[Supporter] Executive Privilege Ch. 17 (Patreon)

Hey friends! I can't believe it's already the end of May. The good news, however, is that means we get another chapter of EP. I am super excited about this chapter. It's something I've had planned for awhile now and I can't wait to hear everyone's reactions. We only have a few chapter left (honestly still not sure on the exact number).

Alright, on to the good stuff.

Wendy stood in the kitchen alone, her hands pressed against the kitchen sink. She'd been off for almost an hour, but hadn't heard from Jon. His office was dark when she left so she expected to see his car in the drive when she got home.

The pizza box from last night was still on the counter. Wendy folded it in half, jammed it into the trash, and washed her hands in the sink. She'd already showered and changed into a pair of sweats. Now she was just wasting time, wondering what could possibly keep her husband out this late.

She poured a glass of wine.

By six fifteen she'd opened the rollout deck on her laptop. Now that Jack had board approval it meant they could blitz the market, no more single city rollouts. She halfheartedly threw some slogans together, but her eyes kept tracking to the window every time a car passed. By six thirty she was starting to panic and pulled up the traffic map on her phone, scanning I-71 for the little red wrench icons that meant accidents. Nothing. She tried to remember if he'd said anything about a late meeting, a drink with someone, anything, and came up empty. She'd barely seen him all day.

She topped off her wine glass and grabbed her phone.

The phone rang three times then went to voicemail. Her tongue traced her lips as she contemplated leaving a message. "Hi, you've reached Jon. Leave a message." She smiled. His phone voice always sounded so cheerful. She used to joke about how dorky he sounded. Tears began to pool in her eyes as she hung up, not leaving a message.

Things had gotten so bad these last few months. They'd spent so much time being angry at each other. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him smile, or he made her laugh. The tears were flowing freely now and she pressed her palms to her eyes.

This was all her fault. She was too focused on her career, on being taken seriously. She'd spent so much time seeing Jon as an adversary that she forgot to see him as a husband. Was he just tired of her not being there for him? That was probably the easiest outcome to come to terms with. She wouldn't be able to live with herself if something serious had happened.

Then there was a third option. Michael. Had Jon found out about them? That didn't seem possible. He would have said something. Jon wasn't the type of person who could hide something that big. Maybe the answer was simpler than that. Maybe Michael had stuck him on an assignment somewhere, a last second client trip to get him out of the picture. Her thighs rubbed together as she grabbed her phone.

She opened Michael's thread and started typing. Did you put Jon on something? He hasn't— She stopped. She would call him. She'd know if he was lying then.

He answered on the second ring. "That was fast."

"What?"

"Lunch wasn't even ten hours ago. You're already calling me for round two."

"Michael." Her hand was on the granite. "Jon's not home."

There was a silence and what sounded like ice rattling in a glass.

"And?"

"And he's not answering. He hasn't texted. He's been gone since this morning and I have no idea where he is."

"So he's probably out having a beer. Crying about how his wife wears the pants in the relationship."

Wendy's stomach tightened.

"Jon isn't the go out and have a beer type."

"Maybe he should be." A crunch on the other end of the phone. When he responded it was muffled, like his mouth was full. "Wendy. What do you want me to say? I haven't seen him."

"You're not fucking with him, are you? Did you give him a last minute assignment? A client meeting out of town?"

Michael laughed on the other end of the line, then broke into a coughing fit. He slurped his drink.

"I see what you're doing."

"What am I doing, Michael?"

"You're excited he's not there. You called me because you want me to come over."

Her mouth went dry, she squeezed her thighs shut.

"Absolutely not. I told you. It's never happening here."

There was another silence, filled by Michael's heavy breathing.

"Was there something else?"

"I... No."

"He'll be home, Wendy." If she didn't know any better she would have thought he sounded comforting. "He's too big of a pussy to not. Guys like Jon. They know their place."

"He's..." Lights swept into the window. Wendy's heart raced. "I think he's here. I should go."

The call ended without him saying goodbye.

Wendy set her wine glass down. She tried to steady her breathing. She was so thankful he was home.

