As the door clicked softly shut behind a somewhat bewildered but hopefully motivated Gloria, Hank turned back to Constance, his mind already strategizing the next steps. "There are still the other floors to consider," he stated, his gaze thoughtful.
Constance nodded, a hint of weariness in her eyes. "Yes, I've been thinking about that. This sixth floor is supposed to be the most productive, the one with the highest-performing teams. Yet, what you've already shown me…" Her voice trailed off, the unspoken disappointment hanging in the air.
Hank nodded in agreement. "Do you have floor managers on each level?" he inquired, his mind already formulating a plan.
Constance shook her head, a wry smile touching her lips. "No. James was vehemently against that idea. Said it would undermine his authority as director if the employees already had someone they reported to directly."
Hank shook his head slowly, a silent commentary on James's flawed leadership. "Here's what we do," he began, leaning forward, his tone decisive. "I will go through every floor, one by one. Those employees who consistently demonstrate the best work ethic… coming in on time, working diligently throughout the day, and generating actual profit… we identify them as potential floor managers."
Constance nodded, a spark of enthusiasm igniting in her eyes. She liked his proactive approach. "And if no one is up to the standard we need?" she asked.
"Then we hire someone from outside," Hank stated firmly. "Someone with proven leadership skills and a track record of success."
Constance nodded again, a sense of relief washing over her. "I will leave it entirely in your hands, Hank," she said, her voice filled with trust. "You can have Gloria go buy you a new laptop," she offered.
Hank shook his head. "If you'll allow me, I'd prefer to buy one myself. It might be a little more expensive, but I have a specific model in mind that I know will handle everything I need."
Constance smiled, a knowing glint in her eyes as she glanced at his camera bag. "Need another one for your editing?" she teased gently.
Hank chuckled and shook his head. "No, I have my own for that. It's relatively new and actually the exact same model I want to purchase for my work here. Familiarity breeds efficiency, as they say."
Constance nodded in understanding. "Very well. In that case," she said, standing up, "take the rest of the day off. You've certainly earned it."
Hank shook his head again, his gaze resolute. "No, I'll leave when the business day is officially over. I want to observe who leaves on time, who leaves early, and even who logs out of the system before the end of the day."
Constance smirked, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Well, you'll need that new laptop for that kind of digital surveillance," she pointed out.
Hank nodded. "I will use this one, and I’ll bring it up at the end of the day, assuming my new access card has access to the ninth floor?" he asked, raising an eyebrow playfully.
Constance's smirk widened. "Oh, yes… you are expected from time to time. Plus," she added, her voice softening slightly, "Lily has been asking about you."
Hank chuckled, a genuine warmth spreading through him at the mention of Constance's six-year-old daughter. Lily had quickly become a significant part of his life, her innocent affection a balm to his soul. He would never disappoint that bright, sweet little girl.
Constance stood up and walked towards the office door, pausing with her hand on the handle. "Hey, Hank," she said, turning back to face him.
He looked up, his gaze meeting hers.
"Thank you," she said, her voice sincere, her eyes conveying a depth of gratitude that words couldn't fully express.
Hank smiled warmly and nodded. "Anything for you, Constance," he replied, his loyalty unwavering.
She blew him a quick kiss across the room, a gesture both professional and intimately familiar, and then she left, closing the door softly behind her, leaving Hank alone with his thoughts and the quiet hum of the Hanigan Investment office.
---
Maerisa, her ethereal beauty radiating under the soft glow of the unseen light source above their ancient table, stood at its head, her gaze sweeping over her sisters. Each elven woman present was a vision of otherworldly grace, their features sharp and delicate, their eyes holding the wisdom of centuries. A palpable energy hummed in the air, a silent symphony of their shared consciousness.
"So, you have all felt it…" Maerisa began, her voice a melodic whisper that resonated with an inherent authority. "Hank has solidified his first true human connection. This Courtney… she is loyal, her young heart completely captivated. She is utterly in love with him, and her devotion will be unwavering. She will never stray."
