Chapter Two

The morning crowd at the Starbucks inside the Palm Beach mall moved in a steady flow around the small corner table where Flick sat. She had chosen the spot deliberately, the one tucked slightly away from the main counter but still close enough to the large windows that let in plenty of light. Her latte sat in front of her, the foam still warm, and for one of the first times in three days, she felt like she could breathe without fighting some strange urge that kept trying to influence her body.

Marissa walked in exactly on time, her permed brunette hair settled perfectly as she spotted Flick and waved. The African-American woman wore a crisp white blouse tucked into tailored black pants and practical flats, making her look put-together without any unnecessary effort. The two women had been best friends since childhood, and seeing her now felt like a small piece of normalcy Flick desperately needed.

“Hey, you,” Marissa said as she pulled out a chair and sat down across from Flick. “I can’t believe I finally got you out of that giant new office of yours for five minutes. Ever since you decided to take control of your stepdad’s business, I’ve barely been able to get you on the phone. How does it feel to get one over Sam? I bet he’s not happy.”

Flick grinned, almost struggling to contain her amusement. “You should have seen his face when Giles read out the will, Marissa. It was priceless.”

Marissa leaned forward with a conspiratorial grin, her eyes sparkling the way they always did when she sensed a good story. She took a slow sip of the iced coffee the barista had just placed in front of her, then set the glass down with a soft click.

“Seriously, though,” Marissa said, keeping her voice low as if she were revealing some secret. “You went from being the charming socialite everyone invited to parties to the woman who now owns half of South Florida real estate. I still can’t wrap my head around it. If I were your brother, I’d be fuming.”

Flick let out a soft, genuine laugh. The sound of her best friend’s voice, the easiness of their conversation, the way Marissa didn’t trigger any of those strange compulsions—it all settled over the blonde like a warm blanket. For the past few days, every interaction with a man had turned into a silent battle inside her head. She could feel the pull the moment one stepped into the room, that insistent whisper telling her to flirt, to perform, to make herself smaller and more pleasing. Around women, however, the pressure simply vanished. She could think clearly and be herself.

The new Gordon Enterprises CEO kept those thoughts locked away. There was no need to burden Marissa with the weirdness that had started creeping into her life since the will reading. It was just stress and guilt, she kept telling herself. Nothing more. It would pass soon enough.

Marissa playfully studied her friend’s face across the table as she took another sip of her drink. Brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, the woman spoke. “There’s been something I’ve wanted to say since I sat down,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Your lips are looking a little out there today. I don’t remember you ever going for that kind of bold red before, even on nights when we used to hit the clubs. Are you feeling okay?”

Flick touched her lower lip with the tip of one finger, feeling the smooth, glossy layer that refused to leave her alone. The color was the same vivid red she had found herself wearing these past 3 days, and no amount of will could bring her to remove it. Despite the anxious coiling in her chest, Flick forced a light laugh and leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other beneath the table.

“It’s a new look I’m trying out for this new chapter of my life,” she lied, keeping her voice breezy. “I figured if I’m running a billion-dollar company now, I might as well reinvent myself. Bold moves, bold lips, am I right?”

Marissa studied her friend for a second longer, then gave a small nod and a nervous, polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, it suits you, I guess,” she said. “Good for you.”

Flick knew her friend was only saying it to be kind, but she let the lie sit between them. The truth was far more unsettling. She had tried to choose a softer nude shade that morning before leaving the manor, yet her hands moved on their own, selecting the brightest red in her collection and applying it with perfect precision.

Over the next two minutes, the two friends gossiped like old friends. Flick felt like her old self again, speaking carefree without worrying about her body giving in to an inexplicable compulsion. Time flew by, and the young CEO glanced at her watch, surprised by how late in the morning it was.

Marissa noticed Flick’s expression and finished the last of her iced coffee before pushing the empty glass aside. “This was really nice,” the African-American woman said. “Don’t bury yourself in that office all day, okay? Call me if you ever need a break or just want to vent about whatever’s going on. I’m here.”

Flick smiled. “I will. Thanks for coming out this morning. I’ll make sure I find more time for meetings like this.”

She watched Marissa stand, gather her bag, and weave back through the morning crowd toward the exit. The familiar sway of her friend’s step and the way she waved one last time over her shoulder left Flick alone at the table with a quiet ache of normalcy she had forgotten existed. For those thirty minutes, the strange compulsions had stayed silent. No sudden urge to flirt, no need to light a cigarette, no whispered commands in the back of her mind telling her to perform. It had just been two friends catching up.

She glanced back at her watch. 8:30 already. The office waited, and the stack of approval requests she had promised herself she would review before her afternoon meetings would not read themselves. This CEO work was a lot more boring than the blonde ever expected. Flick stood, smoothing the front of her conservative light red suit jacket out of habit. The long skirt brushed against her legs as she turned toward the main entrance of the mall, ready to step back into the role of CEO.

That was when her eyes dropped to her hands.

Her fingernails were short, bitten down to the quick, and completely unpainted; just as they had been most of her life. However, the sight hit her like someone had punched her in the stomach. A wave of bile surged up her throat so fast she had to swallow hard twice to keep it down. The nails suddenly looked ragged and plain. They looked wrong.

She shook her head sharply, forcing her gaze straight ahead as she started walking toward the main entrance of the mall. The polished floors stretched out in front of her, and she focused on the automatic doors in the distance. Yet every few steps, her eyes betrayed her and drifted downward again. The sight of those plain, boring nails sent another rush of nausea inside her. They suddenly looked so out of place. Although she had never been one to enjoy painted nails, she couldn’t stop the feeling of looking embarrassingly plain. Flick tried to ignore it, telling herself these compulsions were nothing more than leftover stress taking the inheritance from her stepbrother. She had bigger things to worry about than her hands.

