She stared at the receiver, still in her hand, heart pounding. She didn't catch half of what he said—just enough to panic.
She tried redialing, frantically tapping the keypad. No response. No call history. Not even a trace of the number on her screen.
"Shit…" she whispered. She was still staring when a smooth voice broke into her spiral.
"You alright, Melinda?"
Susie.
Melinda snapped the receiver back into place and turned. "Yes ma'am! I mean—I'm fine. That was… Miss Brentford. Confirming she's still coming for the meeting."
She avoided Susie's gaze as she grabbed her tablet and followed her boss down the hallway. Her fingers trembled slightly, and her mind reeled as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.
The sound of the elevator dinging behind them was enough to halt her thoughts.
Brandi Brentford stepped out like a woman who had never waited for anything in her life.
In daylight, she was even more breathtaking—tailored jet black suit, soft locs catching the light with every step. Her heels clicked with purpose, and her eyes immediately found Melinda's desk.
Empty.
Brandi frowned. Her gaze flicked across the office until it landed on a stunned junior analyst.
"You. Where is Susie Bowden?"
The young man flinched at the sound of her voice. "Uh, the c-conference room… down the left hallway."
Without another word, Brandi pivoted and strode down the hall, her expression unreadable.
When she entered the conference room, she stopped short.
Melinda was seated closely beside Susie at the head of the table. Their chairs slightly angled inward, their heads tilted toward one another—intimate in a way that made Brandi's jaw tighten.
There was no place for her next to Melinda without it being awkward, so Brandi crossed to the opposite end of the table, pulling out a chair with slow, deliberate grace.
She folded her hands neatly in front of her and stared.
Not at Susie. At Melinda.
Melinda pretended not to notice, but Brandi didn't blink. Her smirk grew slowly, amused by how flustered Melinda became, shifting in her seat like she couldn't quite get comfortable.
Then Brandi saw it.
Susie leaned in—close. Too close. She whispered something against Melinda's ear, lips nearly brushing skin. Melinda's breath hitched, and Brandi noticed how Susie's arm never moved from where it had been resting.
It was subtle. But not subtle enough.
Brandi's gaze narrowed.
Susie's hand was on Melinda's thigh.
The color in Melinda's cheeks confirmed it. Brandi cleared her throat. Loud. The sound echoed through the room like a warning shot.
"Well," she said crisply, sitting back in her chair. "I'd love to stay and enjoy the very warm energy in this room, but I do have things to do. And I imagine you Miss Bowden and your ever-so-busy, ever-so-stunning assistant do as well."
Susie froze.
Melinda winced—and let out a sharp yelp when Susie's hand reflexively squeezed her leg too hard beneath the table. Susie's face tightened as she finally pulled her hand away and sat up straighter, clearing her throat like it might erase the moment.
"Yes, well," she said smoothly, though her voice lacked its usual luster. "Let's proceed, shall we?"
Brandi didn't reply.
Brandi let the silence stretch. Calculated.
"One way or another," she said coolly, "I'm going to invest in Hillsdale."
Susie raised an eyebrow, expression carefully composed again—but Brandi wasn't looking at her. She was still watching Melinda.
"I'm not shopping around. I don't need to. I want this company. I like its structure. Its reach. Its… branding, you can say" she said with a faint smirk, eyes flicking toward Susie now. "I was thinking of starting small. A few million, maybe. Something your higher-ups would love to see splashed across your quarterly projections."
Susie didn't respond right away.
Melinda sat still as stone, unsure where to look or what to write. The air had become heavier— dangerous.
"All that needs to happen," Brandi added, voice like silk over glass, "is for you, Miss Bowden, to stop being difficult."
There was no overt threat. There didn't have to be. Brandi's tone alone made it clear: she had…influence.
Options.
She didn't need Susie—but she had decided she needed to play fair, just for this.
That was until Susie became too much of a problem, in many ways.
Brandi leaned back again, draping an arm over the side of her chair with ease. "Or…" she added lazily, "I'll call your board directly. I'm sure they'd love a chat with someone willing to throw a few million at their expansion budget. Might even be grateful."
A flash of something bitter passed across Susie's features—annoyance or realization, it was hard to tell.
Melinda just sat there, jaw tight, heartbeat in her ears. She wasn't sure who she was more afraid to look at.
Susie's chair scraped back slightly as she leaned forward, eyes narrowed like a dagger pressed to a throat.
"Stop looking at the girl," she snapped.
Brandi's smirk didn't falter, but her gaze finally slid back to Susie.
"You young people," Susie went on sharply, "you don't know respect. You're too goddamn horny and too drunk on your bloated bank accounts to see when you're clearly jaded—diluted—by the illusion of choice."
