"Good afternoon, Mr. Avery," she said, her voice a smooth, smoky contralto that sent an unexpected shiver down his spine. She held out a perfectly manicured hand. "I am Corleen. Corleen Winters."
Hank, forcing his brain to function, reached out and took her hand. Her grip was firm, confident, her skin surprisingly cool. "A pleasure… to meet you, Miss Winters," he managed, hoping his voice didn’t betray the sudden dryness in his throat.
She smiled again, releasing his hand but holding his gaze. "I assume Constance," she said, the name rolling off her tongue with familiar ease, "has already told you why I am really here?"
Hank nodded, momentarily bereft of words again. He was completely, utterly captivated. She was a force of nature, a walking embodiment of power and sensuality, and she knew it. He could see the awareness in her crystal blue eyes, the subtle confidence in her stance. She was used to men staring, stammering, losing their composure in her presence. Hank took a deep, steadying breath, pulling himself together, determined not to be just another casualty.
Corleen settled into the supple leather of the visitor's chair with an ease that suggested she belonged in rooms of power. Her crystal blue eyes, sharp and intelligent, scanned Hank with a directness that was both unnerving and intriguing. "Now," she began, her voice that captivating smoky contralto, "Constance tells me you're the new Director." She crossed one long leg elegantly over the other, the emerald green fabric of her pantsuit stretching taut over her thigh. "And from what I've heard through the grapevine, James Hanigan was… let's just say, something of a problem around here. Especially for the women."
Hank nodded grimly, appreciating her directness. "Yeah, I think 'problem' is putting it mildly," he confirmed, his tone hardening slightly. "We also recently cleaned house… several managers who thought hiring interns involved mandatory 'interviews' on the casting couch. Let me be clear, Miss Winters, we now have an absolute zero-tolerance harassment policy here. All interns, all new hires, are approved directly by Miss Hanigan or myself. Period."
A slow, appreciative smile spread across Corleen's face. "A very good policy," she acknowledged, nodding slightly. "And a necessary approach for finding a real solution, not just papering over the cracks."
Hank nodded, gesturing towards the papers she held. "Now, Constance mentioned you have considerable skills, but I'd like to hear more from you directly. Your ideas, your strategies… how would you propose to improve Hanigan Investment's portfolio?"
Corleen smiled again, reaching into her slim briefcase and withdrawing a neatly bound printout. "Actions speak louder than words, Mr. Avery," she said smoothly, handing the document across the desk. "This details my performance over the last six months at my current firm."
Hank took the printout, the weight of the paper surprisingly substantial. He flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning the columns of figures, charts, and projections. His eyebrows rose involuntarily. The numbers were staggering. She consistently generated millions in profit, often working with initial investment caps that seemed insultingly low compared to the returns.
"As you can see," Corleen commented, leaning forward slightly, allowing Hank another distracting glimpse of the cleavage revealed by her open silk blouse, "I was kept on a rather short leash regarding investment capital. Low bracket buys, restricted sectors. Despite that, I believe my numbers demonstrate I was consistently their highest income generator."
Hank looked up from the papers, genuinely impressed. "I can see that," he admitted. "They capped your maximum investment per venture at fifty thousand a month?" She nodded, a flicker of past frustration in her eyes. "Here," Hank continued, leaning back in his chair, adopting a more formal director's tone, "I would expect you to comfortably handle significant investments, likely in the hundreds of thousands per week, potentially more, depending on the opportunity."
Her smile widened, a spark of ambition igniting in her blue eyes. "Mr. Avery, I already have a series of potentially lucrative investments lined up, vetted, and ready for deployment the moment I have access to adequate capital."
Hank nodded, considering Constance's instructions. "Alright, Miss Winters. Based on your track record and Miss Hanigan's strong recommendation, I am prepared to offer you a Senior Investment Strategist position. Starting salary: one hundred thousand dollars a year, plus inclusion in the medium tier of our executive bonus structure."
Corleen smirked, the expression confident, almost predatory. "One hundred thousand?" she repeated softly, as if tasting the number.
Hank nodded firmly. "With a standard three-month trial period," he clarified. "Assuming performance meets expectations during that time… which, frankly, based on these numbers, I fully anticipate… your salary will be adjusted to one hundred and twenty-five thousand, and you will be moved to the full executive bonus level."
Corleen leaned back slightly, her smirk deepening. She ran a slow, deliberate finger along the edge of her collarbone. "How about we adjust that timeline slightly?" she countered smoothly. "The three-month trial period is acceptable… but at the hundred-and-twenty-five salary from day one?"
Hank shook his head immediately, holding her gaze. "I appreciate your confidence, Miss Winters, and your record is impressive. But the offer stands as stated. One hundred thousand during the trial period, then the increase upon successful completion." He saw her begin to shift, her expression hardening slightly, ready to argue further. "I want to," he started, softening his tone slightly, "but the structure is..."
She cut him off with a slow smile. Her finger, which had been tracing her collarbone, dipped lower, hooking casually between the open buttons of her silk shirt. She ran the polished nail slowly up and down the shadowed valley of her cleavage, her crystal blue eyes fixed on his, watching his reaction. Hank felt his throat go dry, his pulse quickening despite himself. He could clearly see the swell of her breasts, the hint of lace or perhaps just smooth skin beneath the gaping silk.
"Now, Mr. Avery," she purred, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, "I understand Mr. Hanigan is gone, and there are… new rules." Another button, the third one down, seemed to magically pop open under the subtle pressure of her finger, revealing even more creamy skin. Hank swallowed hard, tearing his gaze away from her chest and forcing himself to meet her challenging eyes.
"Miss Winters…" he started, his voice slightly rougher than intended.
She popped the fourth button. The silk parted further, offering an almost unobstructed view of the upper curves of her large, firm breasts. Hank stood up abruptly, the movement sharp, decisive. He walked around the desk, putting a physical distance between them.
"Miss Winters," he repeated, his voice firm now, laced with a hard edge. "I am not saying for a second that I am not tempted. You are… breathtakingly beautiful. But I have my own principles. The culture here is changing, and that starts with me. I will not engage in that kind of behavior." He gestured vaguely towards her deliberately provocative display. "The offer is one hundred thousand for the trial period, moving to one-twenty-five plus full bonuses after successful completion. That is the offer. If you cannot accept that, then I respect your decision, and I wish you a good day."
He stood there, hands perhaps clasped behind his back, waiting, fully prepared for her to walk out.
Corleen stared at him for a long moment, her calculated smile slowly fading, replaced by an expression of genuine surprise, then something akin to… respect. The blatant sexual maneuver, a tactic she had admittedly used successfully elsewhere, hadn't worked. He hadn't just resisted; he had called her out, stood his ground, and maintained his integrity without being insulting.
A slow, genuine smile finally spread across her face. "I am fucking impressed, Mr. Avery," she said, her voice losing its sultry edge, replaced by authentic admiration. Hank watched her, his own expression unreadable. She stood up gracefully, the movement fluid and confident, and walked towards him, extending her hand again. "Alright, Director Avery. You have a deal. I accept your offer. I'll start Monday."
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Hank took her hand, shaking it firmly. "Excellent. I look forward to working with you, Corleen," he said, deliberately using her first name now that the deal was struck.
She held his hand for just a beat longer than necessary, then ran her other hand lightly over his shoulder as she turned to leave. "I bet you do," she whispered, the playful, flirtatious spark returning to her eyes, but this time, it felt different. Grounded in respect, not just manipulation. Then she walked out, leaving Hank alone in the suddenly quiet office, the lingering scent of her expensive perfume hanging in the air.
