Audacity (Seraph)

I’m perched on the front edge of my desk, rereading Athena’s epic briefing document when she turns up for work on the morning of the foundation meeting. I let my gaze track her as she reverently places her oversized handbag on her desk and saunters through to my office.

‘Wow.’

‘Thank you. Good morning.’

‘Pulling out all the stops, I see. I recognise that dress.’

It’s the navy one she wore to her interview here, the one that somehow makes her look like a boss and a sex kitten all at once. It’s formal enough to be parent-friendly, but in this ravenous man’s eyes it showcases every delectable curve.

She smooths her hands over her hips as she approaches. ‘I thought you might like to take it off later.’

I let the briefing tome fall to my desk and hook her around her waist with my arm, tugging her closer so she’s standing between my legs. She is simply bewitching.

Every weekday, she is mine to do with as I please, and it’s a privilege I take great delight in. That said, the more we mess around, the deeper I fall into this yawning abyss of need. Every fuck, every intimacy, feels like a silken strand of Athena’s web, ethereal-looking but alarmingly strong, and this little fly is as disinterested in resisting as he is powerless.

We’re almost nose to nose. ‘Actually, I’d like to take it off now. I’m feeling… antsy, I suppose. I rarely enjoy these sit-downs with my family. I’d like to take the edge off.’

I run my fingers down the length of her exposed zip until I can cup her arse, and she tilts her head so her lips are against my ear. Her voice is low, seductive.

‘Not on your fucking life.’

I jerk back. She’s never once declined my advances since she started here, and she’s perfectly entitled to, obviously—I just didn’t see it coming. Not from her body language.

‘No?’

‘Gabe, if you think I’m going to let you throw away that edge before this meeting, you’re sorely mistaken. You need to hold on tight to whatever edge you have with both hands.’ She slides a hand around the nape of my neck. ‘Think about it. You’re like a happy baby bear when you’ve just had an orgasm. An entire SWAT team could rampage through this place after you’ve come and you’d be totally oblivious. There’s no way I’m letting you go in there like that.’

I stare at her in disbelief. ‘That’s not true!’

She smiles sweetly. ‘Oh, darling. It’s very true. And very endearing.’

‘I distinctly remember you telling me at our first dinner together that one of your services is fluffing your bosses before big meetings,’ I counter mulishly. I’m not letting this go. Not unless she tells me she doesn’t want this, in which case I’ll obviously drop it immediately.

She throws back her head and laughs. ‘You’re so right! I did. But some guys get off on that. It gives them extra Big Dick Energy to swagger into a meeting, knowing they’ve just railed their assistant. It gives them an edge. That’s not you.’ She jabs me in the pec. ‘You’d let everyone walk all over you if you went in there having just shot your load.’

I scowl at her, which is childish, but I’m absolutely not about to admit that she’s right. (Probably even more childish, come to think of it.)

‘Instead,’—she licks her lips sensually—‘you should walk in there thinking about the kind of prize you might get later if you smash the meeting. And by smash, I mean following your own agenda and not letting anyone else railroad you with theirs. I’ve told you before, I make an excellent trophy.’

It’s with Athena’s seductive promise ringing in my ears and far too much unresolved “edge” still coursing through my veins that I lead her into the main conference room down the corridor. The room is empty, but the screen dominating one end is already live. On it sits the opening slide of Eleanor’s powerpoint presentation in our standard template: The Rath Mor Foundation: The Future of Philanthropy.

Athena scoffs. ‘Future, my arse. You should know that if she’s used clipart, I won’t be responsible for my reactions.’

‘God, you’re a tough woman. She must be in her late fifties. She’s not exactly Steve Jobs. Give her a break.’

She laughs. ‘Never. What’s your plan, again? Say it.’

‘Appeal to their hearts and their business brains,’ I parrot. ‘Stay true to my vision. Don’t let myself be railroaded.’

‘Excellent. Remember, channel that edge.’

‘Fuck knows, there’s enough of it, thanks to you cockblocking me,’ I grumble.

When my family members show up a few minutes later with Eleanor and Torty, Athena and I are sitting side by side, the picture of professional decorum. This is good practice for us. We spend so much time alone together that it’s hard sometimes to remember to act like colleagues in front of the broader team. We rise. Greetings are given, introductions made.

‘New season Oscar!’ Athena gushes at my mother as they shake hands. ‘Oh God, that’s divine.’

‘Thanks, love,’ Mum says, looking genuinely touched. ‘You’ve a great eye.’ She’s wearing a pink dress and matching jacket that I haven’t seen on her before, and she looks lovely. Dad’s taking her out to lunch after this meeting—I suspect they’re making a day of it.

