CHAPTER 1: THE PROPOSITION

It happened the way it always happened. My smartphone made a discrete ‘beep’. I turned away from the computer monitor on my desk, woke my phone up, and checked the text ID. Sir. It could have been much more. It could have been Mr. Charles Woodburn, CEO & Chairman of the Board. That’s who Sir was.

I opened the text to find the message I often received from him. ‘I need you in my office.’ I smiled as I stood immediately and retrieved my jacket. It didn’t matter what I might have been working on, important or mundane, it was all the same in comparison to that expression of need. The message wasn’t a request; it wasn’t a demand or suggestion. The message was merely a statement, a statement that didn’t require any consideration or evaluation, or prioritization on my part. The statement was simple. He needs me. I need to know nothing more. I am slipping my arms into my jacket sleeves and reach for my tablet in case I might need it.

My high heels click and clack on the hard floor as I exit my office on the 10th floor past my secretary and others in their cubicles on my way to the elevator for the 11th floor, the senior executive level. The nameplate on my heavy wood office door says, Tina James, Executive Accounts Director. I am that. I manage the accounts that Mr. Woodburn personally oversees for special clients of our financial institution. But, I am also much more. I swipe my badge along the side of the floor buttons to allow me access to the 11th floor. The 11th floor is very restricted. Normal, everyday business transactions and decisions don’t frequent there. Only the most critical issues, decisions, and strategic clients reach into those offices.

As the elevator begins its slow ascent from 10 to 11, I catch my reflection in the high gloss door. The familiar tingle increases as I consider the potential of his need. Sometimes it is professional, some potential client, or a pitch to an existing one. Sometimes, though, the need is personal. Those are my favorite.

Stepping out of the elevator I swipe my badge at the double doors immediately ahead of me in a wall of glass separating the 11th-floor occupants from the activities below. That was the singular impression I once had, too. Now, as I step inside I am again struck by the weight and power that emanates from these offices. This floor contains the Board Room, separate offices for the six board members when they are in the building, offices for the COO and CFO. The personal assistants for each are station outside their offices, which are separated down the hallway due to the size of each office along the left. On the right is a smaller conference room, a telecommunications room, and the formal Board Room. I am intent on the furthest office down the hall and the largest, Mr. Woodburn’s.

I knocked on the door and wait quietly. I glance at Trudy, his personal and very discrete assistant. She gives me a knowing smile and I return it. I stand on both feet with equal pressure. My back is straight and my shoulders pulled back, which has the effect of pronouncing my breasts in front of me. My business suite today is black and consists of a jacket over a semi-sheer buttoned, white blouse. My skirt flirts with propriety for my position in the financial industry. It ends just below mid-thigh, which might be considered several inches too short for anyone else.

“Come in.”

Mr. Woodburn’s voice is clear and direct. I grip the handle as I smile again at Trudy and push the heavy door into the room. I walk into his office, the door closing automatically behind me. Mr. Woodburn, even in the quiet and subdued nature of the 11th floor always has his door closed. I walk directly to the front of his desk between the two visitor chairs. He pushes himself back against his chair, his elbows on the arms of the executive chair, his fingers steepled at his lips, and his gaze not leaving me. His jacket is off and hanging in a closet along the inside wall.

Without a word from either of us, I remove my jacket, fold it and lay it over the back of one chair. My fingers then move to unbutton each cuff of my blouse, then work the buttons from top to bottom on the front. My eyes are in contact with his. I pull the blouse from my skirt, unbutton the final button and slide it off my shoulders and arms. I place it over my jacket. My hands move to the back of my waist, unclasp and zip, then wiggle out of the tight-fitting garment, which is also placed over the same chair. For a moment or so, I stand perfectly still, my hands comfortably at my sides. I am naked except for the thigh-high stockings and 4-1/2 inch heels.

He is watching me intently, longer perhaps than normal, but I wait with patience. He nods, almost imperceptibly, which is the reason for my close attention to his face and eyes. With that nod, I move to the side and sit in the other chair. I cross my legs comfortably as though I were some other female employee or visitor fully clothed in his office. I wait for him to declare his need.

