It is not that she showed up unprepared to the meetings. She knew as much as everyone in the room did. It is rather that she expected to be treated as an equal. The bar is low, no? But their basic patriarchal brains could only process her as a relative. At best, as an intern. They angered her, and, unfortunately, she let them see it.
The biggest offender had predictably been the most senior figure in that room. A classic case of man whose path to self-fulfillment only included women as progenitors or as eye candy. It's not that they were in antagonistic roles, nor that he made particularly boomerish comments. Really, it was that he had a way of deflecting the conversation every time she moved it an inch forward. He was fast at destroying progress she had built up over several exchanges. Somehow, though, it did not feel intentional. Maybe he just did not give a fuck.
She was so furious that evening that she worked after hours to try and prepare for round two of negotiations. She felt that, if only she could prepare more responses to each deflected talking point, she could still win them over. It was a bit desperate, in all honesty, but the situation was dire with her job on the line. She had not changed out of her work clothes when she sat down at the hotel bar for dinner in front of her laptop. She figured her counterparts would be going out for dinner and lounging instead.
When she heard a chair slide in one of the tables near her, she looked up from her documents. It was the biggest offender, the senior figure, the man in his 50s who thought she was an intern despite her incipient wrinkles and plentiful white hairs. She seethed. Like her, he was still in business clothes, though his tie and blazer were gone. He nodded and lifted his left hand to do a single wave at her, or perhaps to show that he was not wearing a ring. She just nodded and looked back into her computer.
She had to guess what made for a natural scrolling speed because, at this point, she was unable to keep reading. The strong sensations she felt, perhaps led by fury, distracted her from negotiation paths and carefully crafted rebuttals. How could her desire to take over be so strong, but not strong enough to let her focus? They were going to eat her up and she would return home empty-handed.
But the end of her misery would arrive early, completely unexpected. A waiter placed a cosmo on her table. A cosmo? On her table? She had not ordered a drink. She would never order a cosmo. She looked at big boss, who smirked, lifting his own classic martini to her before he sipped from it.
This man was playing with fire -- the kind fed by intergenerational resentment and ignited by one too many injustices. She, the fearful kid who cried silently when teased in school, the good woman pouring her free time into her community, the perpetual submissive in bed: she was going to fucking destroy him and tricking him into loving it.
She looked at the cosmo and then she shifted in her seat to angle herself towards him, looking into his eyes. Her shoulders and knees and hipbones pointed towards him, but her face remained cold and emotionless.
"In my company, you would have to hand in your resignation over this tomorrow."
His smirk faded just for a second, perhaps shocked by the intern who dared to speak up against a stupid drink. Was his name going to appear on some bullshit MeToo account on Twitter?
"I guess it is good that I am the boss in my company."
She stood up, maybe an inch or two straighter than usual. She grabbed the cosmo and walked slow bur firm towards his table. He flinched, even if just for one second: she was tall and, in her 3 inch stilettos, she was towering over his seated figure. She stood a few inches too close and looked down at him -- her soft features hardened by her dark hair in a tight updo, by the black blazer and skirt tailored tight against her curves in front of him.
Maybe he thought he would have to wash a cosmo off his shirt, or that he would feel the slap of her long fingers. He couldn't possibly expect this sociopathic millennial to just sit down and drink with him. In reality, she just put the cosmo down on his table, and grabbed his martini instead.
"Next time you buy a drink, buy her the correct one. There is no need to mess up from the start."
She walked back to her table with his drink and looked into his eyes while she sipped from it. No smiles, no emotions. Big boss had lost the first round. She went back to her computer.
To his credit, he did not freak out. Though he did need a few minutes to collect himself while she worked. After all, it was now him dealing with an unpredictable script, the one forced to craft a careful rebuttal. He was the alpha and he had no option of leaving. Not if he wanted to protect his dignity.
This time, he got up and walked towards her high table, leaning on it. Big boss came in with a white flag in his hand, approachable, ready to make a concession.
"You know, you're right. I should have asked you what you would like to drink. Earlier, I should have let you lead the conversation. I misjudged you. I know it's not your job to give me a second chance, but I would really appreciate it if you did."
She looked at him, crossing her legs in her seat. Her pencil skirt wrinkled against her hips, baring a few inches of her thighs.
