The transition from the passionate depths of the night to the soft glow of morning felt far too swift. It seemed only moments ago that Hank and Kamilla were entangled in a whirlwind of desire, and now, the first rays of sunlight were tentatively peeking through the hotel window. Kamilla, it turned out, was an inexhaustible force in the bedroom. Their initial encounter on the bed had merely been the opening act. The shower had become another stage for their burgeoning intimacy, the steamy confines echoing with their laughter and moans as she had insisted on exploring him with her mouth. Back in bed, clean but no less aroused, their bodies had intertwined once more, leading to another frantic, satisfying climax that necessitated a second shower. This time, the playful exploration continued, her lips and tongue working their magic, leaving Hank breathless and utterly sated.

  Now, lying side-by-side in the aftermath of their passionate night, a comfortable exhaustion settled over them. Hank was undeniably tired, every muscle in his body pleasantly weary, but a wide, contented smile played on his lips. Every second spent with Kamilla had been a revelation, a testament to her fiery nature and uninhibited desire. He knew, with a certainty that resonated deep within him, that welcoming her into his life as one of his permanent girls had been the right decision.

  A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest as he thought about the whirlwind of the past two weeks. It was almost unbelievable. Just a fortnight ago, he had been a virgin, navigating the awkwardness of inexperience. Now, he could barely keep track of the women he had been with, the landscape of his romantic life having exploded into a vibrant, complex tapestry. A new job, a life-altering destiny unfolding before him, and what was it now? Four human wives-to-be in the immediate future, and the promise of fourteen elven brides, all sisters, waiting in the wings. The sheer scale of it all was both exhilarating and slightly overwhelming.

  "What are you thinking about?" Kamilla asked, her voice husky with sleep and contentment. She rolled onto her side, resting her head on his chest, her dark hair a soft tangle against his skin. Hank leaned down and kissed the top of her head, inhaling the lingering scent of their lovemaking. "How incredibly lucky I am," he replied, his voice filled with genuine sentiment.

  She chuckled, the sound warm and intimate against his chest. "You really have no idea what you're getting into, do you?" she teased, tilting her head back to look up at him, her mahogany eyes sparkling with amusement. "Most men can't even handle having one woman, Hank. We can be high maintenance, you know? Very demanding. You have four now, and more on the horizon. Do you honestly think you can handle it all?"

  Hank smirked, a confident glint in his eyes. "Yeah, Kamilla, I think I can. But I guess we'll see, won't we?"

  She laughed again, a throaty, infectious sound. "Hank… you just make sure you don't piss us off. Keep us happy, and we'll keep you very, very happy," she whispered, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. She leaned up and kissed him softly on the lips. "Any more girls I need to know about, Mr. Avery?" she asked, her tone playful but with a hint of genuine curiosity.

  Hank smirked and nodded. "A few," he admitted, his honesty now a comfortable habit with her. He then told her about Tiffany, the model his Uncle had sent his way. She was arriving the following Monday night and would be staying with him at the new apartment for a few days. He confessed that he wasn't entirely sure if her interest in him was romantic or merely a matter of convenience, but he certainly hoped for more. He spoke of Michelle, the OnlyFans creator he had connected with, recounting their photoshoot and the passionate encounter that followed. He admitted that there was something special about Michelle, a vulnerability and a spark that he was deeply drawn to, and he hoped their connection would deepen. Then, he mentioned Julie, the enigmatic woman he had met at the volleyball tournament, still a delightful mystery that he hoped would reach out again. He also briefly mentioned the twins from the convention, Lena from the same event, and Yuna, the quiet married Asian artist he had shared a brief but intense night with.

  Kamilla shook her head slowly, a bemused expression on her face. "Fuck, Hank," she whispered, a mixture of shock and amusement in her voice. "That's… that's a lot to take in." She looked up at him again. "Any more?" she asked, her curiosity seemingly boundless. He smirked. "I have a feeling three of the women at the company might be… interested too," he confessed, watching her reaction.

  Kamilla threw her head back and laughed, the sound echoing through the hotel room. "Okay, Hank," she said, her laughter subsiding but a smile still playing on her lips. "But for real, I'm okay with it. Honestly. But you better always be honest with me. No secrets, no lies."

  Hank leaned down and kissed her deeply, his sincerity evident in the warmth of his embrace. "Constance said the exact same thing," he whispered against her lips. Kamilla smiled and nodded, a sense of understanding and acceptance passing between them.

