Chapter Text
My father always used to say, "The best way to learn a job is to spend a lot of time watching other people do it. "To get to the top of the ladder, you have to start at the bottom, he added. Become the one the CEO can't live without. Her right right-hand woman. Make sure you please them, and they'll be all over you the second you graduate. the second you graduate.So I became irreplaceable. And, without a doubt, the right hand. But in this case, I'm the right-hand man who, most of the time, has to refrain from slapping the director in the face. face.
My boss, Engfa Waraha. Beautiful bitch.
My stomach's in knots just thinking about it: 1m70, beautiful, evil incarnate. The smelliest, most self-righteous woman I've ever met. I heard all the secretarial gossip about her legendary antics. Just because she's beautiful? My father also used to say, "You'll soon realize that when you look at someone, you only see half of them."
I've had my fill of insufferable people over the last few years, even sleeping with a few of them between high school and university whether male or female - that's where I confirmed my attraction to both sexes.
But this woman surpasses them all - by far!
- Ah! There you are, Miss Austin!
Madame Engfa stands in the doorway of my office, which serves as a vestibule to hers. Her voice is all sugar and honey, with something that sounds wrong - honey that's too hard, impossible to spread. And pebbles instead of sugar.
I nod with a grimace. After spilling water on my phone, dropping my earrings in the sink, getting hit by a car on the freeway and having to wait for the police to arrive to find out what everyone else already knew - that it was the other guy who was at fault - the last thing I needed this morning was a sharp remark from my boss.
Unfortunately, Miss Engfa doesn't know any other tone.
I give her a light "Good morning, Miss Engfa!", hoping she'll give me her usual curt nod in return.
But when I try to slip away to reach my desk, she :
- Yes? Good...morning, Miss Austin... What time is it in your little world?
I stop and meet her icy gaze. She's slightly shorter than me by three centimeters. Before working with her, I'd never felt so small because of her dominant aura and piercing gaze. I've been with Waraha Media Group for six years. And since her return to the family business nine months ago, I've taken to wearing medium heels, all to dodge her gaze. His brown eyes that shine with a suspicious glint every time.
- I've had a rather disastrous start to the day... It won't happen again, I reply, reassured - my voice hasn't shaken.
I've never been late, never. But it's just like him to make a fuss the first time it happens! After a few minutes, I finally managed to sneak into my office, put my bag and coat away in a cupboard and switched on the computer. Just like that - as if she wasn't standing at the door, scrutinizing my every move.
- "A disastrous start to the day"... Yes, that's a pretty accurate description of what I've had to deal with in your absence. I personally phoned Heidi Jensen to make her forget that she didn't get the contracts signed at the appointed time, i.e. 9 o'clock. I personally had to call Nattawin Wattanagitiphat to tell him that we were continuing with the project as planned.
In short, I did your work and mine this morning. Surely, even with "a disastrous start to the day", you can manage to be here at 8 o'clock? Some of us get up and start work before lunchtime**.
I glance at her. She hasn't moved and is glaring at me, furious, her arms crossed over her chest. Fuck, all this fuss for an hour's delay! I blink, deliberately, so as not to seem to notice that her fitted black jacket hugs her athletic shoulders despite her slim build. I'd made the fatal mistake of dropping by the hotel gym during a convention, the first month we'd worked together. I'd found her in a sports bra and tight, sweaty leggings next to the treadmill.
Any model would kill to have her face and long hair, the most incredible I'd ever seen on a woman. The image of her wiping the sweat from her forehead with her T-shirt and those well-defined abs, and above all that shape that stood out in her crotch, which she hid under her leggings, remains etched in my mind.
Of course, she'd fucked it all up just by opening her mouth:
"Glad to see you're finally taking an interest in your fitness, Miss Austin."
Bitch...
- I'm sorry, Miss Engfa," I finally replied, a touch ironically. I can imagine how painful it must have been for you to have to use a fax machine and pick up a phone. I've told you and I'll tell you again, it won't happen again.
