Chapter 97
Madison
The walk to the conference room felt like a mile. Each step reminded me of my naked state beneath my skirt. The clicking of my heels against the marble floor matched my thundering heartbeat.
We entered the conference room, where board members and executives sat waiting. Their eyes followed us as Alexander strode to his place at the head of the table.
I slid into my seat, hyper–aware of the fabric of my skirt against my bare skin. The cool leather of the chair made me suppress a small gasp. Alexander’s eyes flickered to me, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.
Brad, our head of sales, started his presentation. Numbers and graphs flashed across the screen as he detailed our performance across different sectors. I focused on taking notes, determined to maintain my professional composure despite the constant reminder of my missing underwear.
“Our hotel division saw a 15% increase in revenue,” Brad continued, clicking through his slides. “The new property in Miami exceeded expectations.”
Alexander leaned back in his chair. “What about the retail spaces in Chicago?”
I crossed my legs, immediately regretting the movement, which sent a jolt of awareness through my body. The memory of what had happened in his office was still fresh, making it hard to concentrate on Brad’s response about occupancy rates.
Eloise Martinez from marketing chimed in with social media metrics, but my attention kept drifting to Alexander. He maintained his CEO persona perfectly–asking pointed questions and making decisive comments. No one would guess he had my panties tucked in his pocket.
“Madison, could you pull up the projections for the New York property?”
I nearly jumped at his request. “Of course.” I opened my laptop, grateful for something to focus on besides the growing heat between my legs. The familiar numbers and spreadsheets helped ground me as I shared my screen.
“As you can see,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt, “we’re looking at a potential 20% return on investment within the first
year.”
Alexander’s eyes met mine across the table. “Impressive analysis. What factors led to this conclusion?”
The discussion continued, with various department heads weighing in. I contributed when needed, fighting to keep my professional mask in place while Alexander’s presence became increasingly distracting.
Kevin’s monotonous voice filled the conference room as he detailed the tax implications of our latest acquisitions. I focused on his presentation, jotting down key points about depreciation schedules and capital gains considerations.
“The new tax structure could save us approximately 2.3 million annually,” Kevin said, adjusting his wire–rimmed glasses. He clicked through another slide dense with numbers.
Alexander leaned forward, his attention fixed on the presentation. “That’s significant,” he said, his deep voice cutting through Kevin’s drone. “Walk us through the implementation timeline.”
Twenty minutes later, Kevin finally wrapped up his presentation. My hand was cramped from taking detailed notes, but at least the distraction had helped me maintain my composure.
Just as everyone started gathering their things, Eliza Carter cleared her throat. (1
“Before we conclude, I’d like to address something.” She smoothed her designer blazer. “There’s talk about the Manhattan Project being assigned to a personal assistant as project manager. With all due respect, we have several qualified executives who’d be better suited.”
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The room fell silent. I kept my eyes fixed on my notebook, fighting the urge to shrink in my chair. Of course, Eliza would bring this up – her friend Rosaline had been gunning for a promotion since she started here three months ago.
“I mean, what qualifications could an assistant possibly have?” Eliza continued, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against
the table.
I bit back a smile, remembering how Rosaline had arrived with her nose in the air, expecting special treatment because of her connection to Eliza. Now, she was filing expense reports just like any other assistant.
Alexander shifted in his chair, but before he could speak, Walter Richardson’s gravelly voice cut through the tension.
“Ms. Carter.” Walter’s bushy eyebrows drew together as he adjusted his wire–rimmed glasses. “Your father is a respected board member, yet here you are, turning a professional meeting into a high school gossip session.”
Eliza’s face flushed red.
“This is Knight Industries, not a country club.” Walter’s voice carried the weight of his forty years in business. “Projects are assigned based on merit and capability, not dinner party connections. If you have concerns about staffing decisions, schedule a proper meeting.”
“But-” Eliza started.
“And while you’re at it,” Walter continued, “perhaps review the corporate handbook section on meeting etiquette. Your father would be mortified.”
