“Make it back safe,” Edwin says. He peers past me. Edwin is a fiend for details. He notices everything. “Are you in a suite?”
“I–it was the only room they had left.”
“Nice,” says Noi, our Chief Investment Officer, in his thick Nigerian accent. Noi has very expensive taste. He’s probably wearing Gucci slippers right now.
“I see.” Edwin raises a curious eyebrow. A knot tightens in my stomach, hoping he doesn’t follow-up. I exhale as he shifts his attention elsewhere. “I know it’s late, but I wanted to hop on a quick call to go over some of the data we got back on Q4. This will give us a good idea of where we came in for the year as well as trends for the current fiscal year. I want us to review them with our teams tomorrow to maximize their impact. It’s almost February. Eight percent of the year is already over.”
Edwin’s a whiz with numbers. His brain is faster than any calculator. It’s great working for someone so bright, but also you better triple-check your numbers whenever you give a presentation to him.
An email with the report pops up in my inbox. I scan through the numbers and overall insights our data analytics team generated. I come up with insights of my own to discuss on the call. Edwin can run his calls like a college lecture, a professor spontaneously calling on students to answer questions.
“Overall, we had a good year, but I’m seeing a lot of areas that could improve efficiency,” Edwin says. “Noi, what stands out to you?”
“Looking at our marketing spend, we’re underinvested in digital. I see a big opportunity to reach younger consumers on social media.” Noi talks a lot with his hands. It can be very distracting. “Our mascot Bree the Insurance Gal has a strong resonance with drivers under thirty-five. The social media chatter says she has quote-unquote ‘rizz,’ which means charisma. We need to create more content with her online to leverage that cool factor. I propose…”
Noi loves to hear himself talk, and seeing how he has Edwin’s rapt attention, he continues on. My gaze drifts from the screen to the windows. In the reflection, Tate stares back at me, his eyes dark and fixed. He stands off to the side, not visible on camera.
For my eyes only.
He loosens his tie and takes it off, lets it fall to the floor. He gives me a dirty, loaded smirk. No good ever came from a smirk like that.
My pants begin to tighten as my thickening cock fights for room in my boxers.
I watch in the reflection as Tate undoes his shirt, one slow button at a time. He smooths his hand across his chest, a chest I’ve long wondered about. It’s even better than my dreams. Creamy skin, ridges of lean muscle, a light dusting of hair around his flat stomach.
I readjust myself. My cock sticks straight out, begging to be let out.
“Bill, what kind of ROI are we seeing with our TV advertising?”
“TV. Right.” I’m careful not to um my way through. It’s a pet peeve of Edwin, something he regularly complains about with younger employees. Like many CEOs, he despises the generation he’s trying to sell his product to. “TV ratings are down, but those viewers are shifting to streaming, where we’re seeing good reach.”
“Why are we spending any money in TV at all?” Edwin wonders.
In the windows, Tate’s hand slips down his stomach to his belt, which he unbuckles, the clanging sound making my balls tingle with lust.
I should be the one undressing him.
“TV is still a powerful tool to reach our customers, especially live sports. We don’t want to throw that away,” I say as heat climbs up my neck.
Just when I think this torture will end, Tate slinks toward me, careful to stay out of frame. He must be an expert of staying out of Zoom calls from the times he’s had to sneak into my office while I was on one.
He stands in between the desk and the window, staring right at me with that smirk. He doesn’t move, and I can tell he’s waiting for me.
The ball is in my court.
“But is it worth the investment?” Edwin asks. “It’s a lot of money we’re spending on TV spots.”
“Maybe we should be working on courting female customers more,” says Randi.
“We can find them on social media,” says Noi.
I want to respond to Tate, to tell him to stay back, but Edwin’s response is more urgent. I can’t leave him waiting. I readjust myself again. Tate glances under the desk.
“We can do both. TV and social media. Maybe we do more targeted TV for next year. Perhaps pick one sporting event and do more branded integrations. And while social media is great, it can be fickle,” I tell the meeting. Good on me for being able to speak eloquently to our advertising needs while managing a massive woody.
Edwin nods. “I see your point. Let’s talk about this more when you’re back. Let’s move onto our cybersecurity concerns, Randi.”
My eyes shift above my computer, but Tate isn’t there. He’s vanished again. Just when I think he’s left for good, a warm hand grazes my crotch.