- That's a good resolution, and I'll see to it," she replies with a presumptuous smile that stretches her lips.
This woman would be perfect if she agreed to keep her mouth shut. A bit of tape would do the trick. I have some in my desk drawer. I sometimes take out the roll to stroke it, hoping one day to give it the role it deserves.
She continues:
- And just so this incident doesn't cause you to lose your memory, I'd like to have on my desk at 5 p.m. the complete status board for the Jensen, Wigg and Wattanagitiphat projects. Then you can make up for the hour you lost this morning by simulating the presentation of the Athita file for me in the conference room. If you're going to manage this file, you'd better prove to me that you can.
My eyes widen as she turns on her heel and slams her office door behind her. I can't believe it! She knows perfectly well that I'm ahead of schedule on this project on which my MBA thesis is based. I've still got several months to finish my PowerPoint, before the contracts are signed, which is not on the agenda - they haven't even been fully drafted yet. Now, with all I've got on my plate, she wants me to set up a presentation simulation in... I look at my watch. Great, I've got seven and a half hours ahead of me, if I skip lunch. I open the Athita file and dive in.
They all start to leave for lunch, while I stay glued to my desk with a coffee and a bag of dried fruit straight from the vending machine. Usually, I either eat leftovers from last night's dinner that I've brought from home, or I go out and have a snack with the other trainees. But today, I'm playing for time. The outer office door opens and I raise my head, smiling at my friend Marima who enters. She's in the same MBA internship program at Waraha Media Group as I am, but in accounting.
- Shall we go for lunch?
- Look, Marima, I'm really sorry. I know I promised, but right now I'm in a bind.
I give her a confused look and her smile turns mocking.
- Another one of the boss's tricks? she giggles as she sits on the edge of my desk.
Marima doesn't work for her, but she knows all about Engfa Waraha - just like everyone else, in fact. She's a living legend in the company: the youngest daughter of the company's founder (Nawat Waraha) and, as is widely known, the evil genius. Waraha doesn't tolerate being questioned, by anyone. Hell, if I wasn't so competent at my job and had less seniority, I wouldn't even be allowed to do a quarter of what I do.
- I'm totally underwater," I justify to myself, pushing my hair out of my eyes.
Even if I had a clone working for me, I wouldn't be able to finish everything in time.
- Don't let that bitch get to you. We all know who's really doing the work here, Charlotte.
Marima smiles at me and leaves the office.
I pull up my skirt a little and bend over to inspect my legs:
- And on top of all this shit," I say, hearing Marima come back in, "I've already spun these fucking stockings. I don't see how this day could be...
I look up and the word "worse" freezes on my lips when I see that it's not Marima standing there. I blush up to my ears and quickly lower my skirt.
- I'm sorry, Miss Engfa, I...
- Miss Austin, since you and the other employees have enough time to discuss your lingerie worries, in addition to setting up the Athita presentation, you'll go down to Chatamonchai's office to pick up Wattanagitiphat's market analysis and segmentation.
She turns her back to me and arranges her shirt, looking at her reflection in the window:
- Do you think you can do it?
Did she just call me an employee or am I dreaming? Of course, as an intern, I often take on the tasks of a basic assistant, but she knows very well that I'd been working here for years when I received my scholarship to Ramkhamhaeng University. In four months' time, I'll be graduating with a Master's degree in Business.
Get my degree and get the hell out of here so I don't have to take orders from you anymore. I look up and meet her sparkling gaze:
- I'll ask Snack if she...
- That wasn't a suggestion," she cuts me off. You go and get them, Miss Austin.
She stares at me for a few moments, jaw clenched, before abruptly reentering her office.
What's wrong with her? Slamming doors like a teenager, is that really necessary? I grab my blazer off the back of the chair and head for our satellite offices a few blocks away.
