The clock ticked past 7:00 p.m.
Two hours past her usual clock-out.
Melinda sat stiffly at the edge of her seat, stylus in hand, though her tablet had gone dim ten minutes ago.
Across the table, Brandi and Susie were still at it—locked in a steady, charged rhythm of legal jargon, investment strategies, and challenges disguised as negotiations. A million here, a million there. Someone muttered brillion at one point, and Melinda briefly wondered if anyone in the room even knew what that amount looked like outside of fantasy.
It had started structured enough: clear proposals, strategic pitches. Then, like most high-stake meetings she had sat through but never truly belonged in, it unraveled into a verbal power play.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
Now the conversation had devolved into debates about regulatory frameworks, tax loopholes, surveillance, and the ever-looming idea of insider trading. Melinda had stopped following the conversation somewhere around the thirty-minute mark, where even pretending to take notes had become a mere fad.
Instead, her focus had narrowed to one thing.
Brandi.
How she sat—posture ready, but never stiff. How she spoke—cool, confident, every sentence carved from certainty. There was something hypnotic about the way she turned her head just enough to cut a challenge, or raised a brow with expert timing, or smiled only when it served her.
She was watching a woman who knew how much power she carried.
Melinda had just begun to feel the blush rising again—her stomach flipping in that same stubborn rhythm—when Brandi's gaze flicked over. Not quite sudden, not quite casual. Just aware. Their eyes caught. Locked. And then, just as quickly, Brandi turned away, locking onto Susie with renewed focus.
Melinda, flustered, looked down—only to remember Susie.
She had nearly forgotten the touch. The slow, deliberate graze of Susie's heel up and down her calf beneath the glass table. A rhythm too smooth, too practiced being innocent. It hadn't stopped since the meeting began. If anything, it had grown bolder with each exchange between her and Brandi.
Higher. Then lower. Up again. Like punctuation in a conversation Melinda wasn't invited to speak in.
She tried not to react.
She didn't shift. Didn't flinch.
But her grip on the stylus had tightened, and she was sure that if either woman truly looked at her now, they'd see everything written across her flushed face.
Brandi's voice cut through again, sharp and amused. "You keep citing internal caps, Susie. But let's not pretend you haven't made an exception when the figure was right—and the name on the checkbook was charming enough."
Melinda watched the smile tighten on Susie's lips. Controlled. Calculated. Not flinching, but not pleased.
"You speak like a woman who already expects the rules to bend for her," Susie said, smooth as silk and equally sharp. "I don't do business with assumptions."
"Not assumptions," Brandi said. Her eyes lingered on Susie, then—briefly—on Melinda again. "Just confidence."
Melinda's heart thudded once, twice, hard against her ribs. She swore her legs tensed at the same time Susie's heel slide just a little higher.
It was maddening.
Melinda wasn't sure which one of them she was trying harder not to look at.
Brandi—elegant and composed, like she could own the floor with her silence. Or Susie—watchful, controlling, the kind of woman who'd touch you while staring someone else down, as if to say this is mine.
And yet, neither had said a single word directly about her.
Brandi glanced at her watch, a sleek gold piece that caught the low light of the room just enough to be noticed. She hummed lightly, as if the time had confirmed something she'd already suspected.
"Well," she began, her voice honeyed and bright, "before we lose track of the hour, I'd be remiss not to redirect some attention to the true highlight of this meeting." Her gaze slid to Melinda—unapologetic, deliberate. "You have a stunningly competent assistant, Susie. Charming. Like a living piece of art."
Melinda stiffened.
Brandi let the silence stretch, savoring the effect before adding, "I can only assume you're lucky to have her."
Susie's expression didn't shift immediately, but the change was there. Her smile sharpened, no longer performative but dangerous.
"I am," she replied coolly.
"She's... exceptional. Loyal. Responsive. She follows direction perfectly, even on her worst days. A rare find."
Melinda's breath caught. Her stomach twisted. The heel under the table had stilled. She shifted in her seat, hand curling loosely around her stylus, heart fluttering wildly.
Brandi tilted her head, eyes never leaving Melinda. "I'd love to know what you're paid hourly," she said with an intoxicating little smile, "and if you ever wanted... more." Her tone dipped on that last word, the air between them suddenly charged.
Melinda blinked, lips parting before her mind caught up. "I—thank you, that's—" she fumbled, "I mean, I could tell you, if you're asking—?"
Susie's voice cut in, sudden and razor-edged. "I think this meeting has gone on long enough."
