You snap

You do not let her retreat into the numbers. Your frustration gets the better of you. Natasha, her, months of no intimacy and pent up frustration. You snap.

“That was not an accident,” you say, voice steady. “You left that photo in the album on purpose. You wanted me to see it. So what exactly are you hoping for here, Cheryl?”

She holds your gaze, the professional mask still in place but thinner than it has ever been. The phone lies face down between you like evidence.

“I am hoping you finally understand the gap in performance,” she answers, but the words lack their usual bite.

You lean forward. “Try again. You just showed me a picture of yourself on your knees with a thick cock laid across your face, smiling like you were proud of it. In the middle of a work meeting. After spending the day needling me about bonuses and accounts. So I will ask once more. What are you hoping for?”

The fluorescent lights hum. Outside the glass the office is empty. Cheryl’s cheeks colour, but she does not look away. Her fingers rest on the edge of the folder, no longer turning pages.