Flames Across The Boardroom

Copyright © April 2025 by CiaoSteve

CiaoSteve reserves the right to be identified as the author of this work. This story cannot be published, as a whole or in part, without the express agreement of the author other than the use of brief extracts as part of a story review.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

Author's Notes

This is an entry for the 2025 'On-The-Job' challenge. I hope you enjoy and would love to know what you think. If you'd be kind enough to leave a rating, that would be much appreciated too.

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One

Out with the old...

I took my seat at the boardroom table, as I always did. As Head of Planning, I had sort of gotten used to it, the Monday-morning monthly meetings, the expectation to be on top of your game, to have answers to whatever questions might be thrown out there, however unexpected. I thrived in the moment, revelling on being on top of my game, having prepared meticulously for every possible outcome.

Nothing took me by surprise, nothing... until...

This meeting in itself was a little unorthodox. It wasn't our usual monthly cycle. It had sort of dropped into the calendar at the last minute, with no predefined agenda, and no chance to prepare. As I sat there, watching seats fill, I felt exposed. I knew my stuff, of course I knew my stuff, but this time I did not have the comfort blanket which came with endless preparation.

It was what I did. It was what I had built a career on, spending that last twenty or so years perfecting, and I was damn good at it, even if it meant blowing my own trumpet. If truth be known, it had become me, in work, in life, in general. There was little I did without it being planned to the nth degree.

As a child I'd been a boy scout, and it seemed that the motto 'be prepared' had stuck with me ever since. Now, at a spritely forty-three, I was just that. I was prepared. I was always prepared. It was just... well... today, I wasn't and for some reason I felt just a little more nervous than normal.

"Morning, Steve."

I glanced in the direction of the greeting and smiled.

"Morning, Claire... all well?" I asked.

Claire was my partner in crime, professionally speaking. Where I headed up the planning and strategy side of the organisation, Claire was the face of technology, and a pretty face to boot. Dressed in a white blouse, black skirt, and heels, it was no surprise that she turned a few heads, mine included. She was a few years my younger, having had a big celebration for her fortieth earlier in the year, and where I was starting to age gracefully---yes, already there was the odd grey hair amongst my near-black locks--Claire was still in her prime.

To say we were work partners was a bit of an understatement. We probably spent more time together than the average husband and wife, and we tended to get on better than most. I liked Claire. I found myself comfortable in her company. We were so similar. We had the same likes, the same goals, even the same desires.

"All good," Claire replied, smiling back then taking a seat next to me. "And... you?"

I couldn't resist but take a look as she sat down, then crossed her legs. There was something so elegant, almost sexy, in the way that skirt smoothed out across her ass. Inside, metaphorically speaking, I shook my head. Much as I liked Claire, it was never going to happen. I wouldn't let it happen.

For one, I'd been bitten before, going with my gut, falling head over heels into a relationship then watching it all slowly unravel.

For two, and this was the big one, the rings on her left hand--a slender gold ring sat atop the most beautiful single diamond--told me I was just too late. I'd been to her house. I'd become friends with her husband. I'd even met their young children. They were the perfect model family--you could say, if you planned for the way your life played out, you would plan it to be just like Claire's--and there was no way on earth I was going to be the one to make her life unravel just as mine had done all those years before.

"I'm good," I replied.

"Know what this is about?" I added.

"Not sure," Claire replied, keeping her voice down as the room started to fill. "Heard on the grapevine that there's a change afoot, but that's about all I know. Bit of a secret squirrel one this time."

Secret squirrel?

If it was, then all too soon the secret was out, albeit out only within this select audience.

The announcement itself, with hindsight, wasn't exactly unexpected. Keith had been Marketing Director for as long as anyone could remember and wasn't exactly getting any younger. How old he was had been a bit of a closely guarded secret, but the announcement of his retirement didn't raise too many eyebrows. We'd been flagging a little in recent years, still growing but with less vigour than the markets would have liked, and for a long time it was expected that new blood would be needed.

