A deadline

Vanessa stood back as Brand unbuckled his belt, then dealt with the twin buttons on his pants. He unzipped his fly, allowing her transfixed eyes a look at the bulge contained inside his black, stretchy boxer-briefs. A thick, hard rod was still contained within, but without the material of his suit pants in the way it was far more free than she had felt earlier through layers of stiff fabric. It strained against the stretchy fabric, making a peak that was undeniably -

The phone rang loudly behind Vanessa, startling her into a guilty, girlish jump and a tiny-but-mortifying squeak of surprise. She glanced back, and roughly grabbed the traditional corded handset off its cradle, her eyes still glancing nervously at Brad's hidden member, which he was stroking right in front of her.

"This is Vanessa," She finally got her eyes to travel elsewhere than Brand's organ, and saw his grinning, cocky face instead. How he must be enjoying her flustered movements! Vanessa tried to gather her unraveling thoughts.

"What was that, Cheryl?"

"I said, and normally I wouldn't bother you by reminding you, but you and Mister Barrington have been discussing something 'personal' for quite a while," Was that a trace of amusement in Cheryl's voice? If so, how could she assume... well, whatever was going through her head couldn't be worse than the reality, "That you have a meeting, in your office, with - "

"Yes, I know, with Frank in... twenty-five minutes. I hadn't forgotten, I'll be ready for the meeting."

Vanessa had completely forgotten, and was unprepared mentally for a meeting with anyone that expected her typically shrewd, put-together self.

"Yes, Ma'am. Sorry to bother you." Cheryl's voice was serious. Maybe Vanessa had only imagined anything inappropriate in her tone, in her state of guilty paranoia.

"That's okay, Cheryl, thank you. Ring me when he stops by." Vanessa's hand trembled slightly when she hung up the phone.

Twenty-five minutes... she would have to take care of Brand; but not just that she would have to rearrange her appearance, gather her thoughts, clean up her desk, and somehow bullshit that she had everything under control when she hadn't even before Brand stepped into her office.

"Twenty-five minutes, huh?" Not a moment to breathe. Not a moment to reflect, or argue, or indulge in power struggles or self-reflection. It was a job, and she would have to get it off her plate so that she could deal with her real life - the struggles that should matter most. The struggles that would again matter more than this thug, long after he was gone. "Better get to it."

Yes, he wasn't wrong.

"Let's see how good you are," Brand said once again.