But the feeling refused to fade. Another glance, another wave of sickness. Her stomach twisted tighter each time. By the time Flick was halfway to the exit, the discomfort had grown into something almost physical, a deep unease that made her palms sweat. She clenched her fists at her sides, willing herself to keep moving and ignore the sensations. Why was her body doing this to her? The doors were right there. She just needed to get to the car and drive to the office. Everything would feel normal again once she was back behind her desk, she told herself.

One final glance downward as she reached the threshold. The nails looked even worse now in the brighter light streaming through the glass. Ragged edges, no polish, completely unkempt. The bile rose again, stronger this time, and she stopped dead in her tracks just outside the mall entrance.

“Fuck,” the blonde muttered under her breath, the word slipping out before she could stop it. The single syllable carried more frustration than she had meant to show, loud enough that a passing elderly couple turned their head for a moment. Flick stood there, her heart pounding, staring at her own hands like they had become foreign objects. She had no idea why the sight of her fingernails suddenly made her feel physically ill, but the reaction was real and impossible to push aside. The compulsion to fix them was already building inside her, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to fight it for long.

The young new CEO took a deep breath, forced her hands into her pockets, and turned back around, heading back inside the mall. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

❖

The impatient click of long nails on the desk filled the quiet executive office. Flick sat behind the massive mahogany surface that had once belonged to her late stepfather, her new, lengthy, flat-tipped glossy red nails tapping out a restless rhythm against the polished wood. She barely noticed she was doing it. Her eyes stayed fixated on the large monitor where one of her finance directors, Oliver Hall, stood, gesturing toward the financial charts he had prepared.

Oliver cleared his throat for the third time in as many minutes. The director was a precise man in his mid-forties, always dressed in smart suits and carrying a serious tone that left little room for humor. Today, that authority was being tested every time the sharp tap-tap-tap echoed around the room. He paused mid-sentence, his gaze flicking toward his new boss’s hands before he forced it back to the screen.

Flick caught herself and stopped tapping immediately. “Sorry,” she said, her voice steady. “Please continue, Oliver. I’m listening, honest.”

The man gave a small, irritated nod and continued his explanation, but the tapping had already started again, lighter this time yet still interrupting the serious tone of the office. He sat directly across from his boss at the wide desk, his laptop open between them, the screen angled so she could see every slide. The presentation was a careful breakdown of what the company’s financials would look like if they fully committed to the blonde’s proposed aggressive strategy. Nothing had been decided yet, but it was Oliver’s job to run through the numbers before the young woman made the final decision.

Flick tried to focus on the numbers. She really did. The columns of projected revenue growth, the cautious estimates of her planned market expansion, the careful risk assessments, all of it mattered. Yet her fingers refused to stay still, as if they were vying for the man’s attention. The new red nails kept up their rhythm against the wood, each tap obvious and deliberate. Oliver’s eyes flicked toward her hand again. He adjusted his posture in the chair, cleared his throat once more, and continued speaking, but his delivery had grown slightly tighter.

The blonde noticed and forced her hand flat against the desk. “Go on,” she said quickly. “I’m with you. Really.”

Oliver nodded and moved to the next slide, his voice regaining some confidence as he described the potential initial cash flow restrictions. Flick leaned slightly forward, trying to absorb the information. For a few moments, the tapping stopped completely. She kept her palms pressed down, focusing on the screen, on Oliver’s measured expectations, on anything except the strange pull in her fingertips.

Then it started again.

The nails began their restless dance once more, the glossy red tips shimmering with every movement. The director paused mid-sentence. His gaze dropped to the CEO’s hands for a longer beat this time before he looked away. He shifted in his seat, one hand moving briefly to adjust the front of his pants. Flick felt a flash of embarrassment at the man’s actions, but the compulsion was stronger than her willpower. Her fingers kept tapping along.

As Oliver moved into the second half of the presentation, detailing the longer-term growth scenarios, Flick reached for her bag without even thinking. The slim gold cigarette case appeared in her hand. She flipped it open, selected one of the long cigarettes, and brought it to her lips. The lighter followed. The flame caught, and she drew in a slow, deep puff, holding it for a moment before shaping her glossy red lips into a perfect O and blowing the smoke across the desk toward him.

Her actions prompted Oliver to stop speaking entirely.

The smoke curled between the pair in a lazy, sensual spiral. Flick kept her expression neutral, as if this were perfectly ordinary, but inside her mind, she was screaming. She hated the foul taste. She hated the way her body had inexplicably taken over again. Yet she took another drag anyway, slower this time, and exhaled another soft ring of smoke that drifted toward Oliver’s side of the desk.

The man swallowed hard. His eyes followed the smoke for a second before he forced them back to his laptop screen. “The… the models show that with full adoption, we could see a return on our investment within 2 years,” he continued, his voice pitching slightly higher. Oliver shifted in his chair again, one hand moving back to tug the legs of his pants to give his shifting member more room. The discomfort was obvious now. His cheeks had taken on a faint flush, and he kept glancing at the woman’s mouth whenever he thought she wasn’t looking.

Flick felt the heat of humiliation rise in her chest, but the other part of her, the part of her mind she couldn’t control, forced her to lean forward just a little more. She took another drag and let the smoke drift toward him once more, her lips staying parted in that same deliberate O shape. Oliver’s fingers tightened on the arms of his chair. He adjusted his position again, clearly fighting to stay professional.

When the finance director finally reached the last slide, he closed the presentation with a quick, quiet click. The screen went dark. He sat back, hands clasped in his lap to hide his embarrassing erection, and he waited for his smoking boss’s verdict.

The blonde crushed the cigarette out in the small crystal ashtray on the edge of her desk, her long, glossy nails somehow making a performance out of that mundane activity. She smiled across from him, a smile she didn’t quite feel, and as she began to speak, she knew she was going to utter words she didn’t intend.