The first thing Jon noticed was that the sun had started to set. He shielded his eyes, squinting as he flipped down the visor. He blinked several times, then turned to look at the phone sitting in the passenger seat, his gaze drifting to the burnt out motel sign just outside the window. He wasn't sure just how long he'd been there. He couldn't account for the last several hours at all. Everything just seemed to freeze after he saw them together.

He had four missed calls and half a dozen text messages. Most of them were from Wendy. His hand balled into a fist and he tried to count backward from ten. It was just after seven.

He'd spent the entire afternoon sitting in his car, and he couldn't recall anything he'd actually done. He remembered the moment Michael's hand closed on her ass and he remembered the SUV pulling out and he remembered nothing after that. He bit down so hard on his lip he tasted blood. He needed a plan, but he couldn't think straight. Every time he tried all he saw was Wendy walking out of the hotel room and the smug look on Michael's face. His hand was shaking as he turned the key in the ignition.

The drive home was a blur of streetlights and other vehicles. Wendy was going to be home when he got there. She was going to act like nothing was wrong, and ask where he was. Would he tell her? It seemed fruitless. Seventy percent of people who cheated lied about it afterward. He was so sick of being lied to. Of being talked down to, told he was projecting. His face burned hot as he pulled into the drive. He didn't have a plan.

His chest was tight as he walked to the door. The inside of his glasses were so fogged he had to take them off to wipe them. He stopped in front of the door and took a breath. Behind his lids he could still see her. Her hair matted to one side, her cheeks flushed, and Michael's hand... he opened the front door.

"Jon!"

She was on him before he fully got into the door. Her arms came around his neck and her face went into his shoulder.

"Where were you? I was worried sick. I called you, I thought you were— I didn't know what to think, I was about to call the police, where were you?"

Her grip around his neck tightened, but he didn't bother hugging her back. He looked around the room, feeling tears against his neck. His eyes fell on a picture of them on the end-table. They were at the casino, no doubt people watching. She was laughing at something he'd said. Her hand was against his chest, her head kicked back. When was the last time he saw her laugh like that?

"Sorry." His voice sounded robotic. He didn't recognize it. "Got tied up. Lost track of time."

"Tied up with what? Jon, you didn't answer—"

"I know."

He moved past her toward the bedroom. He could hear her behind him in the hallway, the soft pad of her bare feet on the carpet, the inhale before another question.

"Jon. Will you stop. Please. Did something happen? I didn't see you at the office. Where were you?"

He almost laughed.

He turned into the bedroom and went straight to the laundry basket beside the closet. He wasn't sure when he made the decision to do it, but for some fucked up reason, it seemed to be the only thing that made sense. Her clothes from today were sitting on top. It was almost like she wanted him to find them. He grabbed the black lace panties and stood up.

She'd walked over to stand in front of the bed. Her arms were crossed over her stomach, and her head was cocked like she was trying to figure out exactly what he was doing, which was fitting since he wasn't sure either. All he knew was that he couldn't think straight. He needed to slow his mind down, to stop seeing her and Michael every time he closed his eyes. Then he would be able to think logically about the next step.

Her arms uncrossed as she registered the panties in his hand. Her lips started to curve into a smile as her eyes sparkled. "Oh. So, this is why you rushed right past me when you walked in?" She stepped toward him, her fingers hooking around the panties in his hand. "And what type of fantasy are you conjuring up this time?"

Bile stuck to his throat. He'd never been particularly violent before, but his skin was on fire and he felt like he was going to burst. She stepped into his space, completely misreading his reaction as she ran her free hand up his chest and leaned in to kiss him.

His hand clutched her hair, tilting her head back and exposing her neck. His teeth pressed against the soft flesh.

"Ahhh." Her nails pushed into his chest and he spun her around so she was facing the bed.

He pushed her shoulders down, hard enough she had to catch herself on the mattress. She laughed once into the bedding, breathless, and arched her back without being told.

