Audacity: Chapter 37

On your birthday, you dress up.

That’s my rule, anyhow.

You dress up particularly carefully if your gorgeous boss has been dropping intriguing hints that he has something special planned for you. I know he plans to take me out for dinner this evening—he’s already asked my permission—but I suspect he has something else up that Italian wool sleeve of his.

Today, therefore, I’m in a frothy silk Gucci dress whose powder blue georgette complements the dusky tones of my hydrangeas perfectly. Gabe may have instructed George to change my desk’s floral arrangements weekly, an indulgence that pleases George and yields me no end of pleasure, but he’s pushed the boat out for my birthday, with masses of blue and white hydrangeas, white snowberries, and green-grey eucalyptus.

Regular check-ins from Gabe and a thoughtful gift from George aside—a gorgeous coffee table book devoted to the Birkin which will go perfectly in my flat—my day has proceeded much as usual. I sit in my finery and work away on the foundation, eager for the hours to tick by and my surprise to unfold.

Christopher Marlowe’s famous Doctor Faustus quote, lifted from Ovid, goes thus: lente, lente, currite noctis equi—slowly, slowly, run, horses of the night. I feel the opposite. Quickly, quickly, run, horses of the day, and pull the hand of time around that clock face, for God’s sake. Gabe hasn’t even touched me today, despite telling me how exquisite I look.

Mid-afternoon ticks by, then late afternoon. I’ve tried asking George if he knows what my surprise is. The upshot is that he does, but that he has no intention whatsoever of telling me. Smug, discreet bastard.

It’s late afternoon, and all that stands between me and sinful freedom with Gabe is a meeting he’s put in the diary with some individuals he’s hoping to sound out about the foundation. Apparently, they’re all business leaders who may sign up to collaborate with us on various social and environmental initiatives. I asked him if he wanted me to put together any briefing notes for the meeting, but he said he had it all in hand.

At just before five o’clock, he swings past my desk, tugging on his suit jacket. ‘I’m going to go greet our visitors. Follow me up in ten minutes, why don’t you?’

I do as he says, checking over his inbox one more time before I leave my desk. With any luck, we can both head out right after we’ve wrapped this meeting up.

One floor up from Gabe’s office is the hospitality suite, where a variety of meeting rooms of various sizes are situated. It’s decorated just as beautifully as our floor, with plush cream carpets and perfectly lit oil paintings. When I enter the appointed meeting room, I count Gabe plus four other guys, all in suits, standing around and making small talk. The large projector screen is on, showing the generic Rath Mor screensaver, and the blinds have been shut, giving it an intimate atmosphere on this bright spring evening.

‘Ah,’ he says as I shut the door behind me, ‘everyone’s here. Good.’ He walks over to me and puts a hand on the small of my back, which is more familiar than he’d usually allow himself to be in front of strangers, but I like it. ‘Gentlemen, this is my wonderful executive assistant, Athena.’

They stop talking and come forward to shake my hand one by one. As they do, I can’t help but notice they’re all indecently hot. If I’d known all philanthropists were this attractive, I might have exercised my charitable muscles a long time ago. I note their names. James. Seb. Benedict. Gus.

So far, so aristocratic.

‘Let’s get started, shall we?’ Gabe asks, gesturing to the boardroom table. I could swear I catch a hint of nerves in his voice, which is odd.

We all take our seats except Gabe. He leans forward and hits a button on the desktop monitor. A new slide flashes onto the huge screen—a name and an image.

The name? PROJECT MINERVA.

The image is undoubtedly the goddess Minerva, or Athena, recognisable from the armour, shield and spear with which she’s usually portrayed.

I frown in confusion.

Gabe walks around to where I’m sitting and lays his hands on my shoulders, his fingers massaging them through the silk. ‘These gentlemen aren’t here to discuss the foundation, you see, sweetheart. They’re here to help you celebrate your birthday.’

The effect on my autonomic nervous system is instantaneous. My body stiffens and my heartbeat ratchets up and my palms go clammy. Suddenly the air feels charged in a way it didn’t a moment ago, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that when he mentioned his plans for my birthday last week in his office, this is what he meant.

Quite what he has in store for me, I haven’t yet worked out. As my body reels in the most intoxicating way, my usually agile brain is scrambling to catch up.

