At nine thirty sharp my team files in to review and prepare for the Maned Wolf presentation. Taci, Daemon, Nin, and Asha all have their roles to play, details they will explain, questions they’ll be prepared to field. But in the end they’re just backup singers. Tomorrow is my day. I will be the one to rise or fall.
They’re looking at me differently . . . but not with judgment exactly. All of them, with the exception of Asha, seem nervous. When I ask a question, they jump to respond, their eyes anxious; then they sigh quietly in relief when I toss out words of approval. There are nuances, of course. Taci appears a bit curious, Nin’s apprehension seems tinged with disapproval. When I stand, Daemon’s eyes seem to linger on where my skirt hugs my hips. When I send him a questioning glance, he immediately looks down at the floor, bending his head as if in prayer . . . or in shame.
They all know. But they’re not testing me and they’re certainly not mocking me.
They’re afraid of me. And that fear seems to simultaneously repel and attract them. That should probably upset me. But there’s really only one takeaway that I keep coming back to.
I’m getting Tom’s job.
Daemon glances up again as I pace the room, going over the numbers. His gaze rises above my hips this time, to my breasts. He doesn’t think I notice; he doesn’t think I know what he wants me to do to him.
And that’s the key, isn’t it? It’s about what he wants me to do to him. I can see he would never dare try to be the aggressor. His deference is tangible.
The people who would mock you or try to make your life harder? They’ll bow before us.
The thought is unsettling. . . .
. . . And a little thrilling.
I know it shouldn’t be but . . . well, I’ve never tasted this kind of power before. And oh, how many years have I hunted, fought, and cultivated control. And here, in a single act, Robert has given it to me.
I swallow hard, switch my focus to Asha. She’s the only one whose attitude remains the same. Her dark eyes are attentive but give away nothing. She is the picture of calm and composure. Ironic since she’s the only one here who deserves to be cowed.
A little of my confidence fades away. Not much, not enough to make me humble, but still. I roll my shoulders back, finish up the meeting. We have all the information we need for tomorrow’s presentation. All that’s left to do is to go back to our individual corners and practice our lines.
In the end I gesture with a silent hand that it’s time for them to leave my office. And just like that, they file out. Taci, Nin, Daemon with a lingering smile. All obedient, all ready to please.
Again that little thrill . . .
. . . which is quickly squashed when it becomes clear that Asha is hanging back, waiting until it’s just the two of us.
“Did you want something, Asha?” I ask when the others are gone.
“Is today my last day?”
The question hits me like an electric current, rendering me temporarily unable to speak.
We stand opposite each other, taking in each other’s details. She, too, is wearing a black suit, but unlike me she’s wearing pants and a stark white button-down shirt under the neat blazer. Her hair hangs down her back, the same midnight shade as her clothes.
“Why would you ask me that?” I finally sputter.
She meets my eyes but doesn’t answer.
“Did you tell them I slept with Robert?”
Her mouth curves down into a grimace. “No,” she says shortly. “I had hoped to hold that information over your head but it’s obvious they already know. Perhaps Tom thought telling them would be his drop of revenge. Clearly it’s backfired.”
The idea of Tom retaliating makes me shiver. I cross my arms over my chest protectively.
“Is today my last day?” she asks again.
“Not that I’m aware of,” I say. “But again, why do you ask?”
Asha studies my face before responding. “Your lover is setting the stage,” her voice is steady, emotionless. “He’s picking the players, dismissing the actors who don’t please him. It’s what needs to be done before the curtains rise.”
“And then what?”
Her lips curve into a Mona Lisa smile. “And then he can make his pretty little marionette dance.”
A flash of anger but the cutting retort jumps to mind too late. She’s already walked out.
I turn and look out the window. The sky is a dark gray; perhaps a storm is brewing. When I was a little girl, I was afraid of storms. But now when I think of a storm, my mind wanders to the ocean. Those choppy, white-capped waves creating a sense of excitement, danger, and most of all, beauty.
“I am beautiful,” I say quietly to myself. It’s funny because in the past I’ve always thought of beauty as a thing for princesses. But when I say the word these days, it feels different. It’s like I’ve changed the meaning to something richer, darker, and considerably more sensuous.