"I'm not sure what's gotten into you, but—"

He ripped at her sweat pants, tugging her panties down with them. Her hips swayed back and forth as she wiggled out of them. Jon could see the moisture between her legs, she was wet. The fire under his skin grew and with shaky hands he undid his belt.

When he'd gotten home he wasn't thinking about fucking her. In fact, it couldn't have been further from what he wanted. But now, seeing her like this. With her playful grin and glistening lips, it was all he could think about. Was it the jealousy? The anger?

She reached for him between her legs, the lace still in her hand. Her fingers closed around the base of him and the fabric went around him in the same motion. She pulled him forward, dragging the lace along his length, and grunted. The fabric was dry and soft and he could feel the seam of the waistband catch on the head of his cock as it came to life.

"Mmm." Her voice was muffled against the comforter. "What are you thinking about?"

He chewed on the inside of his cheek and slapped her hand away. All he could think about was her and how long she'd been lying to him. How long had she been fucking Michael behind his back? He lined himself up and slammed his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt.

"Ohhfffffuck." Wendy's face buried into the comforter, her hand still wrapped around her panties and massaging his balls. He stayed buried inside her. His fingers dug so tightly into her hipsthat it would probably bruise.

His first thought was how she felt. Was she looser? He was smart enough to know that wasn't how the female body worked, but knowing it didn't stop the thought. His thinking was more primal. He pulled out, and she whimpered causing him to once again wonder if that was a sound she made for Michael.

Her hips pushed back in search of him, the lace sliding across his shaft and drying it. He hooked an arm around her body and pulled her down sideways onto the mattress with him, both of them landing on their sides, his chest against her back. He pulled her top thigh up and forward and pushed back into her in the same motion.

"Oh fuck. Jon. Oh fuck."

Jon was glad he didn't have to look at her. Glad he couldn't see her eyes. Because if they were closed he'd know she was somewhere else, and if they were open he'd have to see whoever she'd become. He increased his pace, and Wendy met him with each thrust.

"Just like that, baby. Ohhhh. You feel so good."

He grabbed the back of her neck, pushing her forward. Jon grunted, bracing his foot against the baseboard for leverage. But the harder he fucked her, the more she seemed to enjoy it.

He drove into her harder, faster. When that didn't work he tightened his arm across her chest and pulled her back against him so they were locked together, his mouth at her ear. Her body was wet and tight and responding to him in a way it never had before.

He was picturing Michael fucking her now. His large gut pressing against her as she threw herself back onto him. The vile names he would call her as she moaned for more. This wasn't the Wendy he married. They never had sex like this. It was so impersonal so—

"Oh— fuck— I'm gonna cum. Jon don't stop—"

He bit her shoulder and felt her walls clamp around him.

"Ohhh fuck. Yesssss... YES..."

Her body locked around him, her hand flying up from his sack and wrapping around his neck. The panties were dropped between them. She turned her head, seeking out Jon's mouth, but he denied her, fucking her through her orgasm despite the desperate sounds she was making.

Usually when Wendy orgasmed she was done, her body too sensitive to continue. However, the harder he fucked her the more she pushed into him. Even as her orgasm began to fade, Wendy's enthusiasm only grew. Her fingers curled in his hair as she continued to milk his cock.

The orgasm snuck up on him. He was so focused on Wendy, he failed to notice his own body's reaction. He drove deep inside her and growled as the first pulse blasted through him. Wendy's body seemed to pulse around him, welcoming his release as she continued to rock her hips and run her fingers through his hair.

"Yes, yes, yesssss." She pushed into him until the final drop. Both of them were breathing heavily as his cock softened and slipped out of her. The soft spongy flesh dropping onto the lace fabric between them.

Wendy stayed on her side for a moment. Then she rolled toward him, breathing hard, her body covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

"Jesus." She was looking at him with her eyes half open. "What was that?"

He didn't answer.

His mind was finally starting to clear. He sat up and placed his glasses on the nightstand. He wasn't going to tell Wendy what he knew. Not yet. If he told her now she would deny it. She would cry, maybe. Promise to end it. And then she would get better at hiding it, and he'd be the idiot who showed his hand with nothing to back it up. At least this way he knew the score.

He pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor. Her body moved closer, seeking his warmth, but he didn't turn into her.

"Sorry." He laid back down, turning his back to her. "You wore me out. I just need some sleep."

She was quiet. He could feel her watching him in the dark, trying to piece together if he was actually tired or if something else was going on. Eventually, she seemed to believe him and laid down behind him.

It took her a while. Her breathing slowed and slowed and somewhere around fifteen minutes in it slid into the soft rasp that meant she was under.

Jon's eyes opened. He needed to talk to Jenny. How much did she really know? What was her angle? Why did she help him? The questions were coming fast and furious now as Jon's brain finally caught up. She'd sent him to that motel knowing what he would find. Was she a friend or did she just want to take down Wendy?

But there was someone else he needed to talk to first. A friend who always had Jon's best interests in mind. It was a conversation long overdue.

Jon groaned as Wendy slipped the dress over her head. She opted for a floral one today. She adjusted the neckline in the mirror, ensuring the top of her chest was on display. When she was satisfied, she grabbed a bottle of water from the desk and brought it to Jon. She sat on the edge of the bed and pressed her hand to his forehead like he was running a fever. Her palm was cool and soft and he closed his eyes and leaned into it.

"You never take sick days." She smoothed his hair back. "You sure you're okay?"

"Just run down. I think it finally caught up to me."

She kissed his cheek, lingering there. He could smell the coconut shampoo she only used in the shower. He kept his breathing even because if he opened his eyes he was going to say something he couldn't take back.

"Get some rest. I mean it. I'll make sure Jenny has what she needs for your projects."

"Thanks." He managed to manufacture a smile as she stood up and walked out the door. He listened for the front door to close before releasing a breath.

He lay there staring at the ceiling. She'd been gentle with him. Not the way she was when she wanted something or was deflecting from a fight, but the way she used to be before all of this. Before the promotion, before Michael, before everything shifted between them.

He sat up, reached for his glasses, and got dressed.

The neighborhood was east of the rail yard, about twenty minutes from Jon's house. The houses on this side of town were older, built before the fifties, but seemed to be maintained with fresh renovations. Jon pulled up to a two-story Victorian with a wide porch and an American flag.

He was more nervous than he'd anticipated. He hadn't called first, nor bothered to ensure anyone was going to be home. He wasn't even entirely sure what he was going to say. The doorbell sounded like a gong and Jon looked over his shoulder half expecting neighbors to come out to see what the commotion was all about. Then, the door opened.

Marcus looked thinner. His t-shirt hung off his shoulders and Jon realized he'd never seen him dressed down before. He looked at Jon for a long time without speaking. His eyes moved from Jon's face to the car at the curb and back.

"I was hoping this day would never come." He let out a breath. "For your sake."

He stepped aside, welcoming Jon in.

The kitchen was clean. A fruit bowl on the counter, a coffee maker, a stack of mail held down by a set of keys. Marcus pulled two beers from the refrigerator and set one in front of Jon without asking.

"I'm fine, I don't—" Marcus gave him a concerned look. Jon picked up the bottle. "Yeah. Thanks."

Neither Marcus nor Jon was a big drinker. The fact that he offered a beer to Jon, especially this early in the morning, meant that he knew this was going to be a hard conversation.

Marcus sat across from him and didn't say anything. He didn't ask why Jon was there. Or fill the space with small talk about the neighborhood or how long it'd been. He just wrapped both hands around his bottle and waited.

Jon took a drink. Then another. The beer was cold and he drank more than he meant to.

"I saw her." He stared at the label on the bottle. "Yesterday. Wendy. She was with Michael coming out of a motel."

"I'm sorry, Jon."

The kitchen was quiet. A lawnmower droned somewhere down the block. The refrigerator hummed. Jon's throat locked up and his vision blurred and he pulled his glasses off because they were suddenly useless. He set the bottle down because his hands had stopped working. He pressed the heel of his palm against his eye and tried to breathe through it.