“I love these projections, Oliver,” she said, letting the words roll out slowly. “You make everything look so… promising. All those big, strong numbers waiting to grow for me. It’s almost like you know exactly how to make a girl feel satisfied with what she’s seeing.”

Oliver’s face reddened at the obvious innuendo. He shifted again, one hand moving to straighten his jacket, just to give him something else to concentrate on.

Despite the horror churning in her gut, Flick laughed softly, in a low and teasing tone. “Don’t get shy on me now. A woman in my position needs someone who really knows how to deliver the goods. And you, well, I bet you deliver every time, handsome, don’t you?”

The words kept coming, each one more self-deprecating and flirtatious than the last. Flick heard herself talking about how she was “just a simple girl who needs a smart man to explain the hard parts,” how she loved watching him “handle all those thick columns of data,” how she couldn’t wait to see what else he could show her. She was mortified. She wanted to clamp her mouth shut, to stop the flow of crude compliments and slutty jokes, but those bright red lips kept moving.

Oliver’s discomfort had reached its peak. He kept adjusting his posture, his hands staying carefully in his lap now. His eyes darted between the new CEO and the door, hoping he could be put out of his misery soon enough.

Flick realized the meeting had spiraled far beyond anything professional. What would everyone say if they found out she conducted her meetings this way? Why couldn’t she control herself around the men in this company? Was it really stress, or something more? Regardless, she straightened in her chair, forcing her voice back toward something closer to normal.

“Thank you, Oliver,” she said as her long, luscious manicured fingers tapped the table. “That was very helpful. I think we’re done for now. You can send me the full report later.”

The director stood up with a reaction faster than an Olympic sprinter. He gathered his laptop and notes with slightly unsteady hands. “Of course, Miss Gordon. I’ll have everything to you by the end of the day.”

Flick watched him leave, and the moment she was alone, the compulsion completely vanished, as if her puppet strings had been cut. She slumped forward, pressing both hands to her face, the long red nails clicking against her skin.

The young blonde’s heart hammered in her chest. She had done it again. She had turned a simple financial review into something humiliating and sexual, and she had been powerless to stop herself. The tapping, the smoking, the endless flirtatious comments, they had all poured out of her while her conscious mind screamed in protest.

Flick stared at the closed door and whispered to the empty room. “What the hell is happening to me?”

The question echoed back with no answer. She had no idea if it was simply the stress of the last few days or something far more alarming at play, but she knew if she didn’t get it under control, she would soon build a reputation in this company that would be impossible to shed.

❖

Flick sat alone behind the large wooden desk that still carried the faint presence of her late stepfather. The office door was closed. She had made it very clear to her assistant, Carrie, earlier that morning that she did not want to be disturbed. After the humiliating encounter with the finance director, she needed the quiet and the space. She needed to prove to herself that she could function like a normal CEO without the strange compulsions taking over the moment any man stepped into the room.

She leaned forward and tried to focus on her extensive to-do list. Being the CEO of a large, billion-dollar real estate company was a lot more work than the young woman ever imagined, and much of it was repetitive, monotonous work she was sure she could hire others to complete for her. She knew she had only taken over to spite her stepbrother, but now she was committed to the bit, and she needed to make sure she made it a success. She forced her eyes to track each line of the revenue forecast Oliver had sent over after the meeting, but her mind continued to drift. Instead, she kept thinking back to the way she had behaved earlier, the way her body had betrayed her in front of the finance director. She shook her head once, hard, and kept reading. Why was it so difficult to focus?

The blonde’s stomach gave a low rumble. It was lunchtime, and she was hungry, she told herself. She had skipped breakfast in a rush after her coffee date with Marissa had overrun. She reached for the glass of water on the corner of the desk and took a sip, hoping it would settle the feeling.

Then the itching started.

It began as a faint prickle across her stomach, just under the fabric of her white blouse. She shifted in her chair, trying to ignore it. The sensation faded for a few seconds, then returned stronger, spreading to her arms beneath the sleeves. She absently began to scratch her arms with her pretty new nails, but the action did nothing to alleviate the sensation. A moment later, it moved down to her knees and lower legs, hidden under the long red skirt. She crossed her ankles, then uncrossed them uncomfortably, but the itch only intensified. It came in waves, disappearing for a breath before slamming back with more force each time.

The discomfort transformed from a mild annoyance into a localized torment that made it impossible to stay still. Every time Flick tried to force her attention back to the rows of data on her monitor, the prickling sensation flared with renewed aggression, as if the very fibers of her conservative suit were turning into microscopic needles against her skin. She squirmed in the high-backed leather chair, her fingers digging into the fabric of her midriff as she tried to alleviate the source of the heat on her stomach, but the itch remained.

Her breathing became shallow as she fought the urge to simply tear the jacket off right there in the middle of the office. She was supposed to be a Gordon, a woman of poise and inherited power, yet she found herself twisting and turning like a frantic animal caught in a snare. The long red skirt, which had felt so appropriate for work only an hour ago, now felt like a heavy abrasive that was slowly scorching her knees and lower thighs. She gritted her teeth, her red-painted lips thinning into a hard line as she tried to use her willpower to suppress the physiological uprising, but the internal pressure only mounted.

The fire beneath her clothes refused to die down, and the young woman reached out with a trembling hand to press the silver buzzer on her intercom. Her long nails clicked against the plastic, and the sharp sound seemed to echo in the cavernous silence of the suite. She needed a distraction, and she needed it immediately, before she lost her mind entirely and started scratching her skin all over.

“Carrie, are you there?” Felicity asked, her voice sounding tight and forced as she struggled to maintain her composure.