Melinda flinched at the heat in her voice. The atmosphere had shifted again. Not heavy. Now it was volatile.
"You don't want to invest," Susie hissed. "You were never going to invest. You were going to buy the biggest share you could, gut every corner of Hillsdale that didn't suit your damn empire, and merge it into whatever Frankenstein nightmare your portfolio calls a brand."
Her hands were flat on the table now, knuckles pale. "That's what you do, isn't it? You seduce the admin with charm and checks, and by the time they're done kissing your heels, they're being wheeled out with a severance package. Then it's the department heads. Then the franchisees. Then the real people—the ones who own a storefront, who clock in early, who trust that the company they're loyal to won't vanish under their feet."
Brandi's smirk was gone now. Her jaw was clenched tight, nostrils flaring with each breath. Her hands twitched, one forming a fist beneath the table. Rage flickered behind her eyes, rising, fighting to stay caged.
"You think you can march into my office," Susie continued, voice cold and cutting, "with some suit on and railroad me?"
The room went still. Brandi rose slowly to her feet, buttoning her blazer with a trembling hand. Her movements were controlled. Measured. But her expression—her expression could've cracked glass.
"I get what I want," she said softly. Her voice vibrated with held-back fury. "Regardless of who stands in my way."
She took one step forward, eyes locked on Susie like a loaded gun.
"You had a nice career, Susie."
And then—she snapped.
"Keep fucking with me, and I'll make sure nothing you've done—nothing you ever do—will matter. Because you'll be DEAD!"
Her scream shook the glass walls of the room. Her voice cracked at the end, raw, unfiltered, and frightening. Her veins stood out against her neck, fury surging like a wildfire. And then, just as suddenly as it erupted, she swallowed it all down.
Brandi straightened her blazer again, took a deep breath, and turned.
The heels of her shoes echoed with each step as she stormed out, the sharp scent of her perfume trailing behind her like smoke after a fire.
Susie sat frozen, mouth parted slightly, still processing the volcanic eruption she had just ignited.
Melinda didn't dare look up. Her heart was hammering so hard she thought it might knock over the table. Her face was flushed. Her thighs pressed tightly together beneath the desk.
She muttered, barely audible, "That was… hot." Brandi's scent still lingered in the air, and it made her head swim.
But the trance was broken when Susie turned toward her with a hard, wild glare.
"If she comes back," she said through clenched teeth, "or calls—you hang up. You hear me?"
Melinda blinked. "Y-yes ma'am."
"And have her blacklisted."
Then Susie stormed out too, the door slamming behind her hard enough to rattle the framed awards on the wall.
Melinda sat alone.
Shaken.
Breathing shallow.
Her skin felt like fire.
That… wasn't hot. That was terrifying.
Melinda sank into her desk chair like her bones had melted. She stared blankly at her monitor. She needed to forget. Needed to shut the door on everything that had happened between yesterday's flirtation and today's explosions.
Brandi's rage.
Susie's kiss.
Her own breathless reactions to both.
You have to push it all away, she told herself. Compartmentalize.
She reached for her mouse, checked her emails, and responded to whatever mundane tasks might be sitting in her queue. Anything to feel normal again.
The phone rang.
She jumped. Her heart stuttered as she glanced at the screen. No name. Just a number—one that felt familiar.
She hesitated, then picked up. "Westward Division, Melinda speaking."
"Hello…"
Brandi's voice.
Melinda's throat dried instantly. She tried to keep her tone professional. Cold. "Miss Bowden isn't available. I have to ask you not to call a-"
"I'm not calling for her," Brandi cut in smoothly. "I'm calling for you."
Melinda froze. Her eyes flicked up toward Susie's office. "Miss Brentford, this isn't—"
"I just wanted to apologize. I shouldn't have let things get so out of hand today. That wasn't the version of me you deserved to witness." Brandi paused. "May I send you flowers? Just… as a peace offering."
Melinda's lips parted. She swallowed thickly. "That's not necessary… but thank you."
She saw it—movement in the corner of her eye. Susie. Standing just inside her doorway, arms crossed, watching her like a hawk.
"I—I have to go," Melinda stammered. "Thank you again."
She hung up without waiting for a reply.
Her breath was shallow again. She turned slowly in her chair.
Susie's voice cut through the tension, cool and sharp: "My office. Now."
Then she turned and vanished behind the door.
Melinda rose, her hands trembling slightly. She moved to Susie's office, closed the door behind her, and stood there—half-waiting to be reprimanded, half-dreading something else entirely.
