She wanted to lash out at him, to be angry, but something was holding her back.

Michael's grin deepened, his eyes trailing down her cum-streaked skin with smug satisfaction. "It's almost like..." he leaned in just slightly, "he wanted it to happen."

That did it.

"Fuck you!" Wendy screamed, getting to her feet. She grabbed her phone from the bed and stormed back to her room. She needed a shower, to burn away every trace of Michael from her body and her mind.

"Soon," he whispered as she slammed the adjoining door to her room. He licked his lips falling back onto the bed. "Very soon indeed."