On my way back, I knock on his door. No answer. I turn the handle: the door is locked. She must have been having a late afternoon quickie with some trust fund princess, while I was running around Bangkok like a madwoman. I insert the kraft paper folder into the letter slot, hoping the papers will spill everywhere and she'll have to kneel down to pick them up herself. It wouldn't hurt her. And I rather like to imagine her on her knees, gathering up the scattered sheets. But then again, as I know her, she'd be sure to call me to do it for her, looking at me on all fours. And giggling.
Four hours later, the status update is done, my slides are almost in order and I'm laughing nervously - what a shitty day... I'm dreaming of a very bloody and elaborate murder of the guy from Kinko's. I didn't ask him for the moon: make a few photocopies, bind the pages together. It should have been child's play. I'd just turn up and walk away. But I didn't. It took two hours.
I run across the hall, where the sunset is reflected in the building, empty at this hour, presentation documents jumbled in my arms, and glance at my watch.
17 h 30. Engfa is going to do me in. I'm twenty minutes late and, as she pointed out to me this morning, she hates people who are late. There's no such word as "late" in Engfa Waraha's dictionary. Also absent are the words "heart", "kindness", "compassion", "lunch break" and "thank you".
Here I am, racing through the empty halls in my heels to the guillotine. Breathe, Charlotte. She smells fear.
I try to calm my breathing and slow down on the outskirts of the conference room. An edge of light under the closed door. She's already there, waiting for me. I straighten my hair and smooth out the creases in my clothes as I put away the bundle of documents. Deep breath. I knock on the door.
- Come right in!
I step into the warmly lit room. The conference room is gigantic - one wall is saturated with large floor-to-ceiling windows, with a breathtaking view of Bangkok from the eighteenth floor. The sky is darkened by twilight, and the skyscraper's illuminated windows stand out against the horizon. In the center of the room is a large, heavy wooden table and, opposite me, at the far end, Miss Engfa.
She is seated, her suit jacket hanging from the chair behind her, the sleeves of her bright white shirt rolled up, her chin resting in the palms of her hands. Her eyes scrutinize me intensely, but she says nothing.
- I'm so sorry, Miss Engfa," I begin, my voice still trembling, breathing hard. The time it takes to print the...
I'll be quiet. Apologizing won't help me. And I'm not going to let her blame me for something that's out of my hands. Fuck her. With my new-found courage, I lift my chin and walk over to her.
I sort through my papers, avoiding her gaze, and place a copy of the presentation on the table:
- May I start?
She doesn't answer, and I feel both her piercing eyes on me and my flagging courage. Everything would be so much easier if she weren't so attractive. She gestures to the documents in front of her, urging me to continue.
I clear my throat and begin my presentation. While I develop the various aspects of the offer, she remains silent, contemplating her copy of the docu. Why is she so calm? I'm familiar with her tantrums. But this strange silence?
It's... unsettling.
I was leaning over the table, showing her a series of graphs when it happened.
- Their forecast for the first milestone is a bit ambi...
I stop in mid-sentence, breathless. Her hand presses gently against my lower back before moving down, coming to rest on my buttocks. In the nine months I've worked with her, she's never even touched me, not voluntarily anyway.
And here, it's clearly voluntary.
The warmth of her hand moves beneath my skirt, my skin electrifies. Every muscle in my body tenses, my belly liquefies. What the hell is she doing? My brain is screaming at me to push that hand away, to tell it never to touch me again, but my body has another idea. The tips of my breasts rise, and I grit my teeth in response. Pectoral betrayal.
My heart leaps in my chest, a long minute passes, neither she nor I utter a word. Her hand explores my thigh, her caresses more insistent. Our breaths and the muffled sound of the city below break the calm of the conference room.
- Turn around, Miss Austin," she orders in a calm voice. I stand up straight, my eyes unfocused. I pivot slowly on my heels, her hand moving swiftly across my body and sliding to my hip. I feel her unfurl, her fingertips on my back, her thumb pressing the soft skin of my pelvis. We stare at each other.
Her chest rises and falls, her breathing ragged. His well-defined jaw twitches convulsively as his thumb moves, slowly, back and forth.