A chorus of soft affirmations rippled around the table. Each sister nodded, their minds and souls attuned to Hank in ways that remained utterly beyond his human comprehension. They were bound to him by threads of ancient magic, a network of shared sensations and emotions. Every woman he touched, every flicker of desire in his heart, every intimate moment he experienced, resonated within their collective consciousness. They knew the depth of his feelings for each woman, the nuances of his attraction, the subtle shifts in his emotional landscape.
"The older one… Doria," Liara said, her voice thoughtful, her silver eyes reflecting a hint of concern. "She has captured a part of his heart too. A different part, perhaps, but significant nonetheless."
Maerisa nodded, her expression knowing. "He is very much intrigued, almost in rapture, by the fact that she is married. There is a forbidden allure, a respect for boundaries that simultaneously fuels his interest. He wishes the circumstances were different, but he honors her commitment. Should her marital status change, however… she will come to him. The pull is already there, a subtle current waiting to be unleashed."
Another round of assenting nods circled the table. Nienna, whose empathy often allowed her the deepest insights into human emotions, offered a subtle smirk. She had been particularly attuned to Hank's thoughts regarding Doria, sensing the potent mix of attraction and restraint. A plan began to coalesce in her mind, a gentle nudge of fate that might ease Hank's unspoken desires. She considered reaching out to this Doria, perhaps subtly influencing her circumstances, guiding her towards a path that would align with Hank's burgeoning affections.
Her gaze met Maerisa's across the table. The ancient bond between them allowed for a near-telepathic understanding. Maerisa, with her centuries of experience in guiding human hearts, seemed to almost read Nienna's thoughts. A barely perceptible nod, a flicker of approval in her emerald eyes, was all the confirmation Nienna needed. The plan in her mind began to take firmer shape.
"How many human wives will Hank eventually have?" Sylvana asked, her voice filled with a gentle curiosity.
Maerisa smiled, a radiant expression that illuminated her features. "As many as he desires, dear sister. Remember, the more deeply he intertwines his life with humanity, the stronger his connection to us will become. Each human wife will be another anchor, drawing his essence further into our fold."
Liara smiled, her earlier concern replaced by a sense of hopeful anticipation. "And this Constance woman?" she asked, her tone carrying a hint of intrigue.
Maerisa's smile widened. "She is still bound by marriage, as is Doria from Miami. But the threads of fate are ever-shifting. Paths can diverge, circumstances can change. And if they do, we will ensure Hank has his fair chance. He is already drawn to her strength, her resilience. He is happy to have her in his orbit, even in this current capacity." This confirmation only solidified Nienna's resolve, her internal plan now feeling more urgent, more necessary.
"And then there is Julie, the redhead from the beach," Liara added, a playful lilt in her voice.
Maerisa nodded, her gaze distant, as if peering into the near future. "Their path is set to connect soon. The initial spark has been ignited, and the flames will follow."
"And this Tiffany girl he had been talking and dreaming about?" Faelar asked, her brow slightly furrowed with uncertainty.
Maerisa smiled reassuringly. "Monday we will see. Hank will meet her then. But we do not interfere with free will in matters of this initial choice. We do not alter her feelings. She is either meant to be his, or not. But if she chooses him, if her heart aligns with his, then we will cleanse her, purify her essence, preparing her to be a true part of his life, a worthy addition to his growing circle." A collective nod of agreement rippled around the table.
Then, with a graceful movement, Maerisa sat down, her gaze encompassing all her sisters. "Our king is getting stronger," she said, her voice filled with a quiet confidence. "His human heart is opening, expanding. Soon, he will be ready for the fullness of his destiny. We simply have to be patient, nurture these connections, and guide him gently along the path that is meant to be." A quiet, confirming murmur echoed around the ancient table, a testament to their unwavering faith in their chosen king.