So, the announcement that Keith was looking to step down was no real surprise. To an extent, neither was the suggestion that they were progressing well with appointing a replacement. The surprise if there was one, was the fact they'd gathered us all together in total secrecy for such an anticipated announcement.

I was still pondering the same, when a round of applause arose in acknowledgement of what was to become the end of a legacy. Of course, I quickly joined in.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Two

In with the new...

For the next two monthly board meetings, we followed usual protocols, reviewing business performance, strategy, and direction, as if nothing had happened. In was on the third such meeting that things were just a little different. Okay, so the agenda hadn't changed, but there was one additional name on the attendee list.

'Olivia Thompson.'

I'd noticed the change a couple of weeks before, as I always did. I was a bit of a stickler for details. It sort of went with the territory. You didn't get anywhere in planning and strategy without having your nose in the weeds. I'd already put two and two together to make five and assumed that this Olivia, whoever she may have been, must be the intended replacement for Keith, so when the introduction was made, it was really no surprise.

No surprise? Well, for sure the announcement wasn't unexpected, but beyond the announcement there was an element of surprise; two elements if I was to be precise.

To a smaller degree, given the male domination of this particular boardroom, Claire excepted, there was an element of amazement in that the new recruit was a woman, but in this day and age, with the advent of equality, even that wasn't exactly unconventional.

If the gender provided an element of amazement, that was nothing compared to what was about to unfold. If this second element had a name, other than Thompson, it would have been... well... an element called shock.

I'd Googled the name of course, but there were so many Thompsons around the world that I really hadn't gotten that far. Now though, now she was here, in this very office, any sense of mystery was dissipating like the mist would do as soon as the sun came out.

Across the room, all eyes fell on the powerfully dressed redhead.

If there was a way to make an entrance, then Olivia was doing just that. There was no missing the new Marketing Director, from her fiery-red shoulder-length hair--the colour practically shone in the artificial light of the office and bounced with every step--to her not overly subtle make-up, the shade of red lipstick drawing you in to a beaming smile.

If that wasn't enough, then there was the outfit. Olivia wasn't exactly the tallest amongst the group--in fact, at around five foot six, she was rather diminutive--but what she lacked in stature was well and truly compensated for in presence.

The skirt, a pencil line dark grey number to match her loosely worn jacket, clung to her hips before narrowing down to just below the knee. The blouse, a plain white cotton number, had been done up far enough to be decent yet still leaving a tantalising glimpse of cleavage within. Cleavage? Oh yeah, she might have been small, but she had curves in all the right places and boy did she know it.

At first there was a hush, as all eyes fell on the stranger in our midst. That polite silence was soon replaced by the corporate welcome we gave to any and every visitor. Slowly, purposefully, with an air of confidence in every step, Olivia walked towards the table, meeting and greeting as she went.

"Good morning... nice to meet you... Olivia Thompson," Olivia announced,

The accent was unmistakably Antipodean, albeit I had fallen into that trap once before of suggesting Australian to find out it was close but not close enough. Close enough? I guessed it was close enough if you counted a few thousand kilometres to the west as being close enough. It was a fatal flaw, almost as bad as suggesting my own dulcet northern tones came from the red side of the Pennines rather than the white, but it was a flaw I had quickly made. It was also a perfect way to break the ice, as had been the case all those years before.

So, here she was. The name might not have been the one I was used to, but the woman striding purposefully across the boardroom was one I knew all too well.

All I could do was stare, from the minute she entered the room, to the moment she sat down almost opposite me across the table. Why did I find myself unable to do anything other than to gaze at the stranger in our midst? It wasn't often I was stuck for something to say, but in that very moment, I was totally devoid of words. I hated to admit it, but it was like I had seen a ghost, a ghost from a long-forgotten past.

"Livvy?" I mouthed towards the newbie at the table.

She smiled.

