Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
At times, women have rebelled against this intersection of power and sex, usually in revolt against the pressures by some men who demanded that women earn their positions in the world on their backs, or bent over the throne, or whatever the case may have been.
We see you, hashtaggers!
But what if young women are using their feminine wiles to seduce their way up the corporate ladder? What if these young women, some of whom are doctors, some of whom are military leaders, and some of whom just happen to control the purse strings of your 401(k), aren’t who they claim to be?
My hand trembles as I attempt to read the screen.
The story is lurid, heavy on the innuendo and suggestion and short on facts. It’s typical trash journalism, the standard of the ‘society’ pages, whether they’re in print or online. But when Maggie messaged me to read this, I knew she had a reason.
It takes me three minutes to find it. All the while, the nerves run through me and I feel sick to my stomach.
And then there’s a certain ‘Lady of Crows’, shall we say, who’s working for a rather Sharpe-edged boss, a boss who’s been more than happy to indulge in all sorts of unprofessional acts with his latest physical distraction. Rumors are her beauty is truly her weapon, as she has a long history in the Financial District, having dated a scion of one of the FiDi’s most powerful families for years before breaking up with him after she’d ‘pumped’ him for all the information and influence she could manage.
That was a lot of influence, and a lot of working after hours. Apparently, she was able to gyrate her way into introductions, influential internships, and after betraying her beau in order to score a high-paying position at his rival’s firm, our raven-haired temptress may have even left with a bevy of corporate secrets that have already earned her a pretty penny in her new position. Well, new public position, at least. Her pubic position has, by all reports, remained the same.
My hand shakes, but I force myself to read the rest.
She slyly mentions Olivia too, somehow making her out to be both a whore and a victim, taken advantage of by Dylan before being sent on some sort of sexual spy infiltration mission to Evan, who isn’t named.
With close to thirty-nine trillion dollars in various retirement accounts, and millions upon millions of Americans depending on investments in the Financial District, it’s only a matter of time before one of these seductive sirens costs clients millions.
They may already have.
Rage coursing through me, I slam my phone down on my desk and storm my way towards Dylan’s office. Along the way, I can see the glances from some of the other people. Shanna looks hurt, of all things, as if I somehow betrayed her.
Hey, weren’t you the one asking if I got Sharped at the fucking party? I want to yell at her, but I’ve got another target on my mind as I storm into Dylan’s office, where he’s on the phone.
“Look, Bob, I’m not taking no for an answer!” Dylan says heatedly. His suit is crisp, his jaw cleanly shaven, but the bags under his eyes are heavy like he didn’t sleep at all last night. “I don’t care. I want you to have a plan on how to strike back and contain this. And I want Vanna’s head on a goddamn platter… nix that, I’ll handle her my damn self.” Looking up, he finally realizes I’m standing across from him and clears his throat. “Look, just get it fucking done. I want to see a preliminary plan by noon. No, I’ll call you.”
Dylan hangs up and takes a deep breath as I slowly take the seat across from him. “So, I take it that you read it.”
“Every fucking word,” I manage, noticing for the first time the old-fashioned newspaper on his desk. I snag it off the desk, and he makes no attempt to stop me. Tears prick my eyes, but I’m more angry than anything. The print version is even worse, taking up an entire page complete with pictures. The largest? Me, with a tiny, tiny little black bar over my eyes. I even know the picture. It’s me coming out of the Faulkner building, my dress not quite right and… “That’s photoshopped.”
“Clearly,” Dylan says. “Look, we’re going to handle this. Vanna said she was going to go after Evan, not us.”
“What?” I exclaim, confused as hell. “You know her?”
“I spoke to her last week,” he tells me, his expression hardened. I was stomping up here to get on the same page as Dylan, confident that we would handle this together. But…
“This isn’t Evan’s doing?” I ask, blinking away the shock. He knows her? He spoke to her? To someone who could write this trash?