“Do you know what today is, Tina?”

“Today, Sir?” I puzzle over that. Was there something significant about today that I neglected to remember? I doubted that. I am meticulous about the details with Mr. Woodburn. I slowly shook my head, my long, blonde hair moving across my right shoulder, which I move back behind my shoulder. I am sitting with a straight back, again with my shoulders slightly pulled back to enhance my breasts, no part of my back against the back of the chair. There may come a time when he desires me to slouch in the chair, but he will indicate that. “No, Sir, I’m sorry. I assume you don’t mean ‘Tuesday’ or ‘the 6th’.”

He chuckled, “No, dear. Should I take it as a positive thing or a negative that you don’t remember that one year ago today you started your new position for me?”

I smiled in return. I hadn’t registered that. “Very positive, Sir. I have enjoyed serving you in every way. I was simply unaware so much time had already passed.”

He smiled his knowing, always confident smile. “Perhaps this might be a good moment to recall our agreement, my dear.”

I continued to watch carefully his eyes, face, and hands for any slight indication for me to react to. “Yes, Sir, if you wish.”

There it was. The first two fingers of his right hand separating into a ‘V’. Time for the slouch. I leaned back in the chair and raised my knees over the arms of the chair, fully exposing my smooth, hairless, leaking Pussy to his view. He gazed at my Pussy for several moments, his eyes moving and holding at my breasts and nipples before finally rising to my face.

“We agreed that you could stop this at any time you wished without hard feelings. I would make sure there was a job inside the company if you desired to stay with us. It would be the same as it was for Trudy a little over a year ago.” I smiled. Yes, Trudy may have stopped being his mistress, but she never REALLY stopped.

I flexed my Kegel muscles to make my Pussy wink at him. He caught the movement and smiled. “Sir, I can’t imagine why I would desire to leave this position with you. You have provided me with a position that is the fulfillment of who I am. Before I accepted this position and your patient training, I was an empty shell. You have filled me with the understanding of what and who I am.” My eyes glanced down for a split second. “Sir … I hope you are not leading up to indicating your displeasure with me …”

He laughed. It was not a soft chuckle, but a boisterous laugh. “Silly, slut! Displeased with you? It is a good response, however, a true slut’s response wouldn’t you say?”

I recited the mantra of my training, “Sir, a true slut never assumes anything, but only seeks to improve her devotion and skills constantly, never expecting to completely attain her master’s full pleasure.” He smiled.

A full year since that day. I couldn’t believe it. It seemed like only moments ago that I was sitting in this same chair about to change my life.

* * * * *

I sat at my desk on the 2nd floor of the building minding the business someone put in front of me. I was a lowly account specialist handling the mundane accounts that are a dime a dozen to an institution like ours but the livelihood of the people who bring them to us. I had been with the firm for five years and the only reason I could see why I hadn’t risen any further in the organization was that I wasn’t cutthroat and scheming like most of the other account managers, which appeared to be the way to get noticed. I was invisible in the organization. Necessary. Needed, even. But, invisible.

Imagine my shock, then, when my monitor chimed that I was scheduled for a meeting with Mr. Woodburn, the CEO, in 15 minutes. Imagine the worst-case scenarios that raced through my mind because there couldn’t possibly be a good case scenario. I didn’t really believe even my manager’s manager knew who I was. Why Mr. Woodburn?

“Tina James?” I looked up to the voice standing at the opening of my cubicle. “I’m Trudy Michaels, Mr. Woodburn’s Personal Assistant. You are aware of your scheduled meeting with Mr. Woodburn?”

I numbly nodded my head and gazed at her like a deer in the headlights we would see on the quiet country road back home. She was maybe not quite 30 years old, about a year younger than me. She was trim and maybe a couple inches taller making her 5′ 7″. She wore her brown hair to her shoulders. She had a very pleasant face.

“What … is there some mistake? There must be some mistake. Why would Mr. Woodburn want to see me?”

