The Uber rolled to a stop in front of their house just before midnight. Jess stepped out, the night air cool against her bare shoulders after the artificial warmth of the car. Her heels clicked against the concrete walkway as she approached the front door.
Inside, she kicked off her heels with a groan of relief. The house was silent, empty in a way that felt different than usual because of Tom's absence.
She made her way to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, drinking it in long gulps as her mind raced through the events of the evening. The presentation had gone perfectly. The designs had been well received. Connections had been made that could advance her career significantly. By all objective measures, tonight had been a professional triumph.
And yet she could still hear Chris Webb's voice, the casual objectification, the crude speculation about her sexual preferences. She could still feel the weight of his hand on her waist during their dance, the subtle pressure as he'd suggested they continue their discussion "somewhere quieter."
In the bedroom, she unzipped the dress and let it slip down her body to pool at her feet, leaving her in just her strapless bra and thong.
Jess caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror. She turned, looking over her shoulder at her reflection, studying the curve of her ass, the smooth expanse of her back. These weren't parts of herself she'd earned solely through effort. They were accidents of genetics, gifts of arbitrary fate. Was this all they saw when they looked at her? Not her talent, not her intelligence, not her professional accomplishments, just... this?
She stared at her reflection, seeing herself through Chris Webb's crude words.
"...all I could think about was how that mouth would look wrapped around my cock."
While she'd been talking about design philosophies and material selections, he'd been imagining her on her knees.
It wasn't the first time this had happened. As a female designer, she'd grown accustomed to walking a tightrope. Be attractive enough to command attention but not so attractive that you became a distraction. Dress professionally but not boringly. Be confident but not aggressive. Show enthusiasm but don't appear desperate.
She'd navigated these contradictions for years, had learned to read the subtle shift in a client's gaze when it moved from professional assessment to personal interest. Had mastered the art of the gentle redirection, the casual mention of "my husband" dropped into conversation like a shield.
Tonight should have been different. This was her project, her moment of professional recognition. And for much of the evening, it had been. Margaret's approval, the investors' questions about her design philosophy, the respectful attention during her presentation, all of it had felt like validation of her work, not her appearance.
Until those comments. Until that dance with Chris. Until the realization that beneath the veneer of professional respect lurked the same old reduction of her worth to her physical attributes.
The hot shower couldn't wash away the memory of their words but it soothed her body. She scrubbed her skin, as if trying to remove an invisible layer of grime. The makeup came off, mascara creating dark rivers down her cheeks before swirling away down the drain.
Wrapped in her fluffy robe, Jess sat cross-legged on their bed. The clock on the nightstand read 12:47 AM. 10:47 PM in San Diego.
She needed Tom to understand, to share her outrage, to validate that this shouldn't still be happening, that her work deserved to stand on its own merits without her appearance entering the equation at all.
Her finger hovered over the call button. Part of her wanted to just text, to claim exhaustion and postpone the conversation. But she knew Tom was waiting. With a deep breath, she pressed call.
He answered on the first ring.
"Hey," Tom's voice came through, warm and eager. "There's my star designer. How was it?"
Jess leaned back against the headboard. "It was... good. The presentation went perfectly. Everyone loved the designs."
"I knew they would," Tom replied, pride evident in his voice. "How are you holding up? You must be exhausted."
"Just got out of the shower," Jess replied, running her fingers through her damp hair. "But yeah, I'm pretty wiped out. What about you? Still holed up in that hotel room?"
"Unfortunately. Room service brought me a sad excuse for a burger about an hour ago." There was a rustling sound as he presumably shifted position. "But enough about my glamorous life. Tell me everything about tonight."
She managed a small smile. "The virtual walkthrough of the master suite got an actual gasp from the audience when we revealed the bathroom's transition to the terrace."
"That was all you," Tom said. "I remember when you first sketched that concept. You were so excited."
The memory softened something in her. "Yeah, I guess I was."
"So, networking success? Any promising leads?"
Jess twisted a strand of wet hair around her finger. "A few. Margaret introduced me to some developer from New York. And there might be something in Houston with James Chen."
"Chen? The real estate mogul? Jess, that's huge!"
"Yeah, it could be," she agreed, her enthusiasm not quite matching his. "There was also talk about a boutique hotel in Savannah. Historic district."
"Sounds perfect for you," Tom said. "Your aesthetic would work so well with those old buildings."
Seconds ticked by without conversation.
"Jess?" Tom's voice shifted, concern setting in. "Everything okay? You sound... off."
"I'm just tired," she deflected. "It was a long night."
His voice softened. "Did something happen?"
Jess closed her eyes, debating how much to share. "It's nothing, really."
"Jess," Tom pressed gently. "Talk to me."
She sighed, relenting. "It's just... I overheard some things tonight. Things that weren't meant for me to hear."
"What kind of things?" Tom asked.
"Chris Webb and some of the investors," Jess began. "They were talking about me. Not about my designs or my presentation. About... me. My body."
"What did they say?"
"It's just... one of them said I was probably dynamic in bed. The other said I looked like the type who would need to be tamed" Jess's voice tightened with anger. "They were placing bets, Tom. Actually placing bets on which of them could sleep with me first."
"They were betting?" Tom's voice sounded strained. "What kind of stakes?"
"Does it even matter?" she snapped. "It was a thousand dollars. Chris said he'd win easily. Said he could tell I was the type who secretly craves a real man to put me in my place." She let out a bitter laugh. "They talked about me like I wasn't even human. Like I was just some prize to be won."
"That's gross," Tom said, but there was a strange tension in his voice. "Did they say anything else?"
Jess went silent for a moment, trying to understand his fixation on the details. "Chris said something about wanting to see my ass turning pink before bending me over his desk. They were being crude. Objectifying. He said something about..." She hesitated, the words sticking in her throat. "About how my mouth would look wrapped around his... his cock."
She waited for the explosion, the protective fury. Tom had always been quick to anger when someone disrespected her. She needed that now, his indignation, his outrage on her behalf.
It didn't come.
Instead, there was a loaded silence, punctuated only by Tom's slightly altered breathing. "What else?" Tom asked.
Jess blinked, confused by his response. "What do you mean, what else?"
"I mean, what else did they say?" Tom clarified. "About you."