"You're right that it's not my job, and, to be honest, I don't have any reason to believe you will not mess up the second chance the same way you messed up the first one."
He pushed himself off her table, preparing a dignified exit. Little did he know that she would stretch out her arm and press her hand against the front pocket of his shirt. He looked at her, shocked. She grabbed his room key card, holding it briefly in her hands to look at the number penciled onto the paper envelope.
Ignoring him for a minute, she closed her laptop and put it into her purse, getting up from her seat. Before she walked away, she put the key back into his pocket.
"You get a second chance, which will also be your last one. I will try your door thirty minutes from now. I hope you will do your best to create a better impression."
True to her word, she tried his door exactly 30 minutes later. It was unlocked, of course. He was sitting at the desk, speaking on the phone, not even acknowledging her. She stood at the entrance, wearing the same stilettos, the same figure-fitting black suit, carrying the same black purse. With each exchange of his conversation, she regretted her decision exponentially. Alas, when she felt there had been one line too many, she turned to leave.
Except that was not how he had planned it. He hung up immediately and pushed the door closed when she opened it. He just wanted her to be off guard. Big boss hit first, kissing her lips and pressing her against the wall. She let him do it, she really bought into it. Her tongue pressed his lips apart as he undid her tight blazer, pushing her hips against his to encourage the growing bulge in his pants.
When his hands reached her ass, he picked her up, lifting her out of her stilettos. He just did not want her eyes to be level with his. He wanted her to look up at him. Again, she indulged him. She looked up at him, her figure less intimidating with her lipstick ruined, her breasts exposed, her shoes kicked away. She was just the intern, just the easy prey, the young slut whose holes would bring big boss some distraction and relief.
"So this is your last chance to impress me. You're starting to do better. What's your plan?"
He laughed. Was this one for real? Oh, to be a hot, bold, and entitled millennial. She was starting to piss him off.
"I don't know, I wonder if I can show you a good time. You certainly seem to really need it." His hands fondled her large ass, letting her flesh bounce, demeaning. "But I'm also thinking you might be more trouble than it's worth. Too harsh in the meeting room, too picky in the bar, too cocky for a slut that followed her client to his room. What will your boss think?"
In a swift move, she slid her foot between his legs and knocked him out of balance, forcing him against the same wall. He almost fell. Her hands held his wrists, pushing them above his head. Standing on her toes, she leaned in to nibble on his lip gently.
"That's a long way of saying you don't really have a plan. He will think your sorry ass tried to make a move on me and I turned you down. Plus you're probably going to blank when he asks you which of his employees did it."
Intrigued by the unusually tall and strong woman, he let her have this one. He stood there, pinned, wondering if he had in fact confused her name earlier. No, of course he hadn't. How could he have? But maybe he really had.
"I don't know about that, Anna. But I find it hot that you're ballsy."
"Are you that dumb that you don't even know how to read emails?"
Alright, maybe he had fucked up. Maybe he had discounted the underdog too early. Who the fuck was she and why was his cock harder than it had been on any given moment of the past few months? She was giving him serious blue balls. He stammered.
"I... I'm sorry. Is your name really not Anna?"
Affect theorists say that, in fear, one does not flee: one shrinks back. Big boss was second guessing his entire existence against her body, feeling small and defeated even if just for one moment. In holding him, she felt his hard cock press against her lower belly, an indication of where he wished his sperm would hit -- if only he had not messed up his chances. She looked into his eyes, pitiful.
"For you, no, my name is not Anna. Be respectful and call me Doctor."
She let go of his hands and they made out furiously, hungry like deprived lovers. Within the complicated feelings that this encounter had elicited, they both felt an identity-challenging amount of arousal. He liked straightforward sex with carefree women and she liked getting choked by people who otherwise saw her as their equal. They had no business in thirsting so hard for their nemesis, but here they were, and soon they were both naked in his bed.
In a more standard situation, he would be the one calling the shots and asserting his authority over her pleasure. He would eat her out, or he would drag her mouth down to his cock, but he did not know what was permissible with this obstinate lover. He might try something normal like touching her legs and she might melt down like an offended snowflake. Maybe she was right and he had no plan, after all.