Marcus didn't move or say anything. He just sat there and let Jon have it. It lasted maybe thirty seconds. Jon wiped his face, put his glasses back on, and picked up the beer. He took a long pull. The bottle was almost empty. He didn't remember drinking that much.

"I should have called." His voice was raw. "After the email. After what they said about you and Ava. I knew something wasn't right and I..." He shook his head. "I let them tell me what to believe."

Marcus turned the bottle in his hands. "You trusted your wife. I can't fault you for that."

"I—"

"I don't need your apology, Jon. I made peace with what happened a while ago." He took a drink, letting out a breath through his nose. "I got a new job, better benefits. Denise and I are... we're good now." He set the bottle down. "What I haven't made peace with is the part where I should have told you."

Jon looked up.

"I saw what was happening with Wendy and Michael. Ava and I spent so much time documenting things. She wanted to take it to Brian, but I insisted it wasn't enough." He rubbed the back of his neck. "When she told me what she saw..."

Jon cocked his head. He wasn't sure what Marcus was referring to. Then he remembered the entire conversation with Wendy. She was trying to tell him something that day. She was shaking and scared. He replayed the conversation in his head, suddenly wishing he had another beer. Jon had assumed Wendy saw Marcus and Ava. He'd put the words in her mouth.

"Jon, you okay?"

He nodded.

"Anyway, that's not the part that eats at me." He held Jon's gaze. "I should have come to you. Instead of trying to do things by the book I should have reached out to you instead of letting you get blindsided. If I'd sat you down and just told you what I was seeing, maybe something could have been different before it got this far."

The lawnmower outside cut off. The silence pressed in around them.

"I just... I don't know what to do."

Marcus took a drink of his beer, his eyes never leaving Jon. "How would you like to come work for me? Our current director is drowning. We could use someone like you."

Jon's mouth opened, then closed. He wasn't expecting a job offer. He wasn't sure what he was expecting really, but that wasn't it. He took a second to consider the offer. It was everything he'd worked for, offered by someone he trusted.

"I... I can't."

Marcus nodded, his gaze not changing. "Then why are you here, Jon?"

His stomach flipped. "I need your help."

"No. I lost my job because of him." Marcus leaned back in his chair. "I nearly lost Denise. Seventeen years together and it came down to whether she believed me or what they put in that email."

Jon opened his mouth to respond, but Marcus pushed on, his voice rising.

"It's time to move on, Jon. It's as simple as that."

Jon's face suddenly felt hot. His hand tightened around the bottle.

"It's not simple. He's been doing this for years. Lisa. Others. He—"

"I know what he's done."

"Then how can you sit there and—"

"Because he won!" Marcus slammed his hand on the table and Jon's empty bottle fell over. "You think you're the only one who's tried? Ava and I talked to Lisa. We reached out to others. Hell, even when we were fired and signed NDAs, Ava still..."

He closed his eyes and took a breath.

"Still what?" Jon asked, softly, reaching down and picking up the empty bottle.

"She took it hard." He ran his hand across his face. "She felt so betrayed by Wendy and then she got the divorce paperwork and she just spiraled." He opened his eyes and Jon saw the glassy haze. "She has somebody on the inside, trying to collect information. She reached out to me, asked me to help." He shook his head slowly. "I told her no. She's hurting. Bad. And hurt people don't run investigations, they run revenge operations. Nothing good was going to come from it."

Jon's hand stilled on the bottle. He thought about Jenny. About the post-it note. She was working with Ava, but why?

"I told Ava the same thing I'm going to tell you." Marcus leaned forward, his forearms on the table. "Whatever you find out, and I think you already know most of it, she chose this."

Jon's jaw clenched.

"She saw what was in front of her. She had every exit, Jon. Every off-ramp. And she walked past all of them." Marcus paused. "You'll burn a year trying to figure out how Michael pulled it off. After everything that happened with Olivia you don't—"

"That's exactly why I have to do this." He took off his glasses. "Wendy knew what happened to me after Olivia. I know she's not innocent on this. I know our relationship is over. But he's changed her. Whatever he did to her, to Lisa. Someone needs to find a way to put an end to the cycle."