Brandi finally turned to her, unbothered, buttoning her jacket with practiced ease. "I suppose I'll see you again tomorrow, then," she said with a nod, through her eyes didn't meet Susie's.
Instead, she looked at Melinda—deep and unflinching—and winked. " I do hope we can work out an arrangement soon..." she spoke into the air, neither for Susie nor Melinda for sure, Then she was gone.
Melinda stood quickly, heart pounding, her body trying to follow before her brain gave it the order. But Susie's voice stopped her mid-stride.
"Would you leave me?"
It hit her spine first.
She froze.
Leave her? What did she mean—emotionally? Professionally? Both?
Three scenarios surfaced, all too quickly:
Her boss believed they'd been circling each other in some long, unspoken lust.
Susie suspected she might actually take a job with Brandi.
Or worse... her boss was about to make her the center of a textbook HR disaster.
Melinda turned slowly, her voice barely a whisper. "What do you mean?"
"In a professional sense," Susie clarified, smooth again. "If a better job came along. Would you leave?"
Melinda exhaled, relief mixing with confusion. "Yes," she said honestly.
"If it meant growth, more security, better pay. That's not disloyalty—it's smart." Susie stood now, taking one step, then another toward her. "Of course," she murmured. "Makes perfect sense."
She stopped just in front of her. Then she reached out and kissed her. I wasn't hesitant. It wasn't soft.
Melinda gasped against her mouth, but didn't pull away. She melted—just for a moment. Her tablet slipped from her hand and clattered softly to the floor.
Her hands grasped at Susie's arms, grounding herself, anchoring—but then panic flooded her chest.
She pulled back.
"Oh God," she breathed, crouching quickly to retrieve her tablet. Her hands were shaking. Her face burned.
When she looked up, she hadn't meant to—but there was Susie, looking down at her.
Cool. Unmoving. Melinda stumbled to her feet and fled the room, Susie's gaze burned deep behind her eyes.
—
Melinda barely registered the lobby as she passed through it—her heels clicking fast against the marble, her breath loud in her ears. She didn't stop until the heavy door of the office building slammed shut behind her, sealing whatever had just happened inside.
Outside, night had begun to settle, and the air brushed against her flushed skin like ice. She made a straight line to her car, fumbling with the keys, and all but threw herself into the driver's seat. The door slammed closed. Silence.
Her hands were trembling.
Her face was on fire.
She gripped the wheel with both hands, but the shakes didn't stop. Her breathing was too fast, too shallow, like her body hadn't caught up to her brain—or maybe the other way around.
What the hell just happened?
She stared out the windshield, eyes unfocused, watching the empty parking lot as if it might answer her. Her thoughts began looping from panic to confusion to... that kiss.
It wasn't like she hadn't enjoyed it.
That was the problem.
It had been sudden. Shocking. But the warmth of it, the control in it, the way her body had responded without a second thought—Melinda groaned softly and dropped her head back against the seat.
"I am not... that person," she muttered aloud, trying to convince herself, maybe even the world if it would listen.
Office romance? With her boss? With Susie?
She bit hard on her lip and instantly regretted it, but the sting helped cut through the fog. Susie's name danced across her thoughts again and brought with it that same, involuntary heat. Arousal curled low in her stomach, traitorous.
"Goddammit," she hissed, one hand flying up to cover her mouth as if that might muffle the sounds and the thoughts. She turned her head, leaning it against the driver's side window, cool glass against hot skin. Her breath fogged the corner.
And there she was again—Susie, in her mind's eye. Looking down on her. Confidence. Smug. like she knew things that Melinda only hoped to know. Melinda pressed her other hand down between her legs without thinking. Not for pleasure. For pressure. To will it all away.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Get it together.
She drew in a long, shaking breath, then another, then reached up to start the ignition. The engine hummed softly beneath her as she pulled out of the lot and onto the road, headlights casting shadows she couldn't quite escape.
She didn't know if she was calling HR tomorrow... or pretending none of it happened.
All she knew was that she needed to get home—before she did something stupid.
—
"Johnathan, I told you—I considered the invite before, but I'm simply not interested," Brandi said flatly, plucking a stray thread from her slacks like it offended her.
On the other end, the man she'd come to loathe over years of half-baked pitches and oily charm sputtered with persistence.
"Brandi, listen—you're literally a billionaire ducking behind a million-dollar label and the IRS is real curious about that, by the way—"
"Is that supposed to threaten me?"