Her eyes never leave me. She's waiting for me to stop her, which I could have done several minutes ago, pushed her away, or simply turned on my heel and walked out of the room. My emotions are far too contradictory for me to react. I've never felt this way before, and I'd never have expected to feel this way about her. I want to slap her, then pull her by her shirt and lick her neck.
- What are you thinking?" she murmurs, her eyes full of excitement and anxiety at the same time.
- I wonder...
Her eyes still riveted to mine, she slides her hand lower. Her fingers work their way up my thigh, to the hem of my skirt. She pulls it up, her hands redrawing the elastic of my garter, the lace of my stockings. A long finger reaches under the thin material and gently pulls it down. I literally melt, I'm on fire.
How can I let my body react like that? I still want to slap her, but now, even more, I want her to continue. Desire rises between my legs. She reaches the edge of my panties and runs her fingers under the fabric. I feel her slide against my skin and graze my clitoris before penetrating me. I bite my lips, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a moan. When I look down at him, sweat beads between his eyebrows.
- To be soaked, you're soaked," she grunts.
She closes her eyes, probably fighting the same internal battle I am. I glance down at her knees as she crumples the smooth fabric of her pants. Without opening her eyes, she withdraws her finger and crushes the lace of my panties in her hand.
She trembles as she looks at me, her expression furious. She rips the lace with a sharp gesture. The sound of the fabric giving up the ghost echoes in the silence.
She grabs me by the hips, lifts me up and places me on the table. The feel of cold wood. She spreads my legs. I moan involuntarily as her fingers return to me, slide down my legs and search me. I despise this woman with a singular snarl, but my body betrays me - I still want more. She's good at it... Her caresses are nothing like the loving touches I'm used to. She's a woman who always gets what she wants, and what she wants right now is me. My head falls to one side as I lie back on my elbows, feeling an orgasm fast approaching.
To my horror, I murmur:
- Again...
She stops moving, pulls out her fingers and gathers them in her closed fist in front of her. I sit up, grab her shirt collar and pull her mouth to mine. Her lips are as perfect as they look, firm and soft. I've never been kissed by someone who so clearly knows all the ways to make me almost completely lose my mind.
I bite his lower lip and my hands quickly open his belt, playing with the buckle:
- You'd better be ready to finish what you've started, Miss Engfa.
A muffled sound of contained rage rises from her throat. She takes my blouse in her hands and rips it open. The silk buttons ricochet off the large conference table.
- I intend to do more than that, Miss Austin.
Her hands move up to my sides, then my breasts, her thumbs teasing the taut tips, her dark gaze fixed on the expression on my face. His hands are big and soft, and I press against his palms. I want more, and harder.
She grunts, the pressure of her fingers increasing. I think I'm going to be bruised and, strangely enough, I hope I am. I want to remember this feeling, this total certainty of what my body desires, completely unleashed.
She leans over and bites my shoulder.
She whispers:
- You're very exciting.
Impatiently, I work to pull down the zipper of her pants, which fall to the floor with the boxer shorts. I squeeze his cock, very hard, feeling it vibrate between my fingers.
The way she pronounced my name - "Austin" - should have triggered a surge of rage in me, but now I'm all desire - pure desire. She yanks my skirt up over my thighs and pushes me against the table. Without giving me time to say anything, she grabs my ankles and advances her penis towards me. She pushes herself deep inside.
I can't even manage to be horrified by the long wail that escapes my lips - it's diabolically pleasurable.
- What's that?" she hisses through clenched teeth. Her hips slap against my thighs, she penetrates me thoroughly.
- Never been fucked like that, have you? That's right, you wouldn't be so exciting if you were properly fucked.
Who does she think she is? And why the hell does it turn me on so much, that she's right? I've never fucked anywhere but in bed, and it's never felt this good.
- I've had better," I say. She laughs, a mocking chuckle:
- Look at me.
- No, she doesn't.