Marcus didn't flinch. "There is no smoking gun, Jon. Wendy knew what she was getting into. She made her choices with her eyes open." He paused again. "That doesn't make Michael any less of what he is. But your wife is guiltier than you want her to be right now."

Jon stared at the empty bottle in his hands. He thought about last night. The way she arched into him. He thought about the motel parking lot and Michael's hand on her ass and how she didn't push it away. He thought about the kitchen this morning, her cool palm on his forehead. He loved her. He hated her. He didn't know which one was winning.

"What does taking him down get you?" Marcus asked. "You think Wendy stops being the woman who did this if Michael's gone?"

"I don't know."

"Have you thought about what this costs you?"

Jon didn't answer. He hadn't. He was still stuck on the part where his wife was fucking someone else and the whole world seemed to know except him.

"I just need to know what really happened." His voice was barely above a whisper. "All of it. I can't go back to not knowing."

Marcus studied him for a while. Then he stood and collected both bottles and set them by the sink.

"Then I can't help you," he said, turning back toward Jon. "But if you ever change your mind, my door's open. I'm serious about the job, too. You think about it."

They walked to the front door. Marcus opened it and sunlight cut across the entryway. They didn't shake hands.

"Take care of yourself, Jon."

Jon nodded and walked to his car. He dropped into the driver's seat and sat there for a minute with his hands on the wheel. His phone was in the cupholder where he'd left it. A text from Dr. Carson's office sat on the lock screen, confirming his Thursday appointment.

He picked up the phone and called.

"New perspectives, this is Rachel."

"Hi, this is Jon Taylor. I need to cancel my Thursday appointment."

"Of course. Would you like to reschedule for the following week?"

"No." He stared through the windshield at Marcus's trimmed hedges. "I'm not rescheduling. I'd like to cancel all of them."

There was a pause on the other end. "Mr. Taylor, Dr. Carson usually prefers to discuss—"

"Thanks, Rachel."

He ended the call before she could respond. He sat there for another minute. Marcus was right, Wendy wasn't innocent in any of this. But Michael was the one who turned her into whatever she was now. He wasn't going to let it happen to someone else.

As usual, Wendy was the first one in the office. She used the time to get projections ready for Fireball. Despite Michael injecting himself into the project, she wanted to prove she could do it on her own. She worked until she heard the elevator doors open and the first group of people walk into The Buckeye Building. After refilling her coffee, she shut her door and got back to work. By ten she'd had all the preliminary numbers completed.

It was just after eleven when she made her way to Michael's office. He wanted to see the projections and plan the rollout. Her stomach fluttered as she neared his door. She blamed it on the nerves. She slowed just outside of Michael's door and pulled her phone from her purse.

Hope you're getting some sleep. Love you.

She waited a second after it delivered to see if he would respond. When he didn't, she assumed he had fallen back asleep and slipped the phone back into her bag. She released a breath then knocked on the door before peeking her head inside.

Michael was at his desk with a sub half-unwrapped in front of him. Italian, by the look of it. Oil seeped into the paper, a curl of red onion had fallen onto his desk, but he didn't seem to notice. He glanced up, his mouth full of meat and bread, and gestured at a chair he'd pulled around to his side of the desk.

"Do you have the projections?" he asked, a glob of mustard on his chin.

"Of course." She crossed her legs. "Three of the seven tier-three markets are already in. I sent over the preliminary creative this morning. Their CMO seemed excited."

Michael took another bite. Some of the oil caught his lip and he wiped it with the back of his hand.

"Good." He swallowed. "I want Trevor's book reassigned before end of day. He's out for a couple of weeks and I don't want any of his clients calling. Sit down with the team after lunch and—"

"Already done." A smile crept onto her face as Michael stopped chewing to look at her. "I sent it out at eight. Mark's got the two pharma accounts, Diane's covering the regional bank, and I'm holding the Henderson group myself until we figure out where it actually fits. I called each client personally this morning. They've all been told Trevor's out on medical leave and they have a direct line to me if anything urgent comes up."