"God no," he laughed, thin and fake. "It's supposed to motivate you. You're the one donor at these little showcases who can actually shell out the big bucks. These are win-win, you get a night with a pretty chick, the chick gets her date, and I get the money, remember?"
She rolled her eyes, leaning back in the driver's seat. "I understand how deeply underqualified most of the men at your little auctions are. That's not my problem. That's your problem."
"What if I said I've found someone," he cut in, voice suddenly sure, "who's exactly what you're looking for?"
Brandi stilled. Her interest sparked, but she kept her tone neutral. "Seriously?"
"Dead serious. First girl up. She checks every box, and trust me, Brandi..." His voice dipped, that sleazy hush that always preceded something wildly unethical. "You'll want her. Even if it's just for the night."
Brandi narrowed her eyes, jaw tight. "You better not be screwing with me, Johnathan. If I show up and anything about this is off—if the product, the process, the vibe is wrong—you'll know I'm unhappy."
A silence passed between them. Not awkward. Heavy.
"And you know I don't complain over the phone."
There was a gulp. Then, "You have my word. She'll be perfect."
She hung up before he could say anything else, tossing the phone into the cupholder like it offended her. Her fingers pinched the bridge of her nose as she exhaled, long and slow.
Perfect.
She scoffed softly to herself.
Only one person had been close to perfect lately—and she wasn't some auction girl.
She closed her eyes, and like a curse, Melinda appeared. That flushed, flustered face. That professionalism masking is needed. Control. Intrigue.
And then there was Susie.
Possessive. Dismissive. Jealous, even—though she played it cool. Susie didn't want her around Melinda, and that made everything ten times more interesting. Brandi didn't just want Melinda now. She needed her.
Both for her plans... and something else.
She sighed, turned the ignition, and began to pull out of the garage. A car suddenly cut across her path, speeding ahead. She braked sharply.
"What the—"
But her voice died when she recognized the figure behind the wheel.
Melinda.
She looked... shaken. Pale. Mouth set in a hard line. Brandi's brows furrowed, heart doing an unexpected thump. Was she okay? What happened in that office after Brandi left?
Still unsettled, she drove back to her place—a lavish, modern mini-mansion carved into a quiet corner of the city. She walked in and immediately collapsed onto her couch, tugging her heels off with a groan.
But her thoughts stayed on Melinda. She couldn't shake it. The image of her, upset. She shouldn't care so much about someone she'd merely flirted with, but the more she tried to push her suspicion aside, the more she wanted answers.
"Dammit," Brandi muttered, reaching for her phone. Her thumb hovered, then pressed.
The line rang once before Jonathan answered.
"Boss?"
"I want a full profile on someone who works at Susie's company, her assistant if I remember?" she said, voice clipped.
A beat. "Name?"
"I don't know her last name," Brandi said, irritated. "Melinda... You'll figure it out."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Oh—and I want the security footage from the offices tonight. Susie's floor. Everything." she said as she stood and walked into the kitchen.
He didn't hesitate. "Of course."
She hung up, tossed her phone on the counter, and made her way into the kitchen. She reached for a cut-crystal bottle of brandy—actual brandy, not a namesake cheap bottle—and poured herself a drink. The burn in her throat barely registered.
Ding.
Her phone lit up on the marble. A message from Jonathan. Just a link.
She tapped it and a secure stream opened. Office footage, high resolution. Brandi scrolled with careful precision, eyes scanning each clip until she found the one—Susie's office. Brandi enters. Brandi leaves.
She kept watching.
Melinda stayed behind.
Then—Susie approached her. Said something. Stepped closer.
Brandi leaned forward, the screen glowing cold light against her face.
And then Susie kissed her. Not soft. Not tentative. Melinda kissed back.
And then she ran.
Brandi's jaw clenched, the jealousy raw and alive, clawing at her chest. Her hand tightened around her glass.
She hadn't felt this kind of rage in years.
—
Melinda sat curled on her couch in her tiny, half-lived-in apartment. The place smelled faintly of an old candle shed lit too many times and never replaced. She scrolled aimlessly through an online boutique's endless carousel of dresses she'd never wear and shoes she couldn't justify.
She had friends once—real, close friends. But adulthood has a cruel expiration date on spontaneity, or as susie often put it youth. Once the real job starts, so do the long hours, the early mornings, and the quiet, tired nights spent window shopping online to trick your brain into feeling something.
Still... the pay was good. Very good.