---
Hank walked out of the Hanigan Investment building into the late afternoon sun, the glass doors whispering shut behind him. The meeting with Corleen Winters replayed vividly in his mind. God, she was a force. Images flooded his thoughts unbidden: the impossibly long line of her legs in that tailored emerald suit, the way the silk blouse had gaped open, revealing the undeniable swell of her large, firm breasts, the sharp, confident points of her nipples pressing against the thin fabric. He had turned her down, held firm to the principles he was trying desperately to establish for himself in this new, chaotic life. But damn, the temptation had been visceral. He would have loved to fuck her right there on his new desk, to explore every inch of that stunning, powerful body. Corleen was, without a doubt, the sexiest woman he had ever laid eyes on, radiating a confidence and allure that was intoxicating. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. This wasn't going to be easy, seeing her every day, fighting this constant battle between his professional resolve and his baser instincts.
He looked up and saw Gloria and Mona approaching from down the street, their arms laden with an impressive number of shopping bags from various upscale department stores and chic boutiques. They were laughing, Mona gesturing animatedly, clearly thrilled with her haul.
"Have fun?" Hank asked as they reached him, a warm smile replacing the lingering tension from his thoughts about Corleen.
Mona beamed, her eyes sparkling with pure, unadulterated joy. "Oh my god, Dad, it was SO much fun! I have never owned so many clothes in my life! Gloria helped me pick out everything!" she exclaimed, dropping a few bags to gesture emphatically.
Hank smirked, glancing at Gloria who offered a subtle, satisfied nod. "Well," Hank said, reaching down to help Mona readjust her grip on the bags, "you get used to it. You'll always have whatever you need from now on, Mona. Always."
She dropped the bags again and threw her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. "Thanks… Dad," she whispered, the word filled with heartfelt gratitude. He hugged her back, kissing the top of her head.
"So," he asked, pulling back slightly, "want to come with me to the Jeep dealership? Time to replace the battle wagon."
Mona smirked, shaking her head. "Buying a new car already?" she asked teasingly.
He nodded. "Yep. Getting one exactly like the one that met its heroic end," he confirmed with a grin.
She shook her head again, this time with genuine regret. "Sorry, Dad, but I really want to go put all my new clothes away. And maybe try some on again," she admitted sheepishly.
Hank nodded, understanding completely. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head again. "Okay, Mona. Go have fun organizing your new kingdom. Gloria, thank you for taking her."
Gloria smiled warmly. "My pleasure, Hank. She has great taste."
Mona smiled brightly, gathered her bags, and hurried into the lobby with Gloria beside her. Hank watched them go, a warmth spreading through his chest. He turned back to the street and waved down the first available taxi. As he slid into the back seat and gave the driver the address for the Jeep dealership… the one Jill worked at… his thoughts inevitably drifted back to Corleen, to the challenge she presented, the constant temptation he would now face daily. He sighed again, leaning his head back against the seat.
"Girl problems?" the grizzled taxi driver asked, glancing at him in the rearview mirror with a knowing look.
Hank offered a wry smirk. "You could definitely say that," he replied vaguely.
The driver chuckled, a gravelly sound. "Happens to the best of us, pal. But hey, nothing a shiny new car can't fix… or at least distract you from for a while," he said, laughing.
Hank chuckled along, shaking his head. The driver wasn't entirely wrong. Getting the new Jeep, focusing on the machine, the upgrades he planned… it would certainly offer a welcome diversion.
The taxi pulled up smoothly in front of the dealership, a much cleaner and more modern establishment than the first one. Hank paid the fare, adding a generous tip, and stepped out onto the pristine asphalt lot. Before he could even take a step towards the showroom doors, they slid open, and Jill emerged, walking purposefully towards him, a bright, genuine smile lighting up her face.
The taxi driver, pulling away from the curb, let out a low whistle that Hank clearly heard through the closing window. "Damn, son," the driver muttered, loud enough to be audible, "that is a whole other, much prettier, kind of girl trouble right there."
Hank chuckled, shaking his head as he turned back to Jill. "Mr. Avery, welcome back!" she greeted warmly. "Wow, I saw the news coverage last night… the crash, how you stopped that awful man, helped the police… how you just stood up to him right there. That was incredible!"
Hank started to extend his hand for a professional shake, but before he could, Jill surprised him by stepping forward and giving him a quick, enthusiastic hug. It was over in a second, but the warmth and sincerity of the gesture caught him off guard.