---
Hank leaned back in his executive chair, the panoramic view of San Diego stretching out before him, a stark contrast to the intricate web of numbers displayed on his laptop screen. Hours had melted away as he delved into the performance metrics of various departments, his initial focus on the sixth floor slowly expanding to encompass the entire firm. One name, however, kept leaping out from the data: Violet Swanson, an investor on the third floor. Her numbers were not just good; they were exceptional, consistently eclipsing even the top performers within his own newly acquired division. A furrow creased his brow. Why was such a high-achiever languishing on a lower floor, seemingly overlooked?
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Intrigued, Hank pulled up Violet Swanson's personnel file, his eyes scanning the details of her career trajectory within Hanigan Investment. A disturbing pattern emerged. Twice she had been passed over for promotion, the opportunities instead going to individuals with demonstrably weaker returns. Furthermore, she hadn't received a raise in the past two years, a stark injustice considering her stellar contributions. A knot of frustration tightened in Hank's chest. This wasn't just an oversight; it felt deliberate, a blatant disregard for talent. He jotted down a few key points, a growing suspicion forming in his mind. He shook his head slowly, the blatant unfairness of the situation rankling him.
He picked up his phone, his thumb hovering over Constance's number. He needed to discuss this, to understand the reasoning behind such a glaring discrepancy. The phone rang twice before she answered, her voice a soft, sensual purr. "Hi lover," she greeted him, the intimacy in her tone a familiar thrill.
Hank smiled, the sound of her voice a welcome distraction. "Hi darling," he replied, the pet name feeling natural on his lips.
"Are you calling to say you are on the way up?" she asked, the playful innuendo clear. Hank's initial impulse was a resounding yes. God, he wanted to be with her, to lose himself in her embrace. But the urgency of what he had discovered about Violet overshadowed his desire. "Sorry babe, maybe later," he said, a hint of regret in his voice. "I have no plans tonight, though." He could practically hear Constance's mental gears shifting, a soft hum of approval vibrating through the phone line. "Yeah, I like that," she whispered, the promise of later intimacy hanging in the air.
"I'm calling because I found something," Hank continued, steering the conversation back to business. "Violet Swanson on the third floor."
"Yeah?" Constance replied, a note of polite interest in her voice.
"She has consistently been one of the best investors in the entire company… yet she has been skipped for both raises and promotions over the last two years," Hank explained, the injustice evident in his tone.
"That can't be right. Give me a second," Constance said, a rustling sound indicating she was moving. He could hear the faint click of her heels on what he imagined was her office's marble floor. "Violet Swanson, you said?" she confirmed a moment later.
"That's her," Hank affirmed. "Her numbers this quarter alone are over half a million."
"Half a million?" Constance whispered, a note of disbelief creeping into her voice. "And last year… last year she cleared almost two million dollars," she continued, the sound of her typing on her computer audible. "Why the hell did she not get promoted?" The question hung in the air, laced with genuine confusion and a hint of anger.
Hank smirked, a cynical edge to his lips. "I have a guess," he said, "but I might be way off."
"I'm listening," Constance prompted, her curiosity piqued.
"Your ex," Hank stated bluntly, "she probably didn't want to sleep with him." He could hear the distinct click of Constance's mouse, a pause, and then a soft, almost resigned sigh. "Looking at her picture now… yeah, Hank, I think you might be right. She is stunning. Just the kind of girl James would have… 'taken an interest in.' The only logical explanation for overlooking such talent is exactly that." A bitter edge crept into Constance's voice.
Hank sighed, the casual sexism infuriating. "Constance, I know you probably want me to handle this, to rectify the situation. But I don't want Violet to think I'm giving her a promotion or a raise just because I want to sleep with her. I need you to be the one to initially offer it to her, to validate her worth independent of me."
"Hank," Constance countered, her tone firm, "you have to be the one to do it. If I approach her out of the blue with this, she will one hundred percent think it's because you want to sleep with her. It will look like I'm doing your bidding." She had a point, and Hank reluctantly conceded it.
"Alright," he sighed. "I'll talk to her. But I need to know what I'm authorized to offer."