“Yes, Miss Gordon, I’m right here,” the assistant replied through the small speaker. “How can I help?”

“I’ve realized that I’m absolutely famished, and I think I need to eat something before I can tackle the rest of these reports,” the CEO said, her eyes squeezed shut as a fresh wave of prickling heat traveled up her spine. “I’d like you to order something from the bistro downstairs and have them bring it directly to the office. I don’t want to be disturbed by anyone, so make sure they just leave it at your desk for you to bring in.”

The blonde sat back, exhaling a slow, shaky breath. She hoped that by taking her mind off the itchiness and focusing on filling her stomach, the constant sensation would disappear.

“I can certainly handle that for you,” Carrie replied through the intercom. “The bistro has a wonderful grilled chicken salad today, or perhaps you’d prefer the roasted vegetable tart?”

A sharp, jagged spike of heat lanced through her midsection before the young CEO could even consider her options. The prickling sensation escalated into a full-blown roar of discomfort, making her earlier squirming seem like mere restlessness. A sudden, involuntary gasp escaped her bright red lips. The fire on her skin was no longer something she could rationalize as stress or hunger; it was a physical demand that required an immediate change of environment.

“Actually, never mind about the food, Carrie,” Flick blurted out, her voice rising in a frantic, unstable pitch.

She surged to her feet with such violence that her chair rolled back and struck the large paneled window with a loud thud. The itching on her lower legs felt like thousands of tiny, heated insects were burrowing into her flesh beneath the skirt, and the sleeves of her blouse seemed to be tightening with every frantic breath she took. She realized with a terrifying clarity that she couldn’t stay in this office under these conditions for another second.

“I think I need some fresh air,” she continued, her hands fumbling blindly for the red clutch bag resting on the desk. “I’ll head to the mall myself and pick something up. Hold my messages until I get back.”

The blonde didn’t wait for a response from the intercom. She snatched her bag and bolted toward the office exit, her long skirt swirling around her legs as she moved with a desperate, uncoordinated speed. She threw the door open and sprinted into the executive lobby, her eyes fixed on the elevator at the end of the hall.

Carrie sat at her own desk, her mouth slightly agape as she watched the new owner of Gordon Enterprises race past her in a blur of motion. The assistant looked completely bewildered, wondering why her boss was escaping the floor in such a hurry. Flick didn’t offer a glance back, her entire being focused on reaching the lobby and finding some relief in the mall, leaving a stunned silence in the wake of her sudden departure.

❖

The reflection in the mirror of the mall’s public restroom offered no comfort, only a jarring vision of a woman who seemed to have lost her grip on her own reality. Flick stood frozen before the sink, her hands gripping the cold porcelain as she stared at the reflection looking back at her. The transition from the executive floor to this tiled sanctuary had been a blur of sensory agony, a frantic escape driven by a physical torment she still couldn’t rationalize.

The itching had grown so severe during the drive to the mall that the memory of it made the blonde’s skin prickle with phantom heat. Behind the wheel of her new Mercedes, the fine silk of her white blouse and the structured wool of her skirt had transformed into a cage of needles. The sensation had been so overwhelming, so all-consuming, that she had almost lost control of the vehicle entirely. As she rounded the corner near the mall’s parking lot, a violent surge of fire across her stomach had caused her to jerk the steering wheel, sending the luxury sedan veering toward a yellow fire hydrant. Only a desperate, last-second correction had saved the car from a total wreck, leaving the young woman’s heart hammering against her ribs as she parked and practically ran for the entrance.

The moment she had stepped into the privacy of the restroom stall and peeled away the conservative layers of her professional life, the itching had ceased as if it had never existed. The relief was immediate and absolute, but it came with a devastating price. Now, she stood in the common area of the restroom, dressed in an ensemble that felt like a betrayal of everything she stood for.

Flick had discovered that any attempt to cover her navel, the very top section of her breasts, her arms, or her lower legs resulted in an instantaneous return of the biting, burning sensation in the localized area. She had been forced to hunt through boutique after boutique in search of the most professional attire she could find that still complied with these new, restrictive laws governing her body. She now found herself wearing a white sleeveless button-up blouse with a daringly high hem, leaving her toned navel and the soft curve of her midriff entirely exposed. The collar was cut low enough to reveal the very tops of her cleavage, a provocative detail that seemed to emphasize the natural swell of her C-cup breasts. She had paired the top with a patent black leather thigh-high skirt that sat precariously on her hips, the glossy material highlighting the length of her bare legs. To finish the look, she wore a pair of two-inch black block heels that provided a subtle lift to her posture.

She felt practically naked, a socialite-turned-CEO who looked more like a high-end club regular than a billionaire heiress. Matched with the bold, glossy red of her lips and the lengthy, flat-tipped nails she had acquired earlier, the overall effect was undeniably “slutty.” She looked like a caricature of the fierce, in-control woman she saw herself as, a realization that made bile rise in her throat. She resented every inch of exposed skin, yet the alternative was an afternoon of unbearable physical torture.

“There is something seriously wrong with me,” Flick whispered to her reflection with a trembling tone. She had rid herself of the reasoning that this was all down to overt stress. Something was wrong inside her mind, and she needed to figure out what it was.

The thought of returning to the office in this state filled the young woman with a profound sense of dread, yet her mind was already moving toward a solution. She decided that she would call a therapist the moment she got home, desperate for a clinical explanation for the physiological uprising that was dictating her wardrobe and style. She needed to know if this was a breakdown or some bizarre allergic reaction to her own success.

She eventually turned away from the mirror and walked toward the restroom exit, pushing open the door and stepping back into the bustling mall concourse. Flick kept her head held high, forcing her shoulders back and her gaze forward as she navigated the stream of shoppers. She tried to project an air of “Alpha” confidence, attempting to convince the world—and herself—that her outfit was a deliberate, avant-garde fashion choice rather than a desperate necessity.

