Author's note: Stories in this series are standalone unless I indicate otherwise. This is part one of a two part standalone story. I know there was a lot of interest to see more of Jenna and her subordinate, and I appreciate the passion, but for now you'll have to wait. I do hope to bring Jenna back in a later story, though.
Here's a quick blurb covering Michelle, our executive coach, for new readers.
Michelle Headley is a tall woman, thirty-four years old, shoulder length blonde-hair, about five foot ten, with chiseled features. She had considerable success in her youth after launching and selling a startup that helped women manage their professional goals and careers. Now she works alone, coaching the elite businesswomen of the world. However, her coaching methods are a little unorthodox, and she goes the extra mile to provide a personal touch to her clients.
It had been a while since she'd been called in on a consulting operation, let alone one so unusual, but Michelle went where the money was paid and Appleton Preparatory was paying handsomely. They had even set her up in a beautiful office studio just off campus, which overlooked a beautiful stretch of rural Carolina hills and forest.
She looked up from her laptop as the door opened. "Mrs. Southam is here for her appointment," Michelle's assistant Dani announced.
"Let her in," Michelle said, rising and walking across the room. Michelle was wearing stylish black slacks and a white blouse today, with little dolphin earrings.
Mrs. Southam walked inside and Dani closed the door behind her. Mrs. Southam was a woman of medium height, maybe five foot five inches, with short, curly brown hair and light green eyes. Her thick full lips neatly highlighted her slightly rounded face. Wrapped in an unflattering pantsuit, it was hard to tell but Michelle estimated the woman had a curvy figure with a larger than average posterior. She was in her late forties or early thirties, but her skin looked good for her age, and she was in decent shape from what Michelle could determine.
"Nice to meet you," Michelle said, extending a hand to her. "I'm Michelle."
"Sophie," the woman replied, a hint of nervousness in her eyes and her hand shake. She had a strong Southern accent. "I have to admit, Ms. Headley, I am a tick unsettled by all this. It hardly feels necessary."
"Just call me Michelle, please. And have a seat," Michelle said, gesturing at the sofas. She took a seat on one herself and waited as Sophie sat down. "Dani's going to bring us some wine. White or red?"
"Oh, I don't know if I should drink, I might have to go back to work," Sophie said.
Michelle smiled firmly. "No, your schedule has been cleared for the next four hours. You'll stay here, and you'll have a glass of wine with me."
Sophie's shoulders slumped as she sunk into the sofa. "If you insist, white'll do fine, thank you."
Michelle pressed the button on the side desk, summoning Dani. "Now, I think you know why you're here, but I don't think you know who I am."
"You're an executive coach," Sophie said, frowning. "But that's all they told me."
"I'm a very special executive coach. Often I work with women in business, but as principal of one of the most elite preparatory schools in the country, you qualify as an executive. And it seems, unfortunately, that while your first five years of tenure here were quite successful, the last year has been a little troublesome."
Sophie's cheeks, pale and drawn out, flushed, and Michelle could see a trace of the former Southern beauty queen in here. She'd read Sophie's entire personnel file and done a background check, so she knew quite a bit about her client. "I suppose this is about the incident with Ms. Marsh."
"Allison Marsh, the equestrian instructor, yes?"
"Yes." Sophie shuffled her feet as the wine glasses were brought in. "Thank you, honey," she said to the young assistant, before taking a sip. "Well, I suppose you know I slapped her, but that ain't the whole story."
Michelle took a sip and set her glass down on the coffee table. She folded her hands together and leaned forward. "Do tell me the whole story."
"Well, she's been a right pain in the behind all year, tell you the truth. She's been posting all these skimpy bikini pictures on the socials and all, and the kids see them and it's disgusting. There's no respect. The boys are all telling dirty jokes about it and the girls want to dress that way." She shook her head. "Part of our message at this school is modesty and good, decent Christian values. We can't have a teacher do these things. Anyhow, I was telling her off in my office one day and she got in my face and called me..." Sophie paused, anger flashing in her green eyes. "Called me a fat prude. And I slapped her."
"I see," Michelle said. "It's interesting you feel that way. Weren't you a model, when you were her age?" She dropped a folder on the table, popped open to several pictures of a young Sophie in a stunning lacy purple and green lingerie set. "You don't feel hypocritical?"
Sophie grew redder. "Well, that just ain't fair. It was a long time ago, and I don't do that any more. It's not appropriate."
Michelle raised her eyebrows. "Why don't you do it anymore? I think many people would enjoy seeing you dressed that way."
Sophie spluttered wine. "I... I... I don't even own underwear like that anymore."
"Why not?"
"My husband..." She paused and scowled. "Seems you've done your research. You already know, I'm sure. We've been separated about a year. And he hasn't looked at me even longer. Even though I lost the baby weight after our third kid, he just..." She crossed her arms. "I don't need to tell you all this. It ain't your business."
"I believe it is. All of this is my business. You see, I don't think you slapped that young woman because she called you a fat prude." Michelle smiled and took a long sip of her wine. "I think you slapped her because she's wrong. You're not a prude. Inside of you, there's a slut."
Sophie's face twitched. She placed her wine glass down on the table. "Excuse me? Who do you think you are, to be talking to me this way? Some hoity toity consultant down from New York comes to my school, and calls me a slut? I'm out of here." She stood up and grabbed her bag.
Michelle sighed. "You know just as well as I do that if you don't complete your coaching to my satisfaction, the Appleton family will fire you. So please, don't play games with me." She gestured to the sofa opposite of her. "Sit down, please."
Sophie glared at Michelle for a moment, but eventually tossed her bag down and sat on the sofa. Michelle refilled their wine glasses. "I don't like that word, Ms. Headley."
"I'm afraid that I'm going to use it a bit more." Michelle sat up straighter. "You've never read any of my work, but SLUT is actually an acronym for one of my most important principles. Sexual Liberation Unlocks Talent. Do you know what that means?"
Sophie rolled her eyes. "I ain't interested in your fancy schmancy self helf bullcrap."
"It means," Michelle said, gritting her teeth, "that your potential as a professional woman can never be achieved unless you are sexually liberated and satisfied. You might be a good Christian woman, but you need to be sexually active, and sexually fulfilled. Otherwise, I'm afraid events such as this will continue to happen, and your career will peter out."
