Something in the coffee

Katie.

I nearly forgot about her entirely until Lana mentioned her yesterday—after our marathon fuck-session.

She’d sent an email to her sister suggesting a meet-up today, Tuesday, to “explain further” the whole Lana/Anna-Marie/Maria lesbian sexual harassment situation.

That was the excuse.

The truth was simpler: I wanted her here.

I think I could use her for my plans again.

But more importantly, I liked Lana, so why not double the fun?

Still, I didn’t want Lana taking extra risks by showing her face here. Not yet.

So I made her draft a new email yesterday.

Hi, Katie.

I think it’s better if you meet our editor, Jack Dingle, first.

He can explain things more clearly.

I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’m ready to face you yet.

I promise things will make sense soon.

Mysterious as fuck. Perfect bait for a reporter.

I turned back to the scene behind me.

Miriam was still on her knees, breathing heavily, her lips glistening with sugar and saliva.

Noriko was trembling, her face buried in the table, her ass still spread wide by Ulla’s hands.

“This will do for now, Miriam,” I said. “Gretchen… you will check if Miriam truly got all the sweetness out of there. Thoroughly.”

Gretchen’s face went pale. She still had her limits, it seemed. Was she really still a newbie when it came to anilingus?

“That’s an order,” I emphasized, my voice leaving no room for debate.

She nodded, reluctantly.

“Ulla, Sophie— you two keep the cheeks apart,” I continued.

Noriko just sobbed, a broken, wet sound.

“Can I… Can I go?” Miriam asked, her voice shaky and small.

“Yeah, sure. You’re done for today,” I said. “But there will be extra punishment if Gretchen finds you missed some.”

She nodded quickly. She relaxed a bit. But then, maybe because her body suddenly realized what it had done, she clapped a hand over her mouth like she was about to retch.

She scrambled to her feet and bolted for the door.

I followed close behind, stepping out into the hallway just as she sprinted toward the bathrooms.

I closed the conference room door firmly behind me, cutting off the view inside just as a woman turned to face me.

And there she was.

Katie Douglas.

I’d only seen pictures on Lana’s phone, but they hadn’t done her justice. In person, the resemblance was startling—it was like looking at a slightly altered version of Lana herself.

A little shorter, her hair a mess of curlier waves, and with a sharper, more inquisitive glint in her eyes.

I suddenly realized I didn’t even know if she was the little sister or the big sister.

She was staring past me at the bathroom door Miriam had practically ran through, a mildly concerned, mildly amused smirk on her lips.

“Oh my. Something in the coffee?” she asked, her voice crisp and clear.

I barked out a laugh. “That’s… a surprisingly apt guess. Jack Dingle.” I extended my hand.

She took it, her grip firm and businesslike. “Katie Douglas. I suppose you know why I’m here?”

“I do. Please, let’s move to my office. It’s quieter.”

I led her down the hall to Gretchen’s old office—now mine.

I gestured to the chair in front of the desk, the same one I’d sat in while Gretchen tore my articles to shreds weeks ago.

Now her main focus was taste testing the ph-value of our marketing director’s ass.

Katie sat, her eyes doing a quick, professional scan of the room. “It’s only your second day as editor, isn’t it?”

“I count Friday,” I said, the memory of Maria’s final, hate-filled glare flashing in my mind. “I’ll always count Friday.”

“Right. Funny how all that happened. Maria just… quit. Leaving a power vacuum. And you got… sucked right up.” She said it casually, but her eyes were needles, probing for a reaction.

I gave her a thin, practiced smile. “What can I say? Gretchen believed in my vision.”

“Aha,” she said, the syllable dripping with skepticism. She let the silence hang, a journalist’s trick. She was waiting for me to fill it, to betray a nervous tell.

And I did. “We just put out a new edition today. Had a chance to check it out?”

“No, sorry. I’m lucky if I have time to read my own articles. It’s a busy job. A busy, busy job.” she mirrored her earlier tone, implying I was already wasting her time.

Another weighted pause. She was getting impatient.

I couldn’t wait to quell that arrogance. To fuck it right out of her.