She pulls out just as I'm about to come. For a moment, I think she's really going to leave me like this. But then she grabs me by the arm and forces me off the table, her lips pressed against mine and her tongue in my mouth.
- Look at me," she repeats.
And finally, I do - since she's no longer inside me. She blinks, slowly, her long brown lashes brush her cheeks, and she says:
- Ask me to fuck you.
The tone isn't right. It's almost a question, but her words sound like her - pure slut. I want her to fuck me, I'm dying to. But it's out of the question for me to ask her anything.
I lower my voice and return her gaze:
- You're a dirty cunt, miss Engfa.
Her smile confirms that everything she wants from me, she's already got. I want to knee her in the balls, but the thought that I won't be able to get what I want most from her dissuades me.
- Say "please", Miss Austin.
- Please go fuck yourself.
Seconds later, I'm against the icy window, my breasts crashing against the glass. The contrast between the temperature of the glass and that of my skin makes me moan. I'm on fire, every inch of me wanting to feel his hands, his hard cock.
- At least you're consistent," she mumbles in my ear before biting my shoulder blade.
She kicks my ankles:
- Spread your legs!
I obey and, without hesitation, she takes my hips in her hands and pulls me against her before penetrating me once more.
- Do you like the cold?
- Yes, I do.
- You obsessed little pervert. You like to be watched, don't you? she murmurs, licking the back of my neck. You love the idea that all of Bangkok can look up and see you being fucked, and enjoy every minute of it, your lovely tits pressed up against the window.
- Shut up, you're ruining it," I say.
But I'm not. Not at all. Her deep voice turns me on even more.
She laughs against my skin, probably noticing that she makes me flinch.
- You want them to see you come, don't you?
I groan in response, unable to articulate a word under her thrusts. The part of me that hates her is dissolving like sugar under my tongue, and the part that wants everything she's willing to give me is growing, fiery and demanding.
- Say it. Do you want to cum, Miss Austin? Answer or I'll stop and make you suck me instead, she squeaks, going deeper and deeper, with every jerk. Tell me!
She leans in, licks my neck and bites it briefly:
- I promise I'll make you come.
- Please, I reply, closing my eyes to forget everything else and feel her, only feel her. Please. Yes.
She leans in slightly and grabs my clit between her fingers, stroking it - the perfect pressure and rhythm. I feel her smile against my neck and, when she opens her mouth and presses her teeth against my skin, I explode. Heat invades my spine, wrapping around my hips and between my legs. I straighten up and press myself against her. My hands press against the window, my whole body shudders, full of the orgasm that takes me over, leaving me breathless. When it finally stops, she pulls back and turns to me, lowering her head to kiss my neck, my jaw, my bottom lip.
- Say thank you," she whispers.
I push my hand into her hair and tug, hoping to get a reaction and see if she's under control or delirious. What the hell are we doing?
She moans, leans on my hands and kisses my neck, presses her erection against my belly:
- Now do what you have to do.
I release one hand and move down to her cock, starting to jerk her off. I'd heard more about my boss from some rumor she'd never hidden from her male member, Engfa Waraha's cock is heavy, long and perfect in my palm. I almost tell her, but I'd rather die than let her know how wonderful she is. I pull away from her lips, look at her with empty eyes.
-I'm going to make you come so hard you'll forget you're the biggest bitch in the world," I growl, sliding against the glass before taking her fully into my mouth, all the way down my throat. She tenses and moans deeply. I look up, her hands and forehead pressed against the window. She's closed her eyes, her hair is falling in her face, she looks so vulnerable, so sublime in her abandon.
But she's not vulnerable. She's the biggest bitch on the planet, and I'm at her knees. It can't be. Instead of giving her what she wants, and I know exactly what she wants, I stand up, pull down my skirt and stare at her at last. It's easier now that she's not touching me and making me feel all those things that don't belong.
Neither of us look away.
- Get down on your knees and open your mouth.
- Count on it...
I put my buttonless blouse back on and walk out of the conference room, praying that my wobbly legs won't betray me.