  ---

  Saturday morning arrived with a quiet stillness that contrasted sharply with the tumultuous events of the previous night. Hank, despite the lingering pleasant ache of a night spent in passionate exploration with Kamilla, found sleep elusive. He had kissed her goodbye with the promise of a conversation on Monday, a silent understanding passing between them that their connection was more than just a fleeting encounter.

  Now, alone in his hotel room, Hank felt a restless energy stirring within him, a sense of responsibility that transcended the usual weekend leisure. He pulled up the detailed performance reports of each of the one hundred and fourteen employees at Hanigan Investments, the digital documents a stark reflection of their productivity over the past week. He meticulously reviewed their active time logged into the system each day, the volume of their investments, and, most importantly, the profits they had generated. The task was a monumental one, the sheer volume of data requiring intense concentration. He was perhaps thirty percent of the way through his analysis when his phone buzzed, the familiar ringtone cutting through the quiet of the morning.

  He glanced at the display. Constance. He picked up immediately. "Good morning," he said, his voice still a little rough from lack of sleep.

  "What the hell happened in the office, Hank?" Constance's voice was sharp, laced with a clear distress. "I was just down there, and the place… it's destroyed."

  Hank sighed, running a hand through his still-disheveled hair. He was perhaps more calm about the vandalism than he should have been, a strange detachment settling over him in the face of their petty destruction. "My assumptions were correct. They did return, and Frank actually tried to set fire to the office."

  "We have to get it cleaned up immediately," she said, the urgency in her voice escalating. "We have an image to uphold, Hank."

  "Actually, no," Hank said, his tone surprisingly firm.

  "What?" Constance's voice was sharp, bordering on harsh. "What do you mean, 'no'? We cannot leave the office in that state!"

  Hank nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "I understand that, Constance. The optics are not ideal. But I want the employees to see what happened. I want them to know, unequivocally, that both Frank and Charles are in jail right now, cooling their heels because of their own stupidity. And I want them to know that I was there, waiting, to ensure they were arrested."

  "Why, Hank? Why would you want them to see that?" she asked, her confusion evident.

  Hank paused, choosing his words carefully. "Only so they see that I am not just here as… what was it that young man so eloquently put it? Oh yeah, 'come in late, fuck a girl, and leave.' No, Constance. I am here to do a job. I am here to protect your business, your livelihood, your home. And if that means I have to sit in the middle of a vandalized sixth floor for a few days while it's being repaired, then that's exactly what I will do."

  He could sense Constance's hesitation, the internal conflict between her desire for a pristine image and the underlying message Hank was trying to convey. "Hank, we can easily relocate you to one of the other vacant offices," she offered, her voice softening slightly.

  "We could," Hank conceded. "But this way, they will see that I am not a joke. I will prove to them that I am willing to do whatever it takes to ensure the smooth and secure operation of this company."

  She sighed, a long, drawn-out sound of reluctant agreement. "Okay, Hank. If you truly think that's the right way to handle it," she whispered, the uncertainty still lingering in her tone.

  Hank nodded firmly. "I do, Constance. I truly do." There was a brief pause, and then her voice shifted, a playful purr entering the conversation. "You know," she said, her tone suggestive, "you could have come up after all of that last night. I was still awake."

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  Hank smirked, a familiar warmth spreading through him at the thought of her. "About that…" he began, a hint of amusement in his voice.

  Constance laughed, a light, knowing sound. "Oh my god, you had someone over, didn't you?" she said, her tone more curious than accusatory.

  Hank snorted softly. "Yeah, kind of unexpected, but yes, I did," he confirmed, deciding against any embellishment.

  "Some girl in the hotel? Or perhaps that charming police officer who couldn't resist your allure?" she teased, a playful edge to her voice.

  Hank cleared his throat. "Actually, no. You actually know this one," he said, bracing himself for her reaction. The phone line went silent for a beat. "Who?" she whispered, the curiosity now tinged with a hint of intrigue.

  "Kamilla West, from Security," he said, holding his breath, anticipating the explosion. Instead, after a long, drawn-out inhale, Constance burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the phone. "Oh, fuck, Hank! She is definitely not your usual type of girl!"

  "No, she's not," Hank agreed, a smile spreading across his face at her unexpected reaction. "And I have a bet with her now."