She smiled warmly, which was a little reassuring. “There is no mistake, Miss James. I made the schedule myself at his direction.” I just looked at her. “Miss James, I need to escort you upstairs. The 11th floor is restricted to limited access.”

I shook my head and leaped from my chair. “Of course, sorry.”

At the elevator, I noticed she used a different badge to punch the 11 button, then using it again to enter the office area. She indicated a chair by her desk. “It may or may not be a few minutes. I assure you he is aware of the time and your meeting with him. He will let me know when he is available.” She said it in such a way that it didn’t allow any room for discussion, but her soft smile was again reassuring.

Her phone buzzed. She listened a moment, set the phone back down, and stood up. “Mr. Woodburn is ready for you now.”

She showed me into the office, which was huge, with lots of wood, plush carpeting, a small conference table, and a sitting area to the side by the windows overlooking the city.

“Miss James.” He was already moving from behind his desk to meet me. I heard the door close behind me. He was in his early 50’s and maybe an inch over six feet tall. He had a toned, athletic appearance, which was reinforced by the easy way he moved across the office. He was quite attractive, more so in person than the impression I had from his picture on the website. His hair was brown with graying at the temples. It was a little longer than you normally see on executives of his stature.

He directed me to one of the two chairs in front of his desk and he returned behind it.

“I think there might be some mistake. Perhaps there is another James in the company?”

He opened a folder in front of him. I couldn’t see what it contained, but there were several pages. He perused the first two pages.

“Well, let’s see here … Tina Marie James, Accounts Specialist on the 2nd floor under Mary Robertson. You are age 30, 5’5″ tall, 120 pounds,” he looked up with a smile, “sorry my dear for the personal information. I have been told by my Wife how sensitive women can be about their weight.” He chuckled and I laughed with him. He continued, “Long, wavy, blond hair extending down the back.” He nodded. “Okay, the oldest child of three to Harold and Agnes James who are farmers near Lamont, Iowa.” He looked up, “Lamont, Iowa?”

“The northeast corner of the state near the Minnesota border. It’s about 500 people in the town. It just serves the surrounding farms.” He nodded. He didn’t really seem that interested and I flushed at the recognition that I gave him so much information about something that meant nothing to him.

* * * * *

He looked at her sitting comfortably in front of him. Yes, he could reread the information and the reports another dozen times, but the woman in front of him was the rough shell of what he could bring out from within her, like a butterfly from the hard chrysalis. He read the details about her family and debated again if it would be helpful or harmful to bring them out. There might have been information from his investigator on these pages that even she hadn’t opened her eyes to. This whole attempt could turn well or bad in the next few moments. Several women had appeared through his screening process, most of them younger, but none had shown this kind of potential. Not since Trudy had he found a woman of such potential and Trudy had not been anything as alluring as this woman. The personal nature of the information could offend her as privacy-invasion or reinforce suspicions that had haunted her.

Nothing had changed. His only course of action, if she was to be the one, was to plow forward to show her what she was. He always recognized the risk of using personal information. Whether to find her or understanding a larghe, potential client, knowing as much as possible had its rewards, how it was used would pose the risk.

* * * * *

He had been studying the sheets in front of him and was now studying me. I wondered what it was he was considering. He already provided enough details to convince me I had to be the Tina James he wanted to talk to.

He was reading a report, “Raised in a strict, quite conservative farm home and devoutly aligned with a small very conservative Protestant group, which wielded considerable influence and control over the couple dozen family groups in the area. The mother was very subservient to the father.” He looked over the pages at me. He seemed to be gauging more than my confirmation of this information about myself. I was shocked at how much he knew about a low-level employee like me from a nothing town and background.

“How … why do you know so much?”