"Good morning, Steve," she replied. "Nice to see you again, after all this time."

I quickly glanced around the table, wondering if anyone had picked up on this slightly awkward side conversation. Luckily, it seemed not.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I'd kept a sort of low profile throughout the day but, somehow, I could not avoid the welcome drinks. There was a difference between enduring an awkward introduction and being downright rude by blanking her out altogether.

I needn't have worried though. For all there may have been baggage, it seemed that Olivia was interested more in the future than the past, so much so that I found myself spending more time with the newbie than with anybody else.

By the end of the evening and fuelled on a little by the free-flowing wine at the company expense, not only had I made my professional reacquaintance, but I'd also found myself accepting an offer of dinner on the Friday night and, much to my surprise, agreeing to the suggestion that I showed her around town on the Saturday. I wasn't quite sure how I'd let myself be talked into the same, but it was hardly the time nor place to pick an argument about it.

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Three

Why me... why her...

That night, and back at my place, I poured myself a large scotch and headed upstairs. Stripped down to my boxers, I settled down atop my bed. I switched the television on, intent of grabbing the headlines before turning in for the night.

Somehow though... somehow my mind was elsewhere. I was still thinking about what had passed earlier in the day. It had been surreal, to say the least, and the more I thought about it, the more a single word filled my mind... a single word manifesting itself into a plethora of questions... why...

Why here?

Why now?

Why me?

Why her?

To say I was a tad preoccupied with the potential answers to those very questions was a bit of an understatement. I had tried as best I could to keep a low profile, to keep out of the spotlight, to put off that embarrassing yet inevitable reunion, yet there was no avoiding it altogether. How long had it been? I hadn't been counting, but it most have been the best part of eighteen if not nineteen years since our paths had last crossed.

For sure there was much catching up to be done. The question though, and the one I needed time to think about, was whether I wanted to be doing just that or not. It was a long story, and one I'd confined to the back of my mind, locked away in my own personal room one-o-one of memories best left untouched. Now though... now there was going to be no option but to confront that past and, I for one, didn't know quite whether it was a good thing to be doing or not.

For a little over five years, going all the way back to the tail end of our university days, we had been a thing. A thing? Yes, maybe that was an apt description for what had been a rather tumultuous relationship. If you looked at us together, at the public face of that relationship, and you would have seen a perfectly happy looking couple. Glimpse behind the scenes and the story was quite different.

She was the red to my blue.

She was my nemesis and my soulmate.

She was love and hate in equal measure.

She was... and that was the thing... she was everything I longed for... she was passion personified... raw, unbridled passion.

She was wild.

She was spontaneous.

She was unpredictable.

She made sparks fly.

She was... and that was the hardest of all... she was wild, and sometimes, no matter how hard you try, wild cannot be tamed, leaving you the only option but to walk away.

Walk away? That wasn't exactly what happened, but we did end up parting. It was work in the end which did it, hers not mine. The opportunity of a lifetime she called it. The chance to make a fresh start, to put some of those fires out. The problem though was, and it sort of pained me to say it, it was those fires which had sort of kept us going so long. It wasn't your traditional loving relationship, but it was raw, it was exciting, and the sex was goddam good. That said, somehow, I couldn't bring myself to move down under, and that was that.

After five tumultuous years, we were no more, and neither was the drink I had poured myself. The drink had unexpectedly come to an end, just as that earlier relationship had done. I placed the empty glass down on a bedside table, slumped down a little more on the bed, and turned my thoughts back to days gone by.

Don't get me wrong. I had no hard feelings. What happened, happened, and I wouldn't have changed a thing. It was just, well... it was just not meant to be. If truth be known, I had nothing to blame her for. I could have gone, and we could have continued just as we were. It was my choice as much as hers, and one I had thought about many times before finally condemning the memory to the back of my mind.

I'd promised myself to find somebody else, and god how I'd tried. There'd been a couple of relationships, but each time something was missing. Back then, I couldn't put my finger on what was missing, but now, now it was obvious... what was missing was that spark, that bolt of pure energy, that electricity between us. It just hadn't been there; at least not like it had been with her.

There was Claire of course. I was sure that would have worked, but again it was just as frustrating as those failed relationships. In Claire I'd found somebody I could have loved, yet I knew they were totally untouchable.

Then... then...

The more I thought about it, the more I couldn't get Olivia out of my mind. She went by a different name, a more professional sounding name, maybe even a married name, but to me she would always be Livvy... that wild, passionate spirit I spent those younger years with.

But... was she?

Was she the same?

Was she still just as wild, just as passionate, just as free spirited?

I'd changed. We all change. The only thing in life for sure was that change happens, so wouldn't it be no different for her? I closed my eyes, and immediately was taken back to those days, to playing dangerously, to reaping the rewards, to living life on the edge, inches away from it all coming crashing down around me.

It was like... like... like I was back there...

My heart pounded...

I felt that tingle of excitement deep inside as adrenaline filled my mind...

I...

I...

This time it wasn't imaginary. The ache was a giveaway. The stiffness just added weight to what I had already imagined. I reached down and placed a hand atop my boxers, cupping what was an unmistakeable bulge. I was hard... no, not rock hard, but hard enough to have me investigating... exploring... playing.

I ran my hand along the length of my shaft, from tip to base, then back again.

I drew my fingers across the very tip of my cock in a half stroking, half tickling sort of motion, every movement sending tiny ripples of pleasure deep inside.

I brought my palm down against the end of what was quickly becoming something harder still, and pushed against the hidden flesh, feeling first the bend and then the lift as my shaft reacted to the pressure exerted against it.

If I wasn't rock hard before, very soon I was sporting a flagpole of steel within those boxers. It wasn't the only thing I was sporting. Not only did I have a boner, but now I had an undeniable urge to do something about it.

I brought my hand back down to my shaft, wrapped my fingers around its girth, and started to stroke. It was slow. It was short. It was steady. Even with a thin covering of soft fabric, it felt so damn good.

Slow became just a little quicker.

Short became just a little longer.

Good became something much more... something urging me onwards.

I closed my eyes and continued to work my cock. Before long, I was pulling myself off with gusto. Before long, my mind was filled with images... images of the past... exciting images... passionate images... sexual images... of me... of us... of her.

Her?

Oh yes, it was her alright. Somewhere, somebody had opened the door to that room one-o-one, releasing every memory I had tried to store away for all those years. Now though, now those memories were back, and so was she, as large as life, doing what she always did best.

Quicker and quicker, I worked my cock.

I could feel my heart pounding.

I could feel the shallowness in my breath.

I could feel the ache in my wrist.

I couldn't stop.

I didn't want to stop.

The urge was greater than ever, and all I could do was stroke; faster, harder, longer. And then it happened. It came from nowhere, creeping up on me, and as it did, so I found myself focusing in on the tip of my cock, using fingers rather than hand, rubbing even quicker at my swollen helmet.

What came first?

Was it the tingling?

Was it that smouldering feeling of pleasure coming from somewhere deep inside?

Was it...

Oh yes, it was all of those, and some. All too quickly that smouldering pleasure had morphed into something much more. It was a fire, a rapidly growing fire, a fire threatening to rage out of control, and I only had myself to blame. Every touch sent the flames higher but still I didn't stop. I should have known better, but I couldn't help myself. It was like a chain reaction; the smoulder of suggestion, morphing into the never-ending urge, becoming that all-consuming need.

The fires burned bright, and all I was doing was stoking them higher and higher.

Feeling the slightest twitch inside, I clenched my buttocks, in a vain attempt to prolong the moment.

I held my breath.

Still, I stroked.

It was like I couldn't stop.

Faster and faster, I worked my cock.

Stronger and stronger, those fires consumed my sensitive head.