‘What?’ I whisper, trying to make sense of it all.

‘I didn’t know what to get you, you see. I thought, what do you get a beautiful, successful woman who can buy herself whatever she needs? What does she adore more than anything else in the world?’

I can see the answer imprinted in my mind’s eye before he even says it. It’s as clear to me as the knowing smiles of the guys around the table as they watch me react to this bombshell.

‘I know you love dick.’ The word gets caught in his throat, like he’s had to force himself to say it. ‘You’ve told me. Your previous employers have told me. And I’ve proceeded to ignore those signs, until now, because I just couldn’t bring myself to—anyway, I brainstormed with the team at Alchemy and we came up with a very special workplace scene to celebrate you, and your birthday, and your needs, and your incredible, incredible body.’

‘Oh my God,’ I whisper.

It’s all falling into place. I remember how much I harped on about it during that audition dinner. He’s asked me outright before if I enjoy being gang-banged, and I’ve given him a pretty resounding yes. He’s read the reviews from my previous employers, too. He’s under no illusions as to the extent of my appetites.

But here’s the thing. I know Gabe would never in a million years pander to them in a real-life work setting. No matter how confident he was of my position, he would see it as utterly disrespectful to me and to any other parties. He’s not like some of the guys I’ve worked for. He’d never use me as a trophy, never put me in the centre of some power-play or manipulation and bid me be his puppet.

I know all that, and I’m fine with it, because what Gabe and I have is frankly extraordinary. You can work for a guy like Anton or my first boss, Thierry, who know all the tricks and aren’t afraid to push the envelope, or you can work for a guy like Gabe, who takes confessions in his office and for whom every fuck is an opportunity to worship me. I’ve made my peace with that, and the sex is out of this world, every time.

So to know that he’s been thinking about this, that he’s been mindful of my fantasies all this time and has willingly stepped so far out of his own comfort zone to serve them up to me with a big birthday bow, in the safest and most tightly orchestrated manner he can conceive of while staying true to my fuck-the-assistant fantasy, is blowing my mind.

It is blowing. My. Mind.

He’s even branded the entire event around my safeword.

Minerva.

I still haven’t said anything else. I’m too shocked. Gabe takes advantage of my relative and uncharacteristic silence to slide his hands down the front of my Gucci until he’s palming my breasts from above, and my nipples react instantly, tightening into needy little buds as much at his overt display of sexual proprietorship as at his touch itself. My mild-mannered, deeply spiritual boss has orchestrated a birthday gang bang for me, and he’s feeling me up in front of said “gang” to show them who I really belong to.

Every male pair of eyes at the table is staring at his hands on my tits right now, and fuck, it’s like a shot of heroin. Gabe’s doing my favourite thing—wheeling me out like a dazzling trophy, the ultimate fucktoy—and it makes me realise how much I missed this, how addicted I am to this feeling. If I give him the nod, in a few minutes I’ll be theirs to do as they like with, but really, the power is all mine.

I let my head fall back against his stomach, gazing up at him through my eyelashes. ‘More,’ I whisper, and he obliges. I’m in no hurry for things to escalate. Let me sit here for a moment with one man’s hands on me and every other man watching as avidly as Greek and Roman nobles watched lions and bears and slaves tear each other apart.

He stares down at me, and even upside down I can read his face. It’s astonishment, and respect, and desire. He knew all this about me, but he can’t quite believe it’s happening, can’t quite believe I’m sitting here in a three-thousand-pound dress, arching my back and letting him toy with me in front of this rapt audience.

‘What do you think?’ he asks me gruffly.

I straighten my head up. ‘Yes. To all of it.’ I meet the eyes of the guys around the table one by one. In a few minutes, they’ll have their fingers and tongues and dicks inside me, and it’s so perfect I can barely stand it. One of them—James—has his elbows on the table and is leaning forward, his eyes fixed on my tits. He’s practically drooling.

Behind me, Gabe releases my breasts and returns his hands to my shoulders. ‘You don’t even know what the plan is yet,’ he says, sounding amused.

‘I don’t care. I’ll say yes. But tell me.’

‘Well, Benedict here is going to MC. He’ll be calling the shots. He’s way better at this stuff than me. Benedict? You want to fill her in?’