He smiled disarmingly, “My dear, I make it my duty to know what I need to know about people I may be dealing with.” He again was reviewing information while he was clearly considering both the information and what it meant. Then he sat back. “Are you happy here, Miss James?” The question was such a surprise. It came out of nowhere and seemed incongruent from the talk leading up to it. I stammered. It was the kind of question I might expect during a perfunctory performance review with my direct manager, a question asked of all employees, though the answer would be ignored. My eyes flitted around the room and his desk while I searched for some way to safely answer the question. “The reason I ask is you have been here for five years and you haven’t yet advanced much. Yet, when I look at your work quality and comments from clients you’ve served, your performance has been stellar. Clients seem to Love you. Not a single negative comment. Usually, we accept some percentage of negative comments regarding Accounts people pushing products the client might not want. You, on the other hand, have a good record of adding products but you avoid the negative impression. Yet, you haven’t been promoted.”

“I …” I had the distinct feeling he already had an impression of why. If my performance was so good, could my attitude with male co-workers still get me disciplined or fired?

“I understand you are divorced. That’s personal and I am sorry for your having to experience that. It has some relevance, however, I think. But, there appears to be a carry-over to relationships with male co-workers and males in social settings.” How could he know that! Okay, the male co-workers might have risen to someone’s attention, especially if the petty pricks weaseled a whiny complaint. But … my dating life?

“I am going to be completely honest with you, Miss James. I am constantly searching for uniquely qualified people I feel I can work with very closely. I have a position in mind that will report directly to me and to nobody else. Perhaps you can imagine that I have the opportunity, the responsibility really, to bring in very large and lucrative accounts to the company. These accounts are very important to the company, but also to me as to how they are handled reflects directly on me with the men coming to me. The person I am looking for would manage those accounts personally, exclusively, for me. Can you understand, now, why I need to know in-depth the person I would have in such a position?”

I was about to respond when his phone beeped. What I hadn’t noticed was his other hand pressing a button on his smartphone placed alongside the open folder.

“Excuse me.” He listened for a moment, then covered the mouthpiece, “I really need to take this.” He winked conspiratorially, “One of those accounts.”

The door behind me opened and Trudy indicated for me to join her outside the office. My god! I walked out of the office in a daze. He was talking to me about a promotion. God, it had to be a huge promotion to handle his accounts.

“How’s it going in there? You understand why he wanted to talk to you privately?”

I shook my head in disbelief. I sank into the chair in front of her desk without knowing I was doing it. “Partially, I think. We were interrupted by the call. I thought I had to be in trouble.”

She chuckled. “If you were in trouble, it would have been handled down on the 2nd floor.” I looked up at her, still not believing what I had just heard inside the office. “Mr. Woodburn always knows what he is doing. He is meticulous about knowing everything he can about every situation he intends to be involved in. That includes who he is working with.”

I looked at her hard, seeing a possible ally for the moments that might follow after he finishes his call. “You’ve worked with him for a while?”

She smiled. It was an unusual moment that she quickly controlled. “Yes, very closely.” She leaned forward and I found myself doing the same. She glanced down the row of executive offices and assistants outside them as if she didn’t want to be overhead despite the separation between offices. “You aren’t used to these kinds of men, are you?” It wasn’t a demeaning comment, but an observation on her part. I shook my head. A small-town country girl in the big city and high-powered company, I was way over my head on the 11th floor much less the idea of working for him closely.

“Would you like a few hints that might help you with him?” I nodded eagerly and glanced at the door as if it might open any minute. “He is a man who understands the very nature of power and he knows how to wield it. He will be in control of every situation he finds himself in. Despite what someone else might feel about being in control, he won’t put himself in a situation where he doesn’t know something or have something that will give him the edge; then it is up to him to manage that edge. Whether it is him personally or someone he is entrusting to manage it for him.”

She looked intently at me to let that sink in. I might be that person he was entrusting. But, I don’t have that kind of power. It is the very reason I haven’t had a promotion. I don’t have that element inside me to leverage office politics in my favor. That deficiency within me is what I have been fighting within myself and my relationships. My father, my husband, my male co-workers, and most of the males I meet socially. My life experience with men is controlling men who exude strength in a way that stifles my singular existence, experience, and joy. I was fighting that with every fiber of my being, but it was getting me nowhere. Now, here is another very strong male. Maybe the ‘big city’ I belonged in was Dubuque with a total population of 58,000.