"Oh! Sorry," she said quickly, pulling back, a slight blush coloring her cheeks as she realized her breach of professional decorum. "It was just… really brave what you did." She quickly composed herself. "Anyway," she continued, her tone shifting back to business, though her eyes still held a spark of admiration, "Miss Hanigan called us first thing this morning. Explained the situation with your other Jeep." She gestured towards the showroom. "We happen to have the identical model, Mojito Green Rubicon, prepped and set aside specifically for you. And, given the circumstances… and Miss Hanigan's influence… we'd like to offer you a special deal on it."
She looked slightly embarrassed again, perhaps by the hug or the mention of Constance's influence, but held his gaze. Hank decided not to make a big deal out of the hug; it felt genuine, born from relief and admiration, not calculation.
"A deal?" he asked, raising an eyebrow slightly, intrigued. "Please," he said, gesturing towards the showroom. "Show me."
---
Driving the new Mojito Green Rubicon away from the dealership felt less like driving and more like piloting a smoothly powerful beast. Hank steered it through the familiar city streets towards the Hanigan building, initially intending to head straight up to his apartment. But as he merged onto the highway, the purr of the finely tuned engine, the smell of new leather upholstery, the solid, commanding feel of the wheel beneath his hands… it was intoxicating. A sense of freedom, something he hadn't realized he desperately needed, began to bloom in his chest.
Instead of taking the exit towards home, he stayed on the highway, the impulse sudden but undeniable. He needed this. He needed space. The last few weeks had been an absolute whirlwind, a chaotic cascade of events that had reshaped his entire existence. From the quiet invisibility of his old life to the dizzying intensity of Comic-Con, the shocking violence he’d witnessed and photographed, the unexpected fame, saving Lily, the staggering job offer from Constance, uncovering James's deep-seated corruption, the confrontation with Frank and Charles, and interwoven through it all, the dizzying, complex tapestry of women who had entered his life… Yuna, Lena, the twins, Michelle, Doria, Kamilla, Tiffany, Violet, Julie… and Constance herself, the powerful, beautiful woman he was now committed to marrying, alongside the others. And then, Courtney's kidnapping, the confrontation with Jhamish, the adrenaline, the violence, the relief… He hadn't had a single moment to just breathe, to process the sheer velocity of the changes.
He pushed the Gladiator eastward, leaving the city limits behind. The urban sprawl gave way to rolling hills, the landscape painted in the warm, golden hues of the approaching sunset. The Jeep devoured the miles effortlessly, its engine a low, satisfying rumble. Hank found himself smiling, a genuine, unforced expression. This felt good. Just the open road, the power of the machine beneath him, and the quiet space for his own thoughts, finally.
He drove for what felt like maybe an hour, the sky deepening into shades of orange and purple, the first stars beginning to prick the twilight veil. He wasn't really paying attention to where he was going, just letting the road pull him forward. Then, cresting a small rise just past the exit signs for Alpine, he saw it. Off in the distance, nestled against the darkening hills, a blaze of artificial light cut through the natural landscape – the unmistakable, glittering allure of a casino and resort.
A wave of weariness suddenly washed over him, the adrenaline finally draining away, leaving behind a bone-deep fatigue. He was tired. Too tired to drive all the way back to the city right now. He pulled the Jeep smoothly onto the shoulder of the road, the engine idling softly. He looked towards the beckoning lights of the casino. Maybe a drink? A quiet hand of poker, something simple to occupy his mind before finding a room for the night? It sounded appealing, a brief escape.
But then reality intruded. He hadn't told anyone where he was going. Constance, the girls in the apartment, Kamilla, Doria expecting his call later… they'd worry. Especially Constance, after everything. He sighed, rubbing his eyes. This new life, as incredible as it was, came with responsibilities, connections he couldn't just ignore. Reaching for his phone, the screen illuminating his face in the dimming light, he scrolled to Constance's contact, her name nestled within its triple parentheses. He pressed call, the phone held to his ear, listening to the faint ringing tone, ready to explain his impromptu need for a small break from the beautiful chaos he now called life.