  "A bet?" Constance asked, her laughter subsiding, replaced by a renewed curiosity.

  "Yeah," Hank chuckled. "She's convinced you're going to fire her now. I told her you’re one of my girls."

  Constance purred, a low, sensual sound that sent a familiar shiver down Hank's spine. "You told her that?" she asked, a possessive note in her voice.

  "I'm not keeping it a secret, Constance. Just like I promised you, I will never lie to you. I'll tell you who, and if you ask, I'll tell you how and what we did," he said, his honesty unwavering.

  "Hank," she whispered, her voice softening with genuine appreciation, "I honestly don't need to know the 'what,' but I truly appreciate your honesty with me." "So, this bet?" she prompted, bringing the conversation back to Kamilla.

  Hank chuckled. "Yeah. If you fire her, I have to marry her too, which I probably would anyway, just like I will you. But if she still has a job on Monday, I get to take her ass."

  Constance erupted in another peal of laughter, the sound light and unrestrained.

  Even after Constance’s relieved promise that the biohazard of the urine-soaked plant would be eradicated before the start of the new work week, a lingering scent of stale ammonia seemed to cling to the memory of their conversation. Hank, his mind already racing with strategies for the company’s improvement, returned to the digital performance reports. Hours melted away as he delved deeper into the data, his brow furrowed in concentration. A pattern began to emerge, a subtle undercurrent of untapped potential that piqued his interest.

  He identified a list of thirty names, thirty individuals who, while technically employed and consistently logging into the system, were essentially coasting. Their investment activity was minimal, their portfolios stagnant, their contributions barely registering on the company’s overall profit margin. They were the embodiment of the bare minimum, doing just enough to remain on the payroll.

  But within this apparent inertia, Hank saw an opportunity. He knew that the dedicated employees, the ones who actively engaged with the market and diligently cultivated their investments, were generating significant revenue for Constance, contributing to the millions she earned annually. However, his analysis suggested a substantial untapped reservoir of potential. If these thirty underperforming individuals could be motivated to actively manage their portfolios, to seize opportunities and drive growth, he calculated that the company’s overall profits could realistically increase by almost twenty percent.

  A new game plan began to solidify in his mind, a strategy designed to ignite a fire under this dormant segment of the workforce. The core of the plan was simple and direct, a clear articulation of expectations and consequences. He began to draft a formal memo, his words precise and professional, reflecting the seriousness of the intended changes.

  The memo outlined a revised set of workplace expectations, effective immediately. It stated unequivocally that all employees were required to be present at their workstations and logged into the company’s investment system no later than 8:05 AM each workday. Tardiness and a lack of engagement would no longer be tolerated. The memo made it clear that employment at Hanigan Investments was predicated on active contribution and adherence to a professional work schedule. Those unwilling to meet these standards were respectfully advised to seek employment elsewhere, the choice being entirely theirs.

  To further incentivize productivity, Hank introduced a performance-based bonus structure. Any employee who achieved a twenty percent increase in their portfolio profits by the end of the current week would receive a bonus of fifteen hundred dollars. This incentive would be ongoing for the next five weeks, creating a sustained drive for improved performance. Importantly, the bonus was not targeted at any specific individuals; it was a universal opportunity, open to every employee capable of delivering those results. Hank understood that for many, achieving this level of growth would translate into a significant boost in the company’s overall earnings, potentially generating millions in additional weekly revenue, while the cost of the bonuses would be a relatively small investment in their human capital.

  Finally, the memo addressed the underperforming cohort directly, the thirty individuals he had initially identified. It stated that those currently operating with a profit margin below five percent were expected to elevate their performance to a minimum of fifteen percent. Failure to demonstrate this significant improvement would be interpreted as a lack of commitment to their responsibilities and would likely result in further review of their employment status.

  Satisfied with the clarity and directness of the memo, Hank emailed it to Constance, the decision to implement the plan ultimately resting with her. As anticipated, his phone rang within minutes. "Hank," Constance said, her voice a mixture of surprise and thoughtful consideration. "This is… both terrifying and genius."

  Hank chuckled, a sense of anticipation building within him. "I think we need to put a fire under these people, Constance. A controlled burn, perhaps, to clear out the deadwood and allow for new growth." He could almost picture her nodding in agreement on the other end of the line.