‘Is that Victoria Beckham you have on there?’ she asks, nodding at Athena. ‘Sure, isn’t it absolutely gorgeous on ye? You’ve the figure for it.’

I think my mother would actually drop down dead on the spot if she knew the real nature of Athena’s role at Rath Mor, but there’s no denying she appears charmed at first glance. It’s hard not to be charmed by Athena. Her combination of looks and intellect and polish is nothing short of deadly, something my family is about to experience first hand.

Athena and my father exchange a hearty hello before she leads Mum over to the sideboard to fix her a coffee, giving my brother, who goes in for a double kiss, short shrift. Unbothered, he throws me a wink that says he’s still tickled by quite how attractive my EA is. I notice the tight smile and curt nod Torty throws Athena as the latter passes her a coffee cup, and recall what Athena said about Torty disliking her and wanting my babies in equal measure.

The thought makes me deeply uncomfortable. She’s suggested “mentoring drinks” after work more than once, and I’ve politely but firmly fobbed her off each time. She’s a nice woman; I wish her all the best. Interest from well-meaning, hopeful but ultimately unappealing women like Torty is one of the main reasons I joined Alchemy.

If I thought the thrills it provided were gratifying, I had no clue.

Nothing and nobody is more rewarding than Athena Davenport. Even in here, making what amounts to friendly small talk with my mum and my sister Mairead, she positively dazzles. It’s impossible to focus on anyone or anything else when she’s in the room. I have a slight pang at the realisation that this may be precisely why the likes of Torty feel threatened by her.

It must be impossible not to.

‘Our objective today,’ Eleanor intones with her signature gravitas—and glacial pace, ‘is to take the first steps to formalising how we would like the Rath Mor Foundation to look as we take our charitable initiatives through to the next generation under Gabriel’s capable stewardship.’

She looks to me for agreement, and I nod before catching Mum’s eye. She’s smiling. She and Dad are so excited about this—we all are. This is to be a Sullivan family endeavour, an opportunity to harness this extraordinary wealth we’ve—they’ve—amassed and put it to seriously impactful work.

‘Might I suggest that we look to cover the following issues?’ Eleanor continues. She pronounces it with an s sound rather than a sh, something that always makes my skin crawl for unknown reasons. When she clicks through to the first slide, Athena kicks me under the table, because the “iss-ues” are surrounded by a glory of clip art. I shake my head to communicate that I am moderately amused and have no intention whatsoever of disclosing that fact.

But I’m not amused as I scan Eleanor’s agenda.

Preservation.

Business Support.

Community Outreach.

Cultural Partnerships.

‘The wonderful thing is that there are some very illustrious precedents here in London,’ she continues smoothly. Below the silk scarf knotted around her neck, her more-than-ample bosom rises and falls alarmingly as she speaks. ‘The Cadogan and Grosvenor estates are excellent blueprints for the kinds of philanthropy you may want to lend your names to. I feel that looking to the most established models is wise here.’ I notice Mum smiling and nodding as she follows along. I swear she’d follow Eleanor off the edge of a cliff if she had the opportunity. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of asking Victoria to overlay, if you like, the main tenets of those models with what the Rath Mor estate could apply to its land. Starting from scratch would be overwhelming and risky, in my opinion.’

Torty nods and opens a folder from which she gathers a sheaf of papers. ‘It’s merely a starting point, but it will give us a helpful top-down view of how these estates allocate their funds and what they consider the most compelling priorities.’ She tosses her hair self-consciously. ‘I actually went for coffee with Serena Cadogan last week and she was so helpful in passing along some tips from their key stakeholders. Why don’t I pass these around?’

She goes to rise from her chair. I exchange a brief, loaded glance with Athena, who purses her lips together in unspoken disapproval, and hold out my hand. ‘Torty. Wait.’

She freezes and sits fully back down. I hesitate, then push my own chair back and stand, thrusting my hands into my pockets. ‘Listen. I don’t mean to overrule either of you—I’m well aware we’ve asked you to kick off this meeting, Eleanor. But I don’t want to waste people’s time here. And I think we should start in the spirit that we mean to go on.

‘At the end of the day, the Sullivans are builders, not dukes. We’re new to this, and we can build whatever we want. We don’t have centuries’ worth of expectations defining how we should act. So we should absolutely be tearing up the rule book here’—I pick up Athena’s briefing pack and brandish it for effect—‘and writing our very own.’