“Okay,” I sighed, as if reluctantly conceding. “I guess I should lay my cards on the table. First, yes. I know everything that happened with Anna-Marie, Lana, and Maria.”

“Yeah, I had an inkling.” She leaned forward, her posture turning predatory. “Friday was really lucky for you, wasn’t it? For me, not so much. We had a blazing article ready to go. Then Anna-Marie contacted us, said she didn’t consider herself a victim, and threatened to sue if we published.”

“I heard—”

“And hey,” she cut me off, her smile razor-thin. “Funnily enough, for no particular reason at all, Maria decided to give away her entire magazine. On that very same Friday. It’s almost like someone used my newspaper as a pawn in some personal game.”

I leaned back in my chair, steepling my fingers. “…Are you accusing your sister of doing something that heinous?”

Her eyes narrowed. She folded her hands into a single, tight fist on her knee. “…No. Obviously not. She would never do the things she did in that… video. Not voluntarily. Not for something like… this.” Her gesture took in the office, the magazine, me.

I stood up slowly and perched on the edge of the desk, looming over her slightly. I let the silence build, watching the conflict between her journalistic curiosity and her sisterly concern play out on her face.

“Are you ready for the truth?” I asked, my voice low and grave.

She nodded, a spark of intense focus igniting behind her eyes. The journalist was winning. She pulled a small, leather-bound notebook and a pen from her bag.

The anachronism was charming.

I decided to milk the moment. I stood, went to the door, and opened it, peering dramatically down the empty hallway in both directions.

I closed it softly, turning the lock with an audible click. I turned back to her, the atmosphere in the room now charged with conspiracy.

“What’s going on here,” I said, slowly returning to my seat, “is bigger than one video.”

“Tell me,” she breathed, pen poised.

“Look around the office, Katie. At the staff. Have you noticed a common denominator?”

She thought for a second, then her eyes widened slightly. “They’re all… exceptionally attractive.”

I nodded. “I’m the glaring exception, but yes. This place is a curated collection of stunning women.”

She stood up, pacing a short path behind her chair with restless energy. “Are you saying… Maria hired them based on…?”

“Looks over qualifications? I’m certain of it.”

Now that I said it aloud, it felt undeniably true. The tryst with Lana and Anna-Marie proved Maria’s inclinations.

Wait, had she been building a harem? Or did she just enjoy the aesthetic?

It made me wonder why the hell she ever hired me. Token male? Diversification hire?

Katie stuck the end of her pen in her mouth, sucking on it thoughtfully. The action was unconsciously sensual, and I had to **** my focus back to her words.

“Okay. That’s ethically dubious, but not a story. Not a Washington Post story. You have more.” It wasn’t a question.

I nodded, letting a well-practiced look of troubled gravity settle on my face. “This is the… tough part.”

“Lay it on me. I’ve heard everything.”

I took a deep, shaky breath, as if the words were fighting to stay inside. “I believe… Maria was, and potentially still is, running an escort service. Using the magazine as a front. I think a significant number of the women here are… high-class companions.”

Katie sank back into her chair as if pushed. Her pen and notebook fell to her side. She stared at me, her mind visibly racing, connecting dots.

After a long moment, she found her voice, soft and fractured.

“Lana… told you this?”

I met her gaze, unwavering. “Yes. But I don’t believe she’s part of it. I think the situation with Anna-Marie… was meant as an initiation to that side of the business. …and that’s why she’s so ashamed. She actually wanted to join that action.”

Katie put her head in her hands. “Lana? Dear God.”

“But, she changed her mind. She was so disgusted with the whole experience, she sent you the video. The reason why Anna-Marie fought back… I think you can guess it.” I let the implication hang.

“She still wants to be a part of it?” Katie whispered, horrified.

“The pay for Maria’s… gigs… is apparently astronomical. Some clients have very specific, very expensive fetishes. Fucking the staff of a famous fashion magazine seems to be one of them.”

Katie took several deep, steadying breaths, staring at the ceiling as if seeking divine patience. When she looked back at me, her professionalism was a brittle shell over a deep well of anger.

“Why did Maria quit, then?”

