The next Day

Nicole smoothed the charcoal silk of her sheath dress, the fabric sliding over her curves. Beneath the dress, the familiar pinch of black lace panties hugged her hips. It was a small, silent act of defiance, though her hands trembled as she zipped the dress up. She knew the risk; she knew the video Jefferson held was a ticking time bomb.

John stepped up behind her, his chest pressing into her back. He wrapped his arms around her waist, his palms warm.

"You're shaking, Nic," John murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

Nicole stiffened, clutching her handbag. "I'm just rushing. I have a lot to get through today."

John pulled back, his gaze scanning her face. He frowned, his eyes dropping to the way the dress clung to her. "You seem... different. Tense. Are you sure you really want to go to work like that? You look like you're heading to a funeral or a photoshoot."

"It's just a dress, John," she replied, her voice sounding strained. "Stop worrying about it."

"I just feel like something is off," he said, reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Maybe stay home for an hour? We could have breakfast. *Mmm*, I could make those pancakes you like."

"I can't," she snapped, then softened. "I really can't. I'll call you at lunch."

She hurried out the door before he could question her further. The commute was a blur of anxiety. As she walked into the office, the conditioned air of the lobby felt sharp. Each stride toward her desk was a gamble. She felt the lace of her underwear rubbing against her skin, a constant reminder that she was disobeying a direct order. She wondered if he would know the moment she walked in, or if he had some way of checking.

Nicole sank into her leather office chair with a soft *hiss* of escaping air. She stared at her computer screen, but the numbers blurred into grey smudges.

*Bzzzz.*

The vibration of her phone on the desk made her jump. She looked down to see the name flashing: Mr. Jefferson.

She didn't pick up immediately. She watched the phone dance across the mahogany surface, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm.

Finally, she answered.

"Yes, Mr. Jefferson?"

"My office," his voice rasped, stripped of all professional pretense. "Now. And leave the door unlocked behind you."