  "Send it," she said, her voice now firm and decisive. "I want them to know it's coming directly from you. And Monday morning, when they all come in, we lay down the law. General meeting at ten AM sharp. I will personally ensure that everyone is called up to the sixth floor. I will tell them, in no uncertain terms, that this memo is real, that it has my full support, and that we expect immediate compliance."

  A genuine smile spread across Hank's face. "Thank you, Constance," he said, a deep sense of gratitude for her trust and decisive leadership washing over him.

  ---

  The familiar, yet always slightly unsettling, hum of a budget motel air conditioner filled the small room as Doria finally brought her aging sedan to a weary stop in the New Orleans parking lot. The drive had been a grueling test of endurance, a relentless push through the humid Southern landscape that had stretched from the previous night well into the sweltering afternoon. Her body ached in protest, every muscle stiff and complaining. But a sense of quiet triumph mingled with the exhaustion.

  The money Hank had wired her had cleared without a hitch, a tangible lifeline that had already transformed her immediate circumstances. No more scrounging for the cheapest gas or worrying about the next meal. Now, she could afford a clean, if basic, motel room, some decent food that wasn't fast-food fare, and even the simple luxury of a new, soft t-shirt that felt comforting against her skin.

  As she sat on the edge of the surprisingly firm motel bed, a sense of well-being, unfamiliar and almost startling in its intensity, began to seep into her. It was more than just relief; it was a feeling of fundamental change, as if a heavy weight she hadn't even realized she was carrying had finally been lifted. Was it the definitive break from Jim, the toxic relationship that had suffocated her spirit for so long? Or was it the magnetic pull of Hank, the unexpected beacon of hope drawing her steadily eastward? She couldn't pinpoint the exact source, but the lightness within her was undeniable, a newfound buoyancy that made her smile.

  She stretched out on the crisp motel sheets, the relative quiet a welcome change from the constant drone of the highway. Reaching for her phone, she navigated to Hank’s number and pressed call, a nervous flutter in her stomach despite the easy familiarity of their recent conversations.

  "Hi Doria…" Hank's voice, warm and instantly recognizable, filled her ear. A genuine smile bloomed on her face. "Hi baby," she replied, the endearment feeling natural and right. "I'm in New Orleans now."

  "Getting closer," he said, his voice carrying a note of anticipation that mirrored her own. She nodded to herself, even though he couldn't see her. "Yeah, but it'll still be a few days. The car… it can't really handle the longer, sustained drives," she explained, a hint of frustration creeping into her voice. "It overheats if I push it too hard."

  Hank sighed softly on the other end. "Well, you get here when you can, Doria. Safety first. And don't worry about a thing; I already have a room ready for you." A wave of warmth washed over her at his thoughtfulness. "Am I… am I living with you?" she whispered, the question laced with a hopeful vulnerability.

  "Kind of," Hank replied, his tone gentle. "You know I told you there were others, Doria." She nodded slowly, the reality of his complex life a constant undercurrent to their burgeoning connection. "Yeah…" she murmured.

  "Well," he continued, "you'll have your own space on the seventh floor. I'm just above you, on the eighth." A sense of relief washed over her. Her own space, but close to him. It felt like the perfect balance. "And… can we be together Monday?" she whispered, her voice filled with a longing for another one of their passion-fueled nights.

  He sighed again, this time with a more pronounced note of regret. "I really wish I could, baby. But a friend of mine is coming in from Seattle. She's staying with me at the new apartment for a few days. But I will come see you, I promise. As soon as she's settled, I'll come down to your floor."

  "Hank… I miss you," she whispered, the words a raw expression of her growing feelings.

  "I know, baby. I miss you too," he replied, his voice soft and reassuring. "But you're my girl now, Doria. And we're going to take care of you. We'll make sure your divorce is handled, everything will be okay." A wave of emotion, gratitude so profound it almost brought tears to her eyes, welled up within her. It felt surreal. No man in her life, certainly not Jim, had ever spoken to her with such genuine care and protectiveness. "Love you," she whispered, the words feeling both new and incredibly right.

  Hank had never explicitly said those words to her before, and a part of her held her breath, hoping, yearning. "Baby," he said, his voice warm and tender, "I love you too." A wave of relief and happiness washed over her, so intense it almost felt dizzying. With a contented sigh, she ended the call, a sense of peace settling over her. Sleep came easily then, a deep, dreamless slumber filled with the promise of a new beginning.