Helping The Boss

India Summer sits locked in her office, shoulders tight from another day of half-assed reports and people who can’t follow through. Her inbox keeps its usual quiet menace. The TPS file Charlotte was meant to drop is missing. India rubs the bridge of her nose, calls the girl in, and watches the color drain from her face as the usual excuses spill out. Charlotte ends the panicked monologue the same way all clever assistants do: she offers to do whatever it takes. India considers the offer for a single breath, then stands, turns the chair, and leans over the desk. “Shoulders. Neck. Don’t stop until I tell you.” Charlotte steps behind her, palms sliding beneath India’s silk blouse. The warmth finds every knot. India lets a sigh roll out and drops her chin, eyes half-closed as the girl’s thumbs press deeper. Heat gathers. India reaches up, pulls her blouse open, lets it fall. No bra. Charlotte’s breath catches; her hands go lower, smoothing the bare skin along India’s sides. The zipper of her skirt gives next. India steps out of the garment and kicks it aside. Naked now, braced over the desk, she spreads her legs just enough. Charlotte slides to her knees without being asked. The first, slow drag of her tongue is all the proof India needