Muddle

I gasped for air. My God, what was happening here? This clearly constituted sexual assault. And the perpetrator was my boss. A lawyer. A legal professional. He must have been fully aware of the consequences of his actions.

On the other hand...

My mind was blank, yet my thoughts were racing. How could I prove anything? We were alone. The door was locked. No witnesses. If it came to a trial, it would be one person's word against another's. And the principle of “in doubt, for the defendant” would apply. In the end, it would probably be claimed that I had initiated the encounter, that I had tried to seduce or compromise him—a classic case of victim-blaming.

On the verge of panic, I searched for a way out of this predicament. What should I do? Whatever path I chose, it must not jeopardize my professional career. I wanted to become a respected, successful lawyer. I was determined not to lose sight of this goal.

I looked intently at Gerhard, searching his face for any clue as to what he was after.

To my surprise, I didn't see a hint of emotion there. He sat calmly and serenely in his chair and didn't appear to want to attack me at all.

As absurd as it was, the situation restored a little bit of my analytical mind. There was no immediate danger. I was granted a respite in which I could think about how to react.

I took a deep breath, held it, and counted silently to five. Then I let it escape quietly and steadily through my mouth. And I realized: I was in control. I could decide what happened next.

Feel the consequences of their actions, he had said.

Now I understood what he was talking about. Slowly, I turned around and leaned my hands on the edge of the table. I arched my back and wiggled my butt suggestively. My pants slid down a little more and my jacket rode up.

“I made a mistake,” I said in a hoarse voice. “I'm ready to take responsibility for it.”