"I'll say a hundred and twenty thousand a year, plus a significant bonus structure tied to her performance," Constance stated decisively. Hank glanced back at Violet's file; her current salary was a paltry ninety-four thousand, with no mention of bonuses. The offer was substantial, a clear indication of her true value. "And what floor do you want her on?" Hank asked, a smile tugging at his lips. He could hear Constance's soft laughter echoing through the phone. "Well…"
---
High above the relentless pulse of Miami, on the secluded rooftop of a gleaming high-rise, Nienna stood, a figure cloaked in the city's humid night air. Her gaze, sharp and knowing, was fixed directly on a modest apartment building nestled amidst the surrounding towers. Specifically, she observed a window on the fourth floor, the source of a heated argument that spilled out into the night.
Inside the small apartment, the strained voices of Doria and her husband, Jim, clashed like discordant notes. "Really, Doria? You're gone for four days, and you wonder why I'm in a mood?" Jim's voice, thick with resentment, echoed through the thin walls.
Doria's reply was a low growl, laced with years of simmering frustration. "Jim, for fuck's sake, you never pay attention to me! And now that I was gone for a few days… a trip you knew about, might I add… you suddenly crave attention? Well, I'm here now. What do you want? To fuck? A fucking blowjob? What, Jim? What?" Her voice rose with each word, culminating in a frustrated yell.
The sharp slam of a door punctuated the argument, and a moment later, Jim stormed out of the apartment building, his face a mask of angry indignation. Just as he reached his car, Doria's voice, amplified by the open window, cut through the night air. "You leave now, Jim! We are done!"
Jim stopped dead in his tracks, turning to glare up at her window. "And what, you old hag? You think you'll find someone else? Who the fuck would want you?" he bellowed back, his words laced with bitter cruelty.
"Arrr, fuck you, Jim!" Doria retorted, slamming the window shut with a decisive thud. Jim stood there for a moment, his jaw tight, before finally getting into his car and starting the engine.
High above, Nienna whispered a short incantation, the ancient words resonating softly in the night air. She blew a delicate kiss, and a wisp of shimmering pink smoke, visible only to her otherworldly senses, spiraled down towards Jim's departing car. He drove off, oblivious to the subtle shift in the currents of fate that now surrounded him. Nienna smirked, a hint of dark amusement in her eyes. The first delicate step of her intricate plan had been set in motion, and she hadn't even needed to lift a finger to drive a wedge between the unhappy couple. Jim had accomplished that all by himself.
Four miles down the road, the initial burst of Jim's anger began to dissipate, replaced by a gnawing sense of frustration. He realized that his outburst had guaranteed one thing: a distinct lack of intimacy with his wife. And after four days of her absence, a dull ache of physical longing had taken root and begun to intensify. He drove past a notorious stretch of road, a well-known haven for streetwalkers. Jim slowed down, his gaze flicking towards the figures standing in the shadows. He reached into his wallet, his fingers finding four crisp hundred-dollar bills. A self-satisfied smirk stretched across his face. "Fuck it," he muttered under his breath. "One way or another, I am having sex tonight." He abruptly steered his car down the side street, his eyes scanning the array of women who lined the sidewalks. He decided he would be discerning. If he had to pay for it, she damn well had to be attractive.
As if his unspoken request had been heard by some unseen force, his gaze landed on her. A few car lengths ahead, leaning against a lamppost, stood a woman who seemed to embody his desires. Long, shapely legs stretched towards the streetlight, and the swell of her breasts, though perhaps not quite as ample as Doria's, was undeniably alluring. Her face, partially obscured by shadow, hinted at striking features, a sculpted beauty. And the curve of her backside, visible even in the dim light, looked undeniably perfect. He stopped his car directly in front of her. She sauntered over to his window, her movements radiating a practiced confidence. "Looking for company, honey?" she asked, her voice a husky drawl.
Jim smiled, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "I might be, baby. What do you offer?"
"Head and a quick fuck for a hundred," she replied, her gaze direct and unwavering.
Jim smirked. "And what about a fuck, and you finish me in your mouth?" he countered, raising the stakes slightly.
She considered his offer for a moment, a flicker of calculation in her eyes, then nodded. "Well, say a hundred and twenty," she proposed.
