It’s Just Business

MONEY… POWER… SEX?

Salacious details emerge on how certain young women are using more than their education to ‘work’ their way up the corporate ladder!

By: Vanna Nicholson

The intersection of power and sex has been the seed of scandal since the time Prince Paris of Troy happened to have seen a certain Spartan queen named Helen. Of course, in most semi-modern retellings, the young lad is struck by the pangs of love, but most of us know what really had Paris ‘up’ in arms.

At times, women have rebelled against this intersection of power and sex, usually in revolt against the pressures by some men who demanded that women earn their positions in the world on their backs, or bent over the throne, or whatever the case may have been.

We see you, hashtaggers!

But what if young women are using their feminine wiles to seduce their way up the corporate ladder? What if these young women, some of whom are doctors, some of whom are military leaders, and some of whom just happen to control the purse strings of your 401(k), aren’t who they claim to be?

My hand trembles as I attempt to read the screen.

The story is lurid, heavy on the innuendo and suggestion and short on facts. It’s typical trash journalism, the standard of the ‘society’ pages, whether they’re in print or online. But when Maggie messaged me to read this, I knew she had a reason.

It takes me three minutes to find it. All the while, the nerves run through me and I feel sick to my stomach.

And then there’s a certain ‘Lady of Crows’, shall we say, who’s working for a rather Sharpe-edged boss, a boss who’s been more than happy to indulge in all sorts of unprofessional acts with his latest physical distraction. Rumors are her beauty is truly her weapon, as she has a long history in the Financial District, having dated a scion of one of the FiDi’s most powerful families for years before breaking up with him after she’d ‘pumped’ him for all the information and influence she could manage.

That was a lot of influence, and a lot of working after hours. Apparently, she was able to gyrate her way into introductions, influential internships, and after betraying her beau in order to score a high-paying position at his rival’s firm, our raven-haired temptress may have even left with a bevy of corporate secrets that have already earned her a pretty penny in her new position. Well, new public position, at least. Her pubic position has, by all reports, remained the same.

My hand shakes, but I force myself to read the rest.

She slyly mentions Olivia too, somehow making her out to be both a whore and a victim, taken advantage of by Dylan before being sent on some sort of sexual spy infiltration mission to Evan, who isn’t named.

With close to thirty-nine trillion dollars in various retirement accounts, and millions upon millions of Americans depending on investments in the Financial District, it’s only a matter of time before one of these seductive sirens costs clients millions.

They may already have.

Rage coursing through me, I slam my phone down on my desk and storm my way towards Dylan’s office. Along the way, I can see the glances from some of the other people. Shanna looks hurt, of all things, as if I somehow betrayed her.

Hey, weren’t you the one asking if I got Sharped at the fucking party? I want to yell at her, but I’ve got another target on my mind as I storm into Dylan’s office, where he’s on the phone.

“Look, Bob, I’m not taking no for an answer!” Dylan says heatedly. His suit is crisp, his jaw cleanly shaven, but the bags under his eyes are heavy like he didn’t sleep at all last night. “I don’t care. I want you to have a plan on how to strike back and contain this. And I want Vanna’s head on a goddamn platter… nix that, I’ll handle her my damn self.” Looking up, he finally realizes I’m standing across from him and clears his throat. “Look, just get it fucking done. I want to see a preliminary plan by noon. No, I’ll call you.”

Dylan hangs up and takes a deep breath as I slowly take the seat across from him. “So, I take it that you read it.”

“Every fucking word,” I manage, noticing for the first time the old-fashioned newspaper on his desk. I snag it off the desk, and he makes no attempt to stop me. Tears prick my eyes, but I’m more angry than anything. The print version is even worse, taking up an entire page complete with pictures. The largest? Me, with a tiny, tiny little black bar over my eyes. I even know the picture. It’s me coming out of the Faulkner building, my dress not quite right and… “That’s photoshopped.”

“Clearly,” Dylan says. “Look, we’re going to handle this. Vanna said she was going to go after Evan, not us.”

“What?” I exclaim, confused as hell. “You know her?”

“I spoke to her last week,” he tells me, his expression hardened. I was stomping up here to get on the same page as Dylan, confident that we would handle this together. But…

“This isn’t Evan’s doing?” I ask, blinking away the shock. He knows her? He spoke to her? To someone who could write this trash?

I thought it was Evan. It’s the only thing that made sense when I saw the article. It’s exactly the sort of twisted thinking he’s capable of, but what Dylan’s said changes everything. “You did this?”

He shakes his head, pinning me with a furious glare. “Of course not, not this. I put Vanna on the opposite track… destroying Evan, like we agreed on.” The reminder is sharp, and I flinch. I knew whatever Dylan did would be ugly, which is why I didn’t want to know about it, but this? I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t revenge by gossip monger. “She has more reasons than us to hate the Faulkners, and I trusted her motivation for that.”

“You trusted her?” I question sarcastically, and my tone is full of the shock and rage I feel.

He tilts his head, looking at me wryly. “I leveraged her,” he corrects. “It’s what I do.”Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

Throwing my arms wide, I huff, “That backfired, didn’t it?”

I’m panicking. My heart races faster and faster, thumping against my ribs. I can’t get enough oxygen, and there are black speckles at the edges of my vision. The reality is that my reputation isn’t worth a damn. All I will ever be known for is the fact that I slept with Dylan. I think I’m going to pass out…

Dylan is up and around his desk in a single second. At first, I pull away, but he presses. “Raven,” he says, “please don’t do this.”

I wait a moment, and when he tries again, I lean into him. He’s all I have. He wraps me in my arms. Gratefully, I sag into him, the top of my head going to his chest as I stare at our shoes. “What are we going to do?” I whisper, fighting back every racing thought.

I feel him press a firm kiss to my head, and then he lifts my chin, bringing my eyes to his. He looks murderous, but when he peers at me, it softens into something else entirely. The fury is still there, right beneath the surface, but he’s controlling it… for now. He kisses my lips, a gentle promise in the movement of his mouth on mine.

His phone dings on his desk.

And then it dings again.

And again.

This is it, our new reality. People are coming after him, after me, after us.

“Enough!” I growl, pushing him away. For a second, he tries to cling to me, and I realize he’s trying to escape this fucked up mess just as much as I am.

But I break free and grab his phone from his desk. My first instinct is to chunk it to the floor, stomp on it, and release the war cry that’s churning in my soul. Instead, I hand it to Dylan, slamming it into his palm.

“Fix this. I don’t know how, but please, fix this. Do whatever you have to do so that you’re okay,” I plead.

He looks at me in surprise. “You mean so that you’re okay. Your name, or close enough to it, is the one splashed all over that article that everyone’s reading and talking about.”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t care what people think about me at this point, because losing everything I’ve worked for in one fell swoop is nothing compared to what could happen if your investors think you’ve been played by some ‘sexual siren’ looking for a sugar daddy who pays with insider information. The consequences of that could be catastrophic, Dylan.”

Because that’s the worst part of this. He’s right that the article is about me, which is infuriating and makes me feel nakedly vulnerable even though it’s all lies, but at its foundation, the article is about Dylan and how he’s been so easily duped by a pretty face and some pussy.

And that could bring Dylan’s entire empire to the ground.

I refuse to be the bringer of his ruin. I will not be his destruction.

Because I love him. I love him too much, but I don’t know what to do.

So if I have to sacrifice myself to save him, then so be it.

“A sugar daddy?” he repeats what I said with disbelief. “Raven, no one thinks that,” he says, but I pin him with a knowing look. That’s a lie and we both know it. There are plenty who will think exactly that based on one little gossip column and my sudden switch from Evan’s side to his. “Fuck!” he hisses, admitting that I’m right.

“I’m going to go home for the day, I think. If you need me, call, but otherwise, I understand that you have to do what’s needed to save yourself and what you’ve worked so hard for.”

Before he can argue, I lift to my toes, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, and then I leave before he can stop me. Tamara side eyes me as I pass, her glasses magnifying the sadness I see in her gaze.

“Tamara!” Dylan shouts, and she jumps, getting up to rush into his office.

As I head downstairs, hurrying to grab my bag from my locker, sadness and anger war for top billing.

I hold it all in, saving it for the moment I can collapse in a fit of tears in private.