As the blonde strolled past a jewelry store, the sharp sound of a man’s wolf-whistle cut through the ambient noise of the mall. Flick didn’t have to look to know the sound was directed at her. A man in his late twenties, dressed in a casual polo shirt and holding the hand of a woman, was staring at her with an expression of primal, unchecked interest.

“Damn, I wouldn’t mind an evening with an ass like that,” the man said, his crude voice loud enough for several nearby shoppers to hear.

The woman beside him immediately reacted, her face flushing with anger as she playfully, but firmly, slapped the man on the arm. “Hey! Stop that. Show me a little respect,” she hissed, pulling on his hand to lead him away.

The man let out a crude, dismissive laugh, glancing back at Flick as he was dragged off. “Come on, babe. If she didn’t want those kinds of comments, she wouldn’t dress like that. She’s practically begging for it.”

Flick felt a wave of cold humiliation wash over her, the man’s words and the woman’s judgmental scowl as they walked away striking like a slap across the cheek. She wanted to turn around and deliver a scathing, sophisticated retort that would leave him speechless, yet as she processed the insult, a strange and unsettling heat began to press against her crotch. The realization that his disgusting, misogynistic comment was actually turning her on made Flick’s heart skip a beat. It was a pulse of shame-arousal that she couldn’t ignore, a warm, tingling thrill that radiated through her thighs despite her conscious mind’s absolute repulsion.

She quickened her pace, her block heels clicking against the mall floor as she tried to outrun her own impulses. She needed to get back to the office, to hide behind her own desk, and ride out these sensations until she could seek professional help. She was heading toward the main entrance when a familiar voice called out from her left.

“Flick?”

The word was spoken with a mixture of surprise and a very specific kind of smugness that made the blonde’s skin crawl. She stopped and turned, her arms folding over her chest as she put on her most annoyed, dismissive face. Her stepbrother, Samuel, stood a few feet away, looking exactly as he always did in his oversized hoodie and faded denim jeans. He was accompanied by one of his old high school friends, a chubby young man with thick glasses and a graphic t-shirt, whom Flick remembered as Kevin. Kevin was currently staring at the exposed expanse of the young woman’s midriff with wide-eyed shock, his mouth hanging open as he took in the transformation of his friend’s stepsister. This wasn’t the Flick that he remembered.

“What do you want, Sam?” Flick asked, her voice sharp and dripping with contempt as she adjusted the strap of her clutch.

Sam took a slow, deliberate step forward, his eyes roaming over the sleeveless white blouse and the shiny black leather of her short skirt. A slow, mocking grin spread across the young man’s face, his expression one of pure amusement as he looked at the woman who had just stolen his inheritance.

“I was under the impression that the new CEO of Gordon Enterprises would be buried under a mountain of paperwork at this house,” Sam said, his tone laced with a biting irony that made Flick’s jaw tighten. “I didn’t realize that the vision you were bringing to life involved scouting for clubwear in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon. Or is this the new corporate uniform for the modern, empowered woman?”

Flick felt her temper flare, the humiliation of the previous hour combining with the sight of her stepbrother to create a roar of silent fury. “It is absolutely none of your business how I manage my time or what I am doing, Sam,” she snapped, her long fingernails digging into the flesh of her arms as she held her defensive posture. “I am the owner of this company, and I can take my lunch break whenever I damn well see fit. You, on the other hand, should be focusing on finding a studio apartment before I decide to change the locks on the house.”

Sam didn’t appear to be bothered, letting out a soft, mocking chuckle as his gaze dropped to her bare navel before returning to her eyes. “I am sure you are very busy, Flick, but I have to say, the new style is quite a departure from the conservative image I thought you would go for. It doesn’t exactly look appropriate for a professional environment, does it?” He paused momentarily. “I am starting to wonder if you’re a little bit confused about what the job actually entails. Are you running a multi-billion dollar real estate firm or looking for a position as a promotional model at a local car show?”

Kevin let out a quiet, muffled snort of laughter, and Flick felt a wave of heat rise in her cheeks. The shame of being seen this way by the very person she had just humiliated was almost too much to bear.

“You have absolutely no idea how a CEO would dress, Sam, because you have never been one and you never will be,” she countered, her words ensuring that her stepbrother knew she wasn’t pulling any punches. “You are just a pathetic, broke loser who spent his entire life in the shadow of a man he could never hope to emulate. It must kill you inside that your own father chose me to handle his affairs. He never trusted you. Now, stay out of my way and go back to your video games before I decide to cut off the internet to your room.”

The comment seemed to hit home, knocking the smug smirk off Sam’s face for a heartbeat as his jaw tightened. He looked at her with an expression that was suddenly unreadable, his eyes narrowing as he took a deep, steadying breath.

“Purple Coconut Salad,” he said, his voice low and incredibly calm.

Flick blinked for a brief moment, her lashes fluttering as the nonsensical phrase hung in the air between them. For a fraction of a second, a strange, hollow silence seemed to ring in her ears, but the sensation vanished as quickly as it had arrived. She stared at Sam, her expression shifting from confusion to a look of utter, patronizing disbelief.

The young blonde broke into a mockery of a chuckle, the sound biting as she adjusted the strap of her bag. “Huh? Are you actually having a mental breakdown, Sam? What on earth was that? You really are quite a bizarre person.”

Kevin looked between the two of them, his brow furrowing as he adjusted his glasses, but Sam simply stood his ground, his gaze fixed on his stepsister with an intensity that made Flick feel a brief, inexplicable prickle of unease.

“Don’t worry about it, Flick,” Sam replied nonchalantly, his voice regaining its previous level of calm as he shoved his hands back into his hoodie pockets.

