Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
As I finished typing the last sentence, I realized my hands were trembling. I stared at the screen, my heart pounding, as I tried to process what I had just written. The words seemed to blur before my eyes, a mix of business strategy and barely concealed eroticism.
I had poured everything into this proposal—my marketing expertise, my analysis of the data, and the part of me I still, in my conscious mind, refused to acknowledge even existed. Or, if it did exist, it represented a private little insanity.
A secret garden? I felt my cheeks heat instantly to scalding.
Geniuses were all crazy, right? Not to pretend I was a genius, but maybe I could use that crazy part of me to do smart stuff?
Smart? Or…
The vivid descriptions of Georgette’s punishment, the careful examination of the emotional dynamics at play—it all felt intensely personal in a way I hadn’t anticipated, and it made the inside of my head feel like it would push its darkest recesses out into the world if I thought too hard.
My cheeks burned as I scrolled back over the report and saw specific phrases I’d typed, doing my best not to read them as I put them on the screen. The authentic reactions of the couple… the palpable chemistry between them… Had I really written those words about a scene of domestic discipline and anal sex?
Not me me, though, right? My little bit of crazy, which is different.
I shook my head, trying to clear it. I could make this just about work, I told myself firmly. In the real world, the one where I actually lived, what I had put on that screen was just a business proposal. The fact that my thighs were pressed tightly together, that I could feel the dampness in my panties—that represented a simple physiological response. It didn’t mean anything.
Okay, I’m not actually that stupid. There’s nothing that doesn’t mean anything. Gibbon… Carlyle… Darwin, for God’s sake: they would all tell me that. But…
But I get to decide what it means—and what I’m going to do with it.
I needed to get my mind off this. To think about something else—anything else. Put this proposal on track toward whatever future it might have, and move on to learning the business at a more practical level. With slightly shaky fingers, I opened my email and wrote a message to Mandy.
Hi, Mandy,
I was hoping to get some time on Stuart’s calendar to discuss a project I’ve been working on. Could you please let me know his availability for the next few days?
Thanks,
Melissa
I hit send, then leaned back in my chair, taking deep breaths. There. That was normal. Professional. I just needed to focus on next steps, on moving this proposal forward through proper channels.
An hour passed, then two. No response from Mandy. I distracted myself by studying the org chart and the strategic plan for the next fiscal year, but I kept finding my eyes drawn back to my open email client. Each time I glanced at it, I got a little more tense at the lack of response from Mandy.
By late afternoon, I couldn’t take it anymore. I told myself I needed to talk to Stuart, to get his input on this project before I lost my nerve entirely. I decided to go find Mandy in person and see if I could get on Stuart’s calendar.
I made my way through the maze of cubicles to Mandy’s desk. As I approached, I saw her leaning back in her chair, one hand holding her phone to her ear while the other carefully applied bright red polish to her fingernails.
“…and then I told him, if he thinks I’m going to put up with that kind of behavior, he’s got another think coming,” Mandy was saying, her tone light and gossipy. She looked up as I approached, giving me an irritated glance.
I stood there awkwardly for a moment, not wanting to interrupt. Mandy raised an eyebrow at me, then sighed dramatically.
“Listen, Jen, I’ve got to go. Some work thing. I’ll call you back later.” She hung up the phone and looked at me, her eyebrows raised.
For a long moment, my mind went completely blank. Somewhere, distantly, I understood that the utter absence of conscious thought came from the sheer complexity of my reaction to Mandy’s failure even to reply to my email when she so obviously had nothing more important to do. All I could truly do, though, in the moment, was stare at the apparently anxiety-free expression on Mandy’s pretty face.
Blood rushed into my cheeks. Mandy’s brows rose even higher, and I felt absolutely certain that she could see my embarrassment in my face. Finally, the words came, though they sounded so much weaker than I wanted them to.
“Did you…” I started. I realized I was shaking with suppressed rage.