All she had to do was show up, look pleasant, and stay late when Susie asked. It wasn't soul-crushing. But it wasn't living either.
She was about to click out of her shopping tab when a pop-up stole her attention:
"WANT TO WIN A NIGHT WITH A MILLIONAIRE? APPLY NOW—NO STRINGS ATTACHED."
She snorted and clicked the little X. Typical spam.
The tab reloaded. The ad popped up again.
She groaned. "Persistent?"
Her finger hovered over it again. She could ignore it. She should. But her curiosity caught up to her boredom, and her boredom wrestled down her logic.
"...Screw it."
She typed in her spam email and the office line she never answered anyway. Easy enough. But the next screen wasn't what she expected.
"Please complete your personal profile."
It wanted height. Weight. Hair type. Education level. Skills. Occupation. Preferences. It was extensive... disturbingly so.
She rolled her eyes. "Y'all really want the full menu, huh?"
She lied on most of it. Gave herself an extra inch, knocked five off her weight, upgraded her education from "almost-finished" to "complete." Everything else? Just vague enough but true, hell if I was asking about love she might as well be honest.
She hit submit. The screen blinked. She closed the tab, shut her laptop, and stretched with a groan.
Total scam. Probably phishing for a mailing list.
She tossed her phone on the charger beside her bed. Just as her head hit the pillow, it buzzed.
"Congratulations, Melinda Carter! You've been selected as one of our FINAL TEN!"
She scoffed. "Yeah, okay."
She silenced her phone, rolled over, and was out cold.
—
The bass thumped through the walls like a second heartbeat. The scent of sweat, hours of sunscreen, and smoke drifted lazily through the air as Jonathan strolled shirtless through his open-concept living room. He wore nothing but a black speedo and a gold chain that bounced against his chest with each step.
People were everywhere—half-dressed, undressed, falling into pools of liquor or water or each other.
He laughed as one guy cannonballs into the pool fully clothed, shaking his head as he dodged a stray champagne cork and slapped the ass of a girl in a barely-there bikini. She shrieked and grinned before vanishing into the smoke machine fog.
Jonathan ducked into the kitchen, grabbed a blunt from beside a tray that definitely wasn't sugar, and slid onto the barstool in front of his laptop. He took a long pull, eyes narrowing at the spreadsheet glowing back at him.
Female applicants. Pages and pages of them. Bios. Photos. Notes. Rankings. Preferences.
He strolled lazily through, pausing only when a new tab blinked to life.
New Entry: Melinda Carter.
"Melinda, I think I already know a little about you..." he murmured aloud, clicking her name.
The profile opened. His grin widened as he read her answers. "Smart girl," he muttered, seeing all the little white lies she'd slipped in—the fluffed resume, the subtle vagueness. "Knows how to protect herself." he said as he read on to the actual true things she'd put down
He scrolled to the most important section:
Occupation: Assistant to Susie Bowden.
His brows lifted. "Well now... I think you and Brandi already know one another"
He clicked open another tab: Brandi's personal search profile—everything she'd told him she wanted in a woman. Physically. Professionally. Emotionally.
Melinda hit every mark.
Jonathan leaned back, let out a whoop, and clapped his hands once.
"Oh, baby, I just saved my balls!"
He dragged Melinda's profile into the Finalist folder, bumping another woman out of the top ten without a second thought.
With a satisfied nod, he closed the laptop, shoved the blunt between his lips, and shouted into the party, "I'M BACK IN THE GAME!"
Someone cheered.
He stood, arms raised in victory, and walked back into the crowd, the screen behind him still pulsing with the name: Melinda Carter top donor's pick...
The desk phone rang just as Melinda was mid-scroll through her inbox. She reached for it lazily, expecting another angry old rich guy wondering how to 'unbuy stock'.
"Westward Division of Hillsdale Investing, this is Melinda speaking."
A man's voice burst through the receiver, booming with barely-contained excitement.
"CONGRATULATIONS, Miss Carter! You've officially WON a one-on-one night with one of the most eligible millionaires in the country!"
Melinda blinked. "I—what-?"
But the voice didn't stop.
"We'll have a car for you at 7:45 sharp, tomorrow night—cocktail attire, please—and dinner reservations under your name at Rouge Luxe! Your selected match has been notified and is very exciting! If there's any conflict—oh, wait, no time for conflicts! Welcome to the FINAL TEN—details in your confirmation packet! Good luck and enjoy!"
Click.
The line went dead.