Flick rolled her eyes and shifted her weight onto one hip. “You are truly weird, Sam. I don’t have time for this nonsense,” she bit back. “I have a company to run and actual adults to speak with. Enjoy your afternoon of whatever it is weird, nerdy, unemployed losers do. I’m going back to work.”

She didn’t wait for a response, turning on her heel and beginning her trek toward the mall’s main exit. She had spent enough time talking with this loser already, and she had a ton of shit to get through before she could put an end to her workday. She never looked back as she filtered through the automatic double doors of the mall.

Sam stood in the concourse, his hands in his pockets, and watched her go. A wide, satisfied grin spread across his face, and he looked at Kevin, who was still staring in the direction of Flick’s departure.

“Enjoy the rest of your day, Flick,” he whispered to himself, nowhere near loud enough for the woman to hear him.

“Dude, what was that all about?” Kevin asked as they began to walk in the opposite direction. “Why did she look like that? And why the hell did you say that thing about salad?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam replied, his voice light and full of a dark, triumphant energy. “She is just going through a bit of a transition. She will be fine. In fact, I think she is going to end up better than ever.”

❖

The office door slammed shut with a fury that seemed to vibrate through the entire executive wing. Flick stormed across the room, her patent leather skirt stretching with the intensity of her stride. She threw her red bag onto the expansive table and slammed herself down into her office chair, her chest heaving with a mixture of rage and terror. She leaned her head back and stared up at the ceiling, wondering what the hell was going on with her life.

The drive back from the mall had been a nightmare that she was still struggling to process. Halfway through the walk from her parked car toward the main lobby of Gordon Enterprises, a deep, agonizing itching sensation had erupted right in her groin. It was just like the prickling she had felt on her stomach and arms a couple of hours prior, except this was a concentrated fire centered directly around her clit. The sensation was so intense that it had almost brought the young woman to her knees in the middle of the garage. She had tried to ignore it, gritting her teeth and forcing herself to keep walking, but the friction of her silk panties against her sensitized skin had made the torment impossible to endure.

Driven by a frantic, unthinking desperation, she had ducked behind a concrete pillar. With trembling hands, the blonde had reached under her short skirt and peeled away the thin fabric of her underwear, exposing her bare slit to the air. The moment her panties were removed, the itching had vanished as if a switch had been flipped. The relief had been so sudden that she had gasped, her heart pounding at the ramifications. In a storm of fury and humiliation, Flick had balled up the silk garments and thrown them into a nearby trash bin before walking angrily back toward her workplace, feeling the terrifying vulnerability of being completely bare beneath her outfit.

Now, as the CEO sat carefully in her chair, the cool air from the air-conditioned office rose up her short skirt and brushed against her exposed folds. Flick let out a sharp, involuntary gasp, her fingers digging into the leather armrests of her chair. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the strange rush of arousal that the sensation triggered. She needed to make sure no one knew she wasn’t wearing any underwear, a task that felt increasingly difficult as her body seemed determined to betray her at every turn.

Flick took a deep, shaky breath and reached for her mouse, clicking the screen to life. She needed to bury herself in work, to give herself a sense of the normalcy she craved amidst these bizarre physical punishments. She found an unread email at the top of her inbox from Noah Traylin in the procurement department, and she clicked it open.

Subject: URGENT: Phase 1 Property Acquisitions - Signature Required

Dear Miss Gordon,

I am pleased to report that the first phase of the Eastside Rejuvenation Project has proceeded without a hitch. We have successfully negotiated the preliminary terms for the four anchor-property acquisitions in line with your new development strategy. However, the legal language within these specific acquisition documents is exceptionally complex, involving several dormant land-use riders and intricate liability indemnification clauses that require your immediate sign-off before we can proceed with the formal filings. Please review the attached documentation thoroughly. Any proposed amendments or concerns regarding the indemnity structure should be brought to my attention by the end of the day to ensure we do not miss the closing window.

Best regards,

Noah Traylin

Director of Procurement

Flick clicked the PDF attachment, her long, manicured red nails clicking sharply against the plastic of the mouse. She had spent most of her life avoiding the inner workings of Gordon Enterprises, preferring the social circuits and the status of being Harold’s wealthy stepdaughter rather than learning the grit of the business. She had only stepped into this building to prove a point to Sam, and yet, as she stared at the first page of the acquisition agreement, she realized she was entirely out of her depth.

The legal terminology began to blur almost instantly. Words like “indemnification,” “encumbrances,” and “dormant land-use riders” seemed to swirl across the screen, merging into the gray fog of incomprehensible jargon. She tried to focus her attention on the first paragraph, forcing herself to read the words one by one, but her mind felt strangely sluggish and heavy. It was as if a thick veil had been dropped over her cognitive abilities, combining her lack of real estate knowledge with a lack of concentration. The intellectual regression was terrifying, yet the more she struggled to understand, the more her head throbbed with a dull, insistent ache.

She leaned back in her comfortable executive chair, letting out a frustrated groan. She had no idea what she was looking at, and the pressure of the end-of-day deadline made the stress far more palpable. She couldn’t sign these documents blindly, but she also couldn’t admit to Noah that she was incapable of reading her own company’s paperwork. She needed help, and she needed someone she could control. There was only one man for the job. Without a second thought, she reached for the phone on her desk and dialed her CFO’s direct extension.

“Giles, I need you in my office right now,” she said the moment the man answered, her voice dropping into a breathy, husky whisper that had somehow become her new default when speaking to her colleagues. “I have some very important documents from procurement that need your undivided attention. Stop whatever you are doing and get over here immediately.”

She didn’t wait for his response before hanging the phone back on its cradle. She sat in the silence of the office, the cool air continuing beneath her leather skirt. She absently reached up and touched her bright red lips, feeling the waxy thickness of the gloss, before checking her reflection in the monitor.