Eliza’s face had turned an interesting shade of red that clashed with her designer blazer.
Alexander leaned forward in his chair, his presence commanding everyone’s attention. “Let me make something crystal clear. At Knight Industries, positions and projects are earned through competence, dedication, and results. Not through who you know or what parties you attend.”
His steel–blue eyes swept across the room. “Anyone who believes otherwise is welcome to submit their resignation. We have a stack of qualified candidates eager to prove themselves based on merit alone.”
“But-” Eliza started again.
“Ms. Carter.” His voice carried that dangerous edge I knew all too well. “The Manhattan project requires someone detail- oriented, with extensive knowledge of our operations and proven capability in managing complex logistics. The selection was made based on those criteria alone. Now, unless there are questions about today’s actual agenda items – the ones we’re paid to discuss – this meeting is adjourned.”
Chairs scraped against the floor as everyone hurried to leave.
I gathered my papers as everyone filed out, trying to maintain my composure despite Alexander’s intense defense of my position. Eliza lingered by the doorway, her perfectly manicured hands clenched into fists.
“This is ridiculous,” she hissed. “Wait until my father hears about this. Promoting some assistant while overlooking qualified candidates? He won’t stand for it.”
Walter let out a dry chuckle. “Your father, my dear, has more sense than to meddle in operational decisions. But by all means, run to Daddy. I’m sure that’ll do wonders for your professional reputation.”
Eliza’s face turned an even deeper shade of red. She spun on her designer heels and stormed out, nearly colliding with Brad from accounting in her haste.
A few remaining executives tried to hide their smirks as they left. I focused on organizing my notes, pretending I hadn’t noticed the whole exchange.
I shuffled my papers, waiting until the last executive filed out. The click of designer heels and hushed whispers faded down the
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hallway. Alexander strode past me without a word, entering his office and closing the door behind him.
I took a deep breath, smoothed my skirt, and approached his door. My knuckles rapped against the wood.
“Come in,” his voice called.
1 stepped inside, finding him lounging in his chair, jacket discarded and sleeves rolled up.
“Mr. Knight, I need to discuss something with you.”
His eyes sparkled with amusement. “If this is about what I took earlier, the answer is still no.”
“That’s not it.” I crossed my arms. “It’s about the project manager position.”
“What about it?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.
“The office is buzzing with rumors. I’ve heard what they’re saying – that I got the position through inappropriate means.” I met his gaze. “Maybe we should reconsider.”
“Are you questioning my business decisions, Ms. Harper?” His voice carried that dangerous edge.
“No, but-”
“Do you think I care what a bunch of jealous employees whisper about in break rooms?”
“They’re not just whispering anymore. It’s getting out of hand.”
He stood, circling his desk. “Let me be clear. You earned that position through competence and dedication. Anyone who suggests otherwise can find employment elsewhere.” 1
“But your reputation-”
“My reputation?” He laughed. “Madison, I’ve been called much worse than someone who promotes based on merit.”
“Still, there are other qualified candidates-”
“Who couldn’t manage my schedule for a day, let alone a multi–million dollar project.” He stepped closer. “Stop letting their petty jealousy make you doubt yourself.” 1
I sighed. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple. Prove them wrong.” His lips curved into a wicked smile. “Show them exactly why I chose you for this position.”
The double meaning in his words made my cheeks flush. “Mr. Knight…”
“Now, was there anything else you needed to discuss?” His eyes glinted with mischief.
“No, that was all.”
“Good, Because we have another meeting in ten minutes, and you’re still not getting those panties back.”
“Mr. Knight, this isn’t professional. I can’t focus without them.”
“That’s the point.” He leaned back against his desk, eyes traveling down my body. “I want you distracted, thinking about me during the next meeting ”
“The marketing team and HR will be there.” I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “Please give them back.”
His hand slipped into his pocket, pulling out the panties. He dangled them in front of me. “Come get them.”
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