I lifted my shoulders in a helpless shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine. Mine is that your inquiry brought too much heat too close to home. She decided to pull back and run it from the shadows.”

Katie twisted in her chair, her mind working. “It’s a hell of a story. But it’s still just words. My sister’s word, your speculation. I can’t print that.”

There. The hook was set.

“You know…” I said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “I have a proposition. Have you ever worked undercover?”

A slow, intrigued smirk touched her lips. “Once. It was fun. Almost brought down a senator. But you know them. Cockroaches.”

“Well, with my promotion, we currently have an opening for a writer. We haven’t filled it yet.”

I watched as the idea took root in her mind.

The scale of it—a major fashion magazine as a front for high-end prostitution—was a career-making story. And sex sells.

“We’d give you a fake name. Only myself, you, and Lana would know your real identity.”

“Fake names are fun,” she mused, already planning her alter ego.

“And you know…” I added, carefully letting my eyes travel over her appraisingly, “…you definitely have the… Mirage look.”

A flush crept up her neck. She brushed a curl from her face, momentarily flustered. “Yeah, thanks. I guess I look the part of a high-class prostitute.” She shook her head, regaining her composure. “There are gaps. What’s your relationship with my sister? What’s your real motivation for exposing this?”

“Those,” I said smoothly, “are answers for another time. When trust is more established.”

She arched an eyebrow but didn’t push. “Proof. You need more than my sister’s word and your hunches.”

I spun a tapestry of plausible fictions: snippets of overheard conversations between Maria and unnamed, wealthy older men; late-night “client meetings” where staff members would leave dressed to kill and return disheveled hours later; mysterious bonuses that couldn’t be traced to any published work.

She played with her fingers, her mind calculating risks and rewards. “There could be something here,” she admitted. “I’m fairly sure I could convince my editor to greenlight an undercover op.”

I smiled. I still managed to amaze myself sometimes.

“And, on a personal level, I’d get to spend some time with Lana, slumming here in the small leag- I mean, experimenting with different forms of publications. Fine. I might do this, but I do have to talk with Lana first.”

I allowed myself a genuine smile. The pieces were falling into place beautifully. “That’s great to hear.” I extended my hand again. “I guess I’ll be your boss soon.”

She took my hand, a playful glint returning to her eyes. “I guess so, Mr. Dingle.” Then, in a cute, sing-songy voice, she added, “Please don’t reject my article on ‘beige fatigue’, I worked so hard on it, mr. editor!”

I chuckled. “Hey, I might be a hardass, but it’s for your own good. You understand, right?”

She chuckled again.

“…and now you say, ‘yes, sir’.”

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, whatever.”

“No, seriously,” I pressed, my tone shifting just slightly, enough to introduce a new current into the room. “Try it out. Say it. See how it feels.”

Her face scrunched in confusion. “What?”

“Just humor me. Say ‘Yes, sir.’”

She looked at me like I’d grown a second head, but the eccentric request of a potential new boss wasn’t quite enough to fight. She shrugged, a faint, bewildered smile on her lips.

“Yes… sir.”(KATIE: +10SP) “Ugh,” Katie said, wrinkling her nose. “And that’s the last time you’ll hear that.”

I smiled.

In one meeting, I got everything I set out to achieve. Katie was going to work for me. This was our first meeting, so getting her to follow my orders immediately started her counter on the positive side.

And ten points for just that? This had to be the “Familial Bond”-perk. I had Lana at 100 points, so any blood relation should gain points in double speed. Normally that would have been 5 points, I guess

I leaned back in comfort, proud of myself.

I didn’t know that it was the last moment I’d feel relaxed for a while.

My phone erupted.

A deafening, triumphant fanfare blared from my pocket, a sound I’d never heard before. It was so loud and sudden I jerked backward, almost tipping my chair.

“Dear God, your ringtone sucks!” Katie shouted, clamping her hands over her ears.

I fumbled the phone out. The screen wasn’t showing a call. It was filled entirely with bold, blocky text:

CHECKPOINT NOW ACTIVE!

Beneath it, a digital timer appeared, stark red numbers against a black background.

00:59:48

00:59:47

00:59:46

One hour. It was counting down.