Less than five minutes passed before a tentative knock sounded at the door. Flick didn’t move from her chair, her back straight and her legs crossed as she waited for the door to open. Giles stepped into the room, his eyes instantly locking onto the woman behind the desk. He froze in mid-step, his mouth falling open as he took in her appearance. The conservative, pale red suit he had seen her in earlier was gone, replaced by a white sleeveless blouse that left her stomach entirely bare and the short, glossy black leather skirt. His gaze traveled from her exposed navel up to her bright red lips, and then down to her lengthy manicured nails resting on the desk.

“Felicity?” Giles asked, his voice sounding strained and breathless as he closed the distance between them. “I was not expecting… I mean, you look quite different from how you did a few hours ago. Is everything alright? You sounded rather urgent on the telephone.”

Flick absently let out a soft, melodic giggle that felt like it belonged to a different woman entirely, and she watched as Giles struggled to keep his eyes on her face instead of her slightly exposed cleavage. The internal CEO who wanted to talk business was being steadily drowned out by a sultry version of herself that seemed to thrive under the much older man’s perverted gaze.

“I am perfectly fine, Giles, but I think I’m just having a little bit of trouble with all these big, scary words from the procurement department,” Flick said, her voice dropping into a breathy, flirtatious twang as she gestured toward the screen.

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, the shiny leather of her skirt making a loud, provocative creak that seemed to dominate the space around them. “I’m just a simple girl, after all, and I find that trying to read through all these complicated riders and indemnification thingies is giving me the most terrible headache. I need a big, smart man like you to decipher it for me and tell me exactly whether and where I should sign my name.”

The blonde was horrified by what she had said. She had spent years tolerating her stepfather’s best friend’s perverted stares to get herself into a position where she could control him without giving an ounce of herself in return. It had worked, and the fact that she was sitting in this office right now was proof. But none of her tactics involved degrading and humiliating herself, and that was exactly what she was doing. The words just spilled out, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Giles stood by the edge of the desk, his hands hovering over the back of the guest chair as if he were afraid to sit down. He stared at the monitor, then back at the woman, his throat working overtime as he tried to swallow. The sight of her bare stomach and the way her breasts were partially visible through the low cut of her blouse seemed to be short-circuiting his professional brain.

“Felicity, I… I am more than happy to advise you, but that is technically the responsibility of the Chief Executive Officer,” the older man said, his voice trembling as he tried to hide his arousal. “I don’t feel comfortable making executive decisions on your behalf. It would be highly inappropriate for me to tell you exactly where to sign your name without your understanding the full scope of the liability.”

Flick watched him, noticing the way his gaze kept roaming around her. She felt a surge of that strange, warm power she had experienced earlier, a feeling that she could bend this man to her will if she just played the part her body was demanding. She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward over the desk, the motion causing her short skirt to ride up even further.

“But Giles, you are so much smarter than me,” she whispered, her red nails tapping against the mahogany surface with a rhythmic, hypnotic click. “I am just a silly, pretty girl who happens to own a company. I need a big, strong man like you to take care of the hard parts for me. I’ll make it worth your while, I promise. You’ve always been so loyal to me, and I want to make sure you feel appropriately rewarded.”

Giles let out a shaky breath and finally sat down in the chair, his eyes wide as he looked at the young woman he had fawned over for years. “I… I don’t understand. What exactly do you mean by making it worth my while?”

Flick didn’t answer with words. A wave of confusion washed over her as her body moved on its own. She slid out of her chair and dropped to her knees on the carpet. She crawled forward under the desk until she was positioned between the older man’s spread legs, her short skirt riding up further, showing her bare pussy to anyone behind her. Fortunately, there wasn’t. Flick’s mind reeled in bewilderment. Why was she doing this? Why was she on her knees under her own desk like some desperate secretary in a bad movie? The rational part of her screamed to stop, but her hands were already reaching for the CFO’s belt.

Giles’s eyes widened. “Felicity, what are you doing? This isn’t appropriate. We can’t—”

Her freshly manicured fingers fumbled with his belt buckle. She pulled the zipper down. His hardened cock sprang free, already twitching. The moment her glossy red lips brushed against the head, horror crashed over the blonde like a tidal wave.

No. No, no, no.

The young CEO’s mind screamed in absolute terror as her lips parted and took him inside. The taste of the older man filled her mouth, warm and salty. She began to suck, slow and deep, her tongue swirling around his shaft even as every cell in her body recoiled in shame. This was the pervert who had been obsessed with her since she was a teenager. Why was she giving him everything he wanted on a silver platter? Giles groaned, his hands gripping the chair.

“Felicity… we shouldn’t… this is highly inappropriate…” he protested, his voice strained, but he made no move to push the blonde away.

Flick’s mouth moved with a skill that felt entirely foreign to her, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head of the older man’s shaft while her long red nails wrapped around his balls. The sensory disconnect was absolute; while her mind was a whirlwind of disgust and silent screams, her body was performing an adoring, submissive enthusiasm that bordered on worship. She looked up at him from the shadows beneath the imposing desk, her blue eyes wide and deceptively filled with lustful focus. Every time she felt the urge to stop, a sharp prickle of that phantom heat would remind her of the price of disobedience.

“Mpphhh,” she muffled before temporarily removing her mouth from his dick to allow her to speak. “Just tell me about the warehouses, Giles. Tell me where I need to sign while I make you feel like the big, powerful man you are.”

Giles let out a choked, strangled sound that was caught somewhere between a moan of pleasure and a whimper of pure shock. There were two things in life he had fantasized about more than any other. Taking control of his own company and making the key decisions for himself, and making love to his late best friend’s stepdaughter. He had assumed both of those were out of reach. But here he was, sitting in the Chief Executive’s office, being tasked with making an executive decision whilst having his cock sucked by the very woman he had spent years secretly lusting after. Was he dreaming?

The older man stared at the monitor, the technical language of the acquisition documents swimming before his eyes. He could feel the warmth of Flick’s breath against his inner thigh, followed immediately by the wet return of her mouth as she engulfed him once more. The sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of gratification that he had only ever dreamed of during his loneliest nights.

“The… the first property is the… the Eastside warehouse on Fourth Street,” Giles stammered, his fingers digging into the leather of the guest chair. “The indemnification clause on page four is… oh god, Felicity… it is designed to protect you from any pre-existing environment encumbrances. I think it’s safe to proceed with that one.”

Flick’s mind was a storm of pure panic. Why am I doing this? The thought screamed inside her head as her lips slid further down his shaft. This is Giles. The simp who helped me steal the company. The pervert who has wanted me for years. Why am I on my knees under my own desk sucking his cock like some desperate whore?

She had no answer. Her body acted on its own, bobbing her blonde-haired head slowly, taking him deeper with each pass. Her tongue pressed against the underside of his cock, tracing the thick vein that ran along the length. Saliva coated him, making wet, obscene sounds every time she pulled back. The taste was strong and completely foreign to her, yet she kept going, hollowing her cheeks and sucking harder.

Giles’s voice cracked as he tried to keep reading. “Parcel B… the… the one on Harbor Lane… has… has already cleared environmental review… the liability is minimal… fuck… Felicity, your mouth feels… incredible…”

Stop. Stop. Stop. Flick screamed internally. I’m the CEO. I’m in charge. Why am I letting this happen?

Her long red nails rested on his thighs, occasionally scraping the fabric of the older man’s trousers. The blonde took him to the back of her throat, fighting her active gag reflex that threatened to rise. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she swallowed around him, the tight heat of her throat squeezing his cock. Giles groaned loudly, his hips twitching involuntarily.

“The third parcel… Oakwood Boulevard… has highway access… which… which makes it valuable for future development… the indemnity riders are standard… oh god, keep doing that…”

Flick’s internal monologue was a nonstop torrent of horror. This can’t be real. I’m not this person. I’m not the kind of woman who crawls under a desk and sucks off an old man just to get him to read paperwork for me. What the fuck is wrong with me?

She pulled back slightly, her bright red lips leaving a vivid ring around the base of the man’s shaft. She stroked him with one hand while her tongue swirled around the head, lapping at the precum that beaded there. Then she took him deep again, faster this time, her head bobbing with a rhythm that felt practiced even though she had never done anything like this before.

Giles breathing grew heavy. He tried to keep reading, but the words came out in broken fragments. “Parcel D… Industrial Park Road… five point six acres… prime for high-density… the environmental warranties are… are solid… Felicity… I’m… I’m getting close…”

No. Please no. Flick’s mind begged. Don’t let him cum in my mouth. Don’t make me take it. I can’t do this. I won’t do this.

But her body had other plans. She sucked harder, her hand pumping the base of his cock in time with her mouth. Her tongue pressed flat against the underside, milking him. The older man’s thighs tensed under her palms. His hand moved to the back of her head, not forcing her, but holding her in place as his orgasm built.

With a low, guttural groan, he came. Thick, hot spurts of seed flooded the CEO’s mouth, hitting the back of her throat. Flick’s eyes widened in shock, but she swallowed reflexively, taking every drop. The taste was overwhelming, salty and slightly bitter, possibly the worst thing she had ever had in her mouth. However, she kept sucking gently until the man was spent before her messy red lips slid off him slowly.

When the blonde pulled back, bright red lipstick rings circled the man’s softening shaft in several vivid bands. Flick sat back on her heels under the desk, breathing hard, her mind reeling with disgust and shame.

Giles looked down at her, his face flushed and his eyes glassy. He was still shaky, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “There are… there are a few amendments I would make to limit your personal liability,” he managed with a hoarse voice. “But overall… it looks good. You can sign all four.”

Flick stayed under the desk for a long moment, her hands trembling on his thighs. The taste of the old man lingered on her tongue. The reality of what she had just done crashed over the young blonde like a wave. She had crawled under her own desk, taken her CFO’s cock into her mouth, and sucked him off while he read legal documents for her. She had swallowed every drop of his seed, and she had done it without being able to stop herself.

Why the hell did I do that? The thought screamed inside her head. I’m supposed to be in control. I’m the one who stole this company. I’m the one who’s supposed to be winning. So why do I feel like I’m losing everything?

She crawled out from under the desk on unsteady knees and stood up, smoothing her leather skirt down as best she could before Giles discovered her panty-less secret. The cool air still brushed her bare pussy, reminding her of how vulnerable she was. Flick forced a professional smile onto her face even though her hands were shaking.

Giles stood as well, adjusting his pants and zipping himself up with trembling fingers. He looked at his young boss with a mixture of awe, confusion, and lingering desire.

“Thank you for your help, Giles,” Flick said, trying to act as though her recent actions had never happened. “I’ll review your suggested amendments before the end of the day. You can go now.”

Giles nodded quickly and left the office, too embarrassed to look the woman in the face one last time.

The moment Flick was alone, she collapsed back into her chair. She pressed both hands to her face, the long red nails cool against her flushed skin. Her heart pounded wildly. She could still taste the man. She could still feel the memory of his cock on her tongue. The humiliation was so complete, it made her eyes sting with unshed tears.

She whispered to the empty room, her voice breaking in bemused desperation. “What the hell did I just do?”

She hadn’t received an answer, but one thing was clear. This was definitely not a symptom of overtiredness or stress. Something was happening to the young CEO, and it was escalating. She needed professional help, and she needed to solve this problem before it controlled every inch of her life.

End of Chapter Two