S H A D E S

Breaking the Rules

After a day of indulgent pampering and shameless shopping, I returned to my corner office in Iconic bent on taking on the world. There was little I craved more then the thrilling rush of success. The whip of adrenaline, and the heady rush of victory were my drugs of choice. Weeks of strategic coercion, of dancing on eggshells, of skillfully maneuvering and corporate ego stroking, all culminated in a killer morning.

Literally.

In a matter of hours, I had slayed giants and conquered kings. My mood soaring, I decided there was only one way to spend all of this exhilarating energy.

During my shopping venture yesterday with Jacqueline, I'd purchased some pretty spectacular lingerie, and wore one of the more choice selections beneath a plum hued wrap dress. All with the intention of having Tristan unwrap me later.

Too hell with later. Why wait?

I reached for my phone to punch for Paul when I had to remind myself, for the millionth time before noon, Paul wasn't here. In fact, according to an email from Michael, their flight wasn't due to land until much later this evening. I sat for a moment, decided whether to dial in to Tristan's assistant, then decided, the scent of war still thick in my lungs, where's the fun in asking?

As I swung off the elevator and set off with a sashaying stride, I saw the dour headed woman snap up at the sound of my approaching heels and was out of her seat, heading me off.

"Ms. Pierce." She spread her arms, barring my path. "You don't have an appointment."

"Don't I?" I shook back my waves of auburn hair. "Huh." As I veered left, she kept hot on me in a skirting shuffle that bordered on ridiculous.  

"Mr. Shade said he didn't want to be disturbed."

"Oh well." I shot her a cheeky smile, enjoying the way her mismatched features darkened.

"Mr. Shade is prepping for his meeting with Members of the board," she said, the gleam of battle in her brown eyes. "You can't—"

At five-four, stumpy on those short legs and unaccustomed to running in high heels, getting around her wasn't difficult. I feinted right, and taking the bait, she skidded to keep up, leaving the left wide open. I reached the door seconds before she could blockade my path and the pair of us burst through. 

Tristan's face—a quiet storm of displeasure—lifted from his computer screen and behind me I could hear Monica's frantic, intake of breath. 

"Sir—Mr. Shade...I am so sorry but," huffing, she gestured towards me helplessly, "Ms. Pierce insisted, I tried to tell her and—"

"It's alright, Marcia." Tristan pulled back from his desk, waved a hand in absent apology. "I completely forgot I'd asked Ms. Pierce to squeeze in before my eleven-thirty."

Flushed, Marcia brushed at her skirt. "Shall I get you anything, Ms. Pierce?" Voice cheerful, she turned to me, her face set in mutinous lines.

"No. Thank you."

Bobbing a polite nod, she paused to cast me another disapproving leer before slipping out and shutting the doors behind her. Finally alone, I smirked, pleased to have my solid knockout streak of the day go unbroken. And I wasn't about to start losing now.

I turned back to Tristan and set my eyes on my prize. Or prey, depending on how the next few minutes went.

"Busy?" I moved towards him in the long, leggy strides of a lioness on the hunt.

"Extremely." Tristan toyed with the pen in his hands, twisting it round and round as he surveyed me in quiet interest. "You look pleased with yourself."