His Indecent Proposition

By: Aphrodite Hunt



He waits a beat before answering, “Yes, for most part.”

A deep, complex emotion courses through her – strangely filled with equal parts fear, desire and conflict.

He adds, “I should warn you that there will be pain along with pleasure. You will be possibly be subjected to practices foreign to your nature. I would require your absolute compliance. Once you have agreed, refusal of any of the requests is not an option.”

She breathes sharply. Her heart is beating very fast against the curvature of her ribs.

Refusal not an option? Just what does he have in store for her? She thinks of this volatile, dangerous man moving like a thief in Iraqi desert night, and she suddenly has an idea of what he can and will do.

Her hands begin to tremble at the thought.

She manages to say, “I would like to think about it, sir.”

“Needless to say, I trust I’ll have your discretion over the matter.”

“Yes, of course, sir.”

“I’ll expect your answer first thing tomorrow morning.”

She nods. She feels as though all the energy has been drained out of her.

“That will be all, Susan Chalmers.”

She knows she is being dismissed. She gets up. The back of her panties are soaked through with her pooled sweat.

As she exits the CEO’s office, she can feel his eyes burning a hole in her back.





2





Susan goes back to her room, sits down and stares at her monitor without being able to register a single word onscreen. The meeting plays over and over again in her mind.

You will do my every bidding . . . my every command.

I should warn you that there will be pain along with pleasure. You will be possibly be subjected to practices foreign to your nature.

Once you have agreed, refusal of any of the requests is not an option.

Every word is like a hammer, a blow in the cavern of her skull.

She has never been more petrified in her life. Her palms are slick with sweat as she grips the edge of her desk. She can’t even talk about this with anybody . . . well, not if she valued her job.

She hears voices outside her door and looks up. Leonard Drake is showing a trio of visitors she does not recognize around the office. As they stop to admire a framed sales chart of the best year the company ever had, he takes the opportunity to poke his head in.

“Ah, you’re back. So how did the meeting go?” He’s cordial, almost chatty. Very unlike his usual demeanor.

“It went well, thank you for asking,” she says smoothly.

He grins. “Well, I’d better be getting back to showing our guests the boardroom. This is the Buchanan acquisitions team. Can’t stress enough the importance of getting their account.”

He leaves, the Buchanan team in tow.

She’s flummoxed.

So fast?

The way the Buchanan acquisition team is chatting to Leonard – amiably, laughing as though they are old friends – is nothing short of appalling. The implications are obvious. She can already see the glistening ink on the contract sheets where they will sign, effectively adding half a billion dollars to the company’s revenue and Leonard’s spreadsheet. She can also see the Human Resource statement slip calculating Leonard’s commission on this.

And she can clearly visualize ‘LEONARD DRAKE, VICE-PRESIDENT’ in gold letters on the door of the new, much larger office he will occupy, all the way up in the floor just below the CEO’s room.

She stares out of the door at their retreating backs, her mind turning cartwheels.

A short musical tone from her docked laptop alerts her. Incoming email. She checks her Inbox. It’s [email protected] .

Frowning, she clicks it open.

It says: “Hi babe, can’t make it for dinner tonite. Somethin came up.”

Her mouth flattens. Brad is always doing this – cancelling at the last minute and leaving her in a lurch to make plans of her own.

She looks at her palms. Her flesh is indented with her fingernails. Her head feels as though it’s been laundered in some super spin cycle of a washing machine.

You already know what you’re going to do.

So do it.





3





For the second time that day, she walks into the CEO’s office. Ms. Radcliff is standing up behind her desk and reaching for her purse.

“Susan,” she says in surprise. “It’s lunchtime. Aren’t you going out?”

“I just have something to say to Mr. Crawford. It’s regarding a suggestion he made this morning,” Susan says. The blood rushes in her ears and makes all sorts of turbine-like noises. She can hardly hear herself speak.

“Of course. Just let me buzz Mr. Crawford. He’s not used to sudden interruptions.”

“Tell him it’s urgent.”

Ms. Radcliffe puts down her purse and punches a button on her phone. “Mr. Crawford? Susan Chalmers here to see you. She says it’s urgent. Yes, twice in one day, it must be important.” She laughs.

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