Michael set the sub down, wiping his hands on his pants. Then he reached across and his hand found her thigh.

She cast her eyes down, fighting the urge to bite her lip. She could already feel the warmth start to build.

"Look at you," he said. "I knew you were the right person for the job."

The heat moved up her neck. She hated how much she needed to hear that.

"I'm learning."

"You certainly are." His palm slid up her leg a half an inch and Wendy's legs opened. He grinned, licking his lips before turning his attention back to the sub. "Henderson's a pain in the ass. You sure you want him calling you directly?"

"I can manage men like Henderson."

"I'm sure you can." He took another bite, watching her over the bread. "I talked to Jack this morning."

The heat that was already building built to an inferno. Her stomach did a flip. She knew this was coming. The second Michael learned about the rollout, she knew he was going to try to take over. Hell, he'd practically told her yesterday when she... her stomach clenched.

"He wants to see it all. Full campaign presentation, projected sales figures by region, media strategy for the first sixty days." Michael leaned back in his chair, his finger traced the outline of her panties and she stifled a moan. "He's excited. His words, not mine."

"When?"

"Thursday. Friday if it runs long." He picked up his water and took a drink. "I already booked it."

Wendy's legs snapped shut and she sat up straighter. "You're... you're coming too? Thursday?"

"It's a national rollout, Wendy. Brian's going to want a VP in the room."

She looked at him. The words she wanted to say were right on the tip of her tongue. I'm the one that made this deal happen. I got Jack to agree to the rollout. I've been cultivating the relationship.

She didn't say it. How could she? Yesterday she'd told Michael she was his. She'd admitted that he was the reason she was successful. She crossed her legs. That he got every inch of her. And the most fucked up thing of all was that she meant it.

"He's already booked dinner for us on Thursday." He took another bite of the sub as oil dripped onto his hand. "Although, I don't really think it was the dinner he was excited about. If I were to guess. It's what he's expecting after."

Wendy's jaw fell open. She watched as he slipped his fingers into his mouth, sucking off the juice that had spilled. He'd said it so casually.

"I... um... what?"

Michael smirked, turning to look at her fully. "You made a promise, Wendy. Men like Jack take those very seriously." His eyes fell to her chest. "We don't want to disappoint our largest client. Do we?"

Wendy's face was red. Her mouth went dry. "I just thought... I... It was just supposed to be the two of us."

Michael picked up a napkin, wiping his mouth. "Well." He turned and smiled at her. "I like to ensure my things get treated properly." His smile grew. "And you're mine. Right, Wendy?"

Wendy stared at him. He didn't actually expect her to say yes, did he? Did he?

Liquid fire was flowing through her veins. Her nipples tightened against the fabric of her bra. She could feel her pulse in her throat, in her wrists, between her legs. The conference table came back to her in a flash. Jack's hand under the dress, the way she'd told him to wait, the way she'd controlled him. But then, Michael was there too. His large cock swaying between his legs as he pushed her onto the conference table. "I'm going to breed you."

"Ri... right."

It came out so small she wasn't sure she'd actually said it. She could feel the dampness of her panties, a small part of her brain wishing Michael would take her right there.

Michael's smile grew. "Good girl." He held her eyes for another second. Long enough to make sure she'd heard him. Then he crumbled up the sub wrapper and tossed it in the trash.

"Loyalty deck by tomorrow night," he said, turning toward his computer.

She nodded. He wasn't looking at her.

"That's all, Wendy."

She stood. Her legs felt unsteady and she made sure they didn't show it. She could still feel the ghost of his palm on her thigh. Her core ached with need as she looked back at him, half hoping he would tell her to come back. When he didn't she slipped out the door.

The second the door closed behind her, she leaned against it for support. The hallway seemed brighter than normal, and she closed her eyes trying to collect herself. When her breathing was finally under control, she pulled out her phone. Still nothing from Jon.

How was she going to explain to him that she was leaving again for New Orleans? And what exactly did Michael have planned?