Jim readily agreed. "Sounds good. Do you have a place?" he asked.
She smiled, a knowing curve of her lips, and nodded towards the passenger door. "Down the street to the right," she directed as she hopped into the car. Jim started the engine and followed her directions. "So," she began, turning to face him, her eyes assessing. "May I ask why you chose me?"
Jim smirked again, a crude honesty coloring his reply. "I need to get laid. The wife is giving me grief, and your pussy might just be a hell of a lot better than what she could offer."
She nodded, a sigh escaping her lips. "Red sun today," she murmured, the seemingly innocuous phrase hanging in the air. It was a code, a silent signal. Not ten seconds later, the flashing blue and red lights of a police cruiser filled Jim's rearview mirror. "Fuck," Jim hissed under his breath, his heart sinking. "If they ask, you're my girlfriend," he instructed her quickly.
A subtle smirk played on Misty's lips, a fleeting expression that hinted at a game she was intimately familiar with, as Jim nervously fumbled with the gearshift and pulled his car over to the curb. The flashing blue and red lights in his rearview mirror painted the interior of the car in alternating hues of warning. A uniformed officer, his posture radiating an air of quiet authority, stepped out of the cruiser and approached Jim's vehicle with a measured pace. Jim, his face a mask of forced nonchalance that didn't quite reach his wide, anxious eyes, took a deep, shaky breath. "So, where are we going today?" the officer asked, his tone conversational yet carrying an underlying edge of professional scrutiny.
Jim offered a weak, unconvincing smile. "Just going out with the girlfriend," he repeated, his hand gesturing a little too enthusiastically towards Misty, who leaned back in her seat, observing the interaction with an almost detached amusement.
The officer's gaze flickered inside the car, lingering on Misty for a moment, his eyes taking in her carefully crafted appearance… the slightly too-bright lipstick, the strategically ripped jeans, the air of someone who knew the streets. "Sorry, sir, but could you please step out of your vehicle?" he requested, his tone polite but leaving no room for argument. Jim's shoulders slumped imperceptibly as he complied, his legs feeling suddenly heavy and uncoordinated. "So," the officer continued, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he focused on Jim. "Picking up a prostitute is against the law, you know."
Jim's feigned shock was almost comical. "I am appalled, Officer," he protested, his voice rising a little too high, attempting to project an air of wounded innocence that didn't quite ring true.
The officer gave him a look that spoke volumes of experience with such denials. His gaze flicked back to Misty, a barely perceptible nod passing between them. "Misty here has been picked up a few times before," he stated, his eyes returning to Jim, the implication hanging heavy in the air. "You want to stick to your story?"
Jim's eyes darted to Misty, whose smirk had now widened into a knowing grin, a silent confirmation of the officer's words. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, the realization dawning that his attempt at deception had been laughably transparent. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to take you in, sir," the officer announced, reaching for the handcuffs clipped to his belt. "I'm going to put you in the back of my cruiser." He firmly guided Jim towards the rear of the police car, opening the back door with a decisive click. As the door closed behind him, trapping him in the caged confines, Jim watched through the wire mesh as the officer walked over to Misty, who had now stepped out of Jim's car and was leaning casually against the open door. "He actually asked me to say I was his girlfriend," she said, a genuine amusement coloring her voice as she spoke to her colleague.
"And why was he here, Misty?" The Officer asked, shaking his head with a weary sigh that suggested he'd seen this scenario play out countless times.
Misty shrugged, her eyes twinkling. "Fucking cheating on his wife, apparently she's not giving it up," she replied with a casual air, as if discussing the weather.
Officer Hernandez sighed again. "Want to call it a night, Misty? Another one off the street."
Misty grinned, a flash of professional satisfaction in her eyes. "Getting these idiots off the street… let's do one more," she said, her gaze already scanning the passing cars.
"Whatever you say, Misty," Officer Hernandez replied with a smile, acknowledging her dedication. He turned and headed back to the patrol car, leaving Misty to resume her role, a silent guardian of the streets in disguise.