Susie didn't look up at first. She strode calmly to her desk, took a seat, and only then raised her head. Her hand extended toward the chair in front of her.
Melinda sat.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly, voice soft. "It won't happen again, I—"
"It won't," Susie agreed flatly, cutting her off.
The words weren't threatening—but they were final. Susie leaned back slowly in her chair, watching Melinda. Studying her.
"Do you like being chased, Melinda?" she asked suddenly, voice quiet and low.
Melinda blinked. "No, ma'am."
"Good."
Susie stood with practiced grace, circling the desk until she loomed just above Melinda. Her presence was overpowering, magnetic.
Melinda looked up slowly, breath catching as Susie's fingers gently touched her shoulders.
"Because I'm not interested in chasing you, I already have you" Susie murmured, and with a firm but controlled push, she guided Melinda back into the chair.
Then she kissed her.
Deeply.
Melinda gasped against her, hands instinctively reaching for Susie's waist to steady them both. Susie's leg slid between her thighs, bracing herself and leaning into the kiss with slow, deliberate dominance. It was invasive and possessive, and Melinda couldn't stop herself from responding.
When Susie finally pulled back, her lips curved into a satisfied smile.
"You're cute when you don't listen," she whispered. "But you really ought to start."
Her tone darkened with a playful warning. "Today was a test of my patience. And this?"—she gestured vaguely between them—"is your reminder."
Melinda's breath hitched.
"If you keep being bad," Susie added, her voice low and amused, "you'll be bent over this desk before you even get a chance to put your hands back on me."
She gently brushed Melinda's hands off her hips and stepped back around the desk, adjusting her blouse with ease.
"We're going out tonight. After hours. No arguments."
Melinda stood, silent, flushed, unsure what part of her was trembling more.
She nodded, turned, and slipped out of the office without a word.
Back at her desk, she sat down slowly—heart hammering, thoughts tangled, body aware. Brandi's apology. Susie's threat disguised as a promise.
Melinda kept her head down. Typing. Scanning. Reorganizing a spreadsheet she'd already checked twice. She was trying—desperately—to stay busy, to drown out the storm of adrenaline still burning under her skin. Anything to avoid thinking about the last hour.
She had almost managed to convince herself that the day had peaked.
Then came the ding of the elevator.
She looked up.
A florist stepped out, a large bouquet of blood-red roses cradled in his arms. The entire floor paused. Murmurs stirred. Eyes turned.
Melinda already knew.
He was coming right for her.
The florist stopped at her desk, smiling brightly, clearly aware of the attention. "These are for you," he said with a grin. "Whoever sent them must really love you."
She stood awkwardly, waving her hands slightly as if she could somehow reverse this moment. "I—no, it's probably a mistake."
He just laughed. "Sure doesn't look like one." He gently placed the bouquet on her desk, nodded once, and turned to leave.
She didn't ask who sent them. She didn't need to.
Half the office was still pretending not to watch.
She sank back into her chair and stared at the arrangement. It was breathtaking—lush and deliberate. Of course it was Brandi.
Tucked between two of the thorns was a small cream envelope.
Melinda pulled it free and opened it with trembling fingers.
Melinda,
I let my temper get the better of me. I'm not proud of it—and I regret acting so unladylike in front of someone as graceful as you.
You shouldn't have been caught in that crossfire.
You were a light in a room I didn't expect to walk into.
PS: Call me. I expect it.
—Brandi
(XXX) XXX-2345
Her cheeks flushed instantly. Her stomach flipped so hard it felt like her insides had caved in.
She hadn't even put the number into her phone before the note was ripped from her hands.
She gasped. "Miss Bowden—!"
Susie's face was like stone, her grip tight around Melinda's arm as she dragged her toward the office.
"Now," she said through her teeth, slamming the office door behind them.
She didn't stop there.
The blinds on the door were closed. Click. The lock turned. Silence fell over the space like a trap being set.
Melinda stood frozen. Susie stared at her with fire behind her eyes.
"You're off the clock now," Susie said, circling around her. "And off the clock means you're mine until the night ends."
Melinda's throat tightened. "I didn't ask for them. I didn't even—"
"No," Susie cut in coldly. "You didn't ask for them. But you accepted them. From the woman I told you to blacklist. The woman I told you not to speak to. As my most trusted employee, I expected more."
She took a step closer.
"I don't chase, Melinda. I told you that already." Her voice dropped, almost a whisper now—low and dangerous. "So, listen to me very clearly this time: you're not Brandi's anything. You belong to me."
Melinda's lips parted, but nothing came out. Her breath caught as Susie leaned in, her words hot against her ear.
"I'm not in the mood to play second to some young play girl who thinks they can buy affection. So get your jacket. Your bag. We're leaving."
Melinda swallowed hard.
Then she moved. Quiet. Quick. She didn't speak. She grabbed her jacket from the coat rack and her bag from the floor beneath her desk, not daring to meet anyone's eyes.
Behind her, Susie stood, expression unreadable.
When Melinda returned to her side, Susie opened the door without another word and walked ahead, heels clicking with a purpose that sent a silent message to anyone who even thought of stopping them.
And Melinda followed.
She walked through the office, eyes forwards, mouth shut. The elevator opened, and she stepped in, she was alone now, again, with Susie. She was beginning to realize that she had not yet decided if this terrified her or excited her.
It crossed her mind that she had never been interested until now.
When Susie kissed her, it felt…good? Not amazing… just good, good to be wanted in that way, she guessed. But still the pit in her stomach she was carrying wasn't for love. It was for fear she kept shoveling down into it, trying desperately to slow her racing heart and steady her trembling hand as she held it tight to her body.
The elevator doors slid open into the dim parking garage, the cold hum of concrete and fluorescent lighting greeting them like a whisper from the underworld. Melinda followed Susie in silence, the tap of their heels echoing together—hers hesitant, Susie's sharp and sure.
They approached a sleek, black luxury sedan. Susie unlocked it with a click, slipping into the driver's seat without a word. Melinda climbed in beside her, easing back into the leather seat and closing the door as quietly as she could. She folded her hands in her lap, focusing on breathing, grounding herself in the stillness of the car.
She didn't want this. Not really. She didn't want Susie in this way.
Susie was powerful. Beautiful. Sophisticated. But also… a lot. A lot to handle.
Still, Melinda said nothing.
She stared out the windshield as Susie started the car, engine humming to life. The silence between them thickened. Then—
She felt it.
Susie's hand resting lightly on her thigh.
Melinda didn't react. She didn't know how to.
The hand began to move—slowly, deliberately—fingertips brushing upward inch by inch, growing bolder with her silence.
Her breath hitched. She tried to stay still. Tried to think of something else. Anything else.
But then the side of Susie's hand pressed firmly between her thighs.
A sharp gasp escaped her lips. She flinched. Her hand darted down to push Susie's away, heart racing.
Susie laughed softly, surprised but not offended. "Too much?"
Melinda didn't answer right away, cheeks burning red. She stared ahead, trying to compose herself.
Then, quietly: "I didn't say stop because it didn't feel good..." That earned another chuckle from Susie, this one warmer, more amused than triumphant.
"I just want to be sure," Susie said genuinely, brushing a lock of hair from Melinda's cheek with surprising gentleness. "You are allowed to say no, you know. I like to chase, but I'm not a monster."
Melinda bit the inside of her cheek. Part of her hated how much that honesty disarmed her.
Maybe… This could work. Maybe there was a version of this she could survive.
But something in her gut still thought no. And it had Brandi's face.
Brandi sat in the back of her car, legs crossed, the hem of her black coat draped neatly over her thigh. The city lights flickered across the tinted windows as her driver navigated towards a restaurant.
Her phone sat face-up beside her, screen blank. Waiting.
Melinda still hadn't called.
She knew she'd seen her leave—saw her car peel out of the garage at nearly seven-thirty. That meant she was off the clock.
Free to call.
Free to answer.
Free to want her back.
Brandi's jaw flexed as she leaned forward, snatching the phone and dialing.
"Jonathan," she snapped when he picked up, voice groggy and slurred.
"Boss… hey. What's up?"
"Don't 'whatsapp' me," she growled. "You promised me everything for Melinda—everything. All I've gotten is some grainy security footage and having to send an apology note she probably hasn't even read."
He groaned. "I'm working on it. I'm coming down off a lot right now. You wouldn't believe the party we had last night—"
"I don't care about your come-down," she hissed.
"I asked you for full intel. Background. Affiliations. Patterns. Give me the goddamn footage from today—every hallway, every room—and give me that girl's file. Or I swear, Jonathan, I'll blow your knees out myself."
There was a beat of silence.
"… Okay, okay. You'll have it," he muttered. "It's just… her name rang a bell."
Brandi paused. "What do you mean?"
"I'm not telling," he said slyly. "You're gonna love it when you see it though. I promise."
She scoffed. "If this is some childish mystery setup for that damn auction, I swear—"
"You'll love it, this is gonna be like delayed gratification" he repeated. "Trust me."
Brandi clenched her jaw. "I don't have time for games. She may be young, but I don't have time to waste."
Then she hung up.
The second the call ended, she turned her gaze back to the phone screen.
Still no message. Still no call.