He thinks about it and decided to go

Peter set the phone down with a muttered "I'll think about it and get back to you," his thoughts spinning wildly amid the disheveled VIP lounge. Sharp morning light sliced through the tinted windows, stretching shadows across scattered champagne glasses, wrinkled cushions, and the hazy remnants of their all-night frenzy.

A second interview?

From the same guy who'd brushed him off the day before like some rote checklist item, now suddenly dangling another chance? The whole thing smacked of a bizarre glitch in reality—especially now, with Vivienne's lavish web of security already spun tight around him: trust funds flowing, assets shifted seamlessly, indulgence without end.

Why chase a desk job, churning out code for a mediocre paycheck, when vast wealth lay within reach? Or was the universe playing a cruel prank, tempting him with ordinary stability right as his life detonated into wild ecstasy and turmoil?

From behind him came the first stirrings—a low, contented hum as Vivienne's statuesque form shifted, her powerful arm cinching briefly around his waist. She propped herself up on one elbow, letting chestnut waves cascade over her shoulder like a luxurious veil, while those emerald eyes—still heavy-lidded from sleep—locked onto him with nurturing intensity. A manicured hand began tracing lazy circles across his bare chest.

"Darling, who was that so early?" she murmured, her voice wrapping like soft velvet in that faint Dutch lilt, before leaning close to brush a gentle kiss against his temple. "You look like you've seen a ghost—or perhaps an opportunity?"

Peter let out a slow breathe , fingers raking through his messy hair while the women around him started to wake—Val pressed close with a sleepy mumble of playful Spanish against his side, Mami arching her voluptuous curves in a languid stretch accompanied by a contented sigh, Ilona parting her smoky eyes with a sly, awakening grin. "That was the interviewer from yesterday—Mr. Harlan over at ByteCore," he explained. "A position just opened up; he wants to redo the whole thing today, give me another shot."

Her fingers drifted lower, delivering a reassuring squeeze to his thigh—a touch blending care with subtle possession—while an appreciative smile curved Vivienne's crimson lips.

"Ah, see?" she said, her emerald eyes lighting up. "The universe is handing you a second chance, darling. Your potential cut through, even with those rough edges."

She paused, thumb tracing a small circle on his skin. "But do you really want this job? Everything I've set up—the accounts, the trusts, that delicious freedom—opens doors to bigger dreams. Or none at all, if lounging suits you better."

Leaning in closer, she added with a wink, "And if you decide to chase it, use me as your reference. One call from Vanderbilt Vanderlace's CEO, and those doors don't just open—they fly off the hinges."

Peter's eyes wandered to the remote jutting from his jeans pocket, that little gadget responsible for flipping his world upside down. Second chance, or sweet ****?

The image of Mr. Harlan surfaced—balding guy in his mid-40s, rattling off questions like some automated script, eyes glued to his clipboard, brushing Peter off with a clipped 'We'll be in touch/'

The man hadn't bothered spotting any real talent—just another formality to clear.

But what if Peter walked back in, remote at the ready, and reversed the power dynamic?

Zapping Harlan into a sniveling lackey, or something even more degrading, to serve up a dose of petty **** for that ego-crushing brush-off?

The idea kindled a dark excitement within him, the day before yesterday's clumsy inexperience now a buried echo, eclipsed by the cascade of transformations and pleasures from the night. He didn't truly need the job anymore—Vivienne's sprawling wealth made sure of that—but slipping into the interview for a bit of remote-fueled mischief... that carried an irresistible pull. A sly grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as he turned the notion over, the women stirring around him.

"Oh, I'll go," Peter stated, a determined edge creeping into his voice as he pocketed the remote, the decision settling like a spark of mischief amid the morning's haze. "Let's get me dressed for the job."

Vivienne smiled at that, her emerald eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and hunger. "Oh, I am going to enjoy that," she purred.