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The business Christmas party was well underway. Every year, I went with regret. Social activities were not my forte.

Fire and Ice was the theme. Fire breathing gymnasts tumbled across the dancefloor in skin tight crimson costumes, men gawking unabashedly.

There were silly tottering angels in white dresses and men in black suits wearing mysterious masks and devil horns in the room. I was wrapped tightly in a form fitting bright red Herve Leger bandage dress, as I am not the type to conform or care what others wondered. My black pantyhose have a perfect black seam down the back of each leg, which leads to my black Louboutins. Unlike many of the other women here, I could walk in stilettos.

I was three whiskeys deep and already in a bad mood from the day before when I noticed him brooding in the corner. He was tall, muscular, sexy as hell, and obstinate as hell. Brenda from level 3 was frantically attempting to engage him out of her ridiculous, cheap, ruffled angel dress, in some nonsensical babble as she giggled and puffed her breasts towards him.

I returned the loan and watched them from the bar, while men I recognized but didn’t know tried to make eye contact, hoping for a friendly gesture or an opening gesture to begin a drunken conversation. I had no interest. In truth, I almost didn’t come, but I was told that I couldn’t be a Partner unless I made a “sociable effort” at key events. Corporate nonsense.

Rich continued to nod politely to Brenda, who was now openly attempting to draw his attention to a locket above her breasts. His gaze, on the other hand, was scanning the room, as if looking for something or someone. Probably any excuse to avoid Brenda’s dreadful perfume.

Rich was also a candidate for the position of Partner. He and I had worked well together for years, but today we had exploded in spectacular fashion. He’d made an unfair judgment about a published article of mine, and I’d pointed out his lack of recent published success.

It had gotten so bad in the boardroom that he smacked his hand on the table and accused me of cheating to get where I wanted to go. If he only knew how dirty I could get.

The steam was still coming out of his ears, and I was sick of his whining. I needed to get some fresh air because the party was suffocating me.

I finished my drink, ordered another, and expertly applied my red lipstick across my full, moist lips with the compact mirror from my purse.

I stalked past Rich with my head held high, kissed him on the lips, and said, ‘FUCK YOU.’ His jaw dropped open in surprise, and his eyes narrowed in rage. I sniggered as I stepped out onto the balcony into the cool night air, thinking about how angry it would have made him.

I walked around to a quiet corner near some potted plants and leaned against the rail, wondering how much longer I had to ‘show face’ before I could plan my escape.

I took out my phone to check my lipstick, smacked my lips together, and sprayed on some more of my very expensive perfume. I checked the time while flicking my long honey-colored hair in thick waves over my shoulder. I’d be out of here in 20 minutes.

A long, dark shadow crossed the chair in front of me, and there he was. Rich. He wore a black suit. Tall, broody, and undoubtedly ready for round two.

“I see you’re still sulking, Rich. Breasty Brenda should have put a smile on that smug face by now.”

He raised an eyebrow and sat in the chair in front of me.

“You know,” he said, “you put a lot of effort into trying to rile me up.” If you’re desperate for attention, just ask.”

I turned to face him. He was leaning back in his chair, as if he owned the place.

“If I wanted your attention, I wouldn’t have to ask for it. Similarly, if I wanted your company, you’d be aware. I don’t.”

“My my, aren’t we feisty today,” he said, raising one perfectly arched brow at me. “Perhaps you’d be better off incorporating fire into the entertainment. It appears to be a natural talent of yours.”

NSFW: yes

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