Chapter 15: The Morning After
The smell woke him first. Not a bad smell, just a dense, human scent—sweat, sex, the faint chlorine from the hot tub, the lingering vanilla of Delia’s perfume, the sharper, clean scent of Irina’s. It was layered on his skin, in his hair. He was alone.
Aidan opened his eyes to the slanted ceiling of the lodge’s small room. Sunlight, harsh and interrogating, cut through the gaps in the blinds, painting bars across the sagging twin bed. Every part of him ached with a deep, specific vocabulary. His shoulders from being pinned. His hips from the relentless mechanics. His thighs trembled when he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The memory was less a coherent film and more a series of sensory flashes: the cold glass against his back, the bubbling water, the leather groaning under their weight, the taste of champagne someone had fed him.
He stood, wobbly, and caught his fogged reflection in the dresser mirror. He looked wrecked. Boyish face pale, hair mashed flat on one side. Red marks—fingertips, teeth—decorated his neck, his chest. He touched one on his collarbone. A trophy.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand. A single text from Catriona.
Suite 301. Ten minutes. Breakfast.
He showered in a stall so small his elbows hit the walls. The hot water stung the marks but loosened the cement in his muscles. He dressed in the same business casual from the night before, the fabric feeling strange against his sensitized skin. He didn’t bother shaving.
Suite 301 was at the end of the top-floor corridor, double doors of dark wood. He knocked, twice.
“It’s open.”
Her suite was the inverse of his: vast, airy, with a wall of windows showcasing the lake in brilliant morning clarity. The air smelled of expensive coffee and fresh-cut melon. Catriona sat at a small round table near the window. She was dressed in a robe of deep emerald silk, her hair damp at the ends from her own shower. She had a tablet and a printed itinerary in front of her, next to a plate of berries and a half-empty cup of coffee.
“Sit,” she said, not looking up. “Eat. You’ll need the calories.”
He took the chair opposite her. A place was set for him: more berries, yogurt, a croissant, a steaming mug. He was suddenly ravenous. He ate the berries first, their tart burst vivid on his tongue.
“The debrief with the team is in an hour,” she said, scrolling on her tablet. “It will cover the Henderson portfolio redistribution. You will attend. You will be silent unless directly asked a question about your own filings.”
“Okay.”
She looked up then, her green eyes appraising him. “Your performance metrics last night were exceptional. Seven discrete transactions in under ten hours. With varying partners, under significant… operational stress. The feedback from the team was unanimously positive. Jess, in particular, noted a marked increase in her confidence metrics.”
Aidan swallowed a piece of croissant. It was buttery, flaky. He nodded, unsure what to say. Thank you seemed absurd.
“This isn’t just about office morale anymore,” she said, setting her tablet down. She picked up the printed itinerary. “We’re expanding. We’ve secured a preliminary agreement with Tanaka Holdings in Tokyo. It’s a foothold. A big one. I’m leading a delegation there next week. Meetings, presentations, dinners. A full week.”
She paused, letting it hang. Aidan took a sip of coffee. It was rich, bitter.
“You’ll be coming with me,” she said, her voice flat. Matter-of-fact.
Aidan’s hand stilled, the mug halfway to his lips. “To Tokyo?”
“Yes. Your passport is current. I checked HR files. I’ve already had my assistant arrange the visa.”
“What… what will I do?” The question was automatic, naive. He knew the answer before she smiled.
“What you do here. Only the stakes are higher. Tanaka’s key decision-makers are all women. The CFO, the head of mergers, their lead counsel. They have a… particular corporate culture. Relationships are built on trust. On intimate understanding.” She leaned forward slightly, the silk of her robe shifting. “You are a unique relationship-building tool. You demonstrated last night that you can perform under pressure, with multiple stakeholders, and maintain a consistent standard of output. That is precisely what this negotiation requires.”
He stared at her. The lake outside was stupidly blue, dotted with white sails. He was being sent to Tokyo to fuck for the company.
“It’s a promotion, Aidan. A significant one. Your travel will be first-class. Your per diem will be substantial. Your compensation will be adjusted to reflect your… expanded duties.” She tapped the itinerary. “Your role is now officially integrated into our business development strategy. This is what we do.”
He felt a dizzying lurch. The aching in his body took on a new sheen. It wasn’t just aftermath; it was training. Field training. The conference room had been a simulation. Tokyo was the live deployment.
“Catriona, I…” He trailed off. What was there to say? No? The word didn’t even form. Instead, a hot, slow pulse began in his gut. The same detached pride from the night before, but sharper now, focused. He was being weaponized.
“I need to know you’re committed,” she said, her voice dropping. It wasn’t a question. It was a test. “I need to know you understand the gravity of the assignment. The complete obedience it requires.”
She held his gaze. Then, very deliberately, she pushed her chair back from the table a few inches. The movement was quiet. The emerald silk of her robe fell open slightly, revealing a glimpse of her thigh.
“Get under the table,” she said.
The command was so casual, so conversational, it took a second to land. Aidan’s breath caught. He looked at the white tablecloth, a damask barrier that reached almost to the floor.
“Now, Aidan. I have a conference call with Osaka in twenty minutes.”
He moved without fully deciding to. The scrape of his chair was loud. He slid off it, onto the plush carpet. He crawled the short distance, the world shrinking to the shadowy space beneath the polished wood. It smelled of coffee and carpet cleaner. Light filtered through the fabric in soft, diffused squares.
She didn’t adjust her position much. He saw her legs, the pale skin, the robe’s silk. Her hand came down, not to guide him, but to simply open the robe wider. An invitation. An expectation.
He knew what to do. He’d done it for her before, in her office, late at night. But this was different. This was a confirmation of orders. A seal on the contract.
He leaned in. She was already wet. The scent of her, clean and musky, filled the confined space. He used his tongue, his lips, finding the rhythm she preferred—slow, then insistent, then slow again. She made a soft, approving sound above him, a tiny hitch in her breath. He heard the rustle of paper.
She kept reviewing the itinerary.
“The flight leaves Monday at eleven,” she said, her voice only slightly strained. “We’ll be met at Narita. The first meeting is Tuesday morning. You’ll be introduced as a special projects associate.” A faint tremor passed through her thighs. She pressed them against his ears. “Your primary objective will be Yamada Shiori, the CFO. She is… precise. She will require precision.”
Aidan closed his eyes, the world reduced to taste, sound, and the pressure of her skin. His own arousal was a thick, heavy presence, but it was secondary. This was work. This was him proving he could follow the new protocol.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, not gently. She held him right where she wanted him. Her breathing shallowed. The rustling of papers stopped.
“Good,” she breathed, the word taut. “Just… like that. For the… global strategy.”
Her climax was a series of controlled, internal tightnesses, a muted gasp she smothered almost instantly. She held his head there for a long moment afterward, her grip easing slowly.
Then she released him. He stayed where he was, his forehead resting against her inner thigh, breathing hard in the dark, coffee-scented space.
“You can come out.”
He backed out awkwardly, emerging into the bright room. He felt flushed, disoriented. She was already typing something into her phone, the robe closed, her composure absolute. As if she’d just checked an email.
She looked at him, then at her phone’s camera. She took a quick, discreet picture beneath the table, the flash making him blink. For her collection. Documentation.
“Your compliance is satisfactory,” she said, placing the phone facedown. “Finish your breakfast. The debrief starts in forty-five minutes. We’ll discuss Tokyo logistics afterward.”
He climbed back into his chair. His coffee was still warm. The croissant remained. The sun on the lake was relentless. His body ached in all the old places, with a few new twinges from kneeling on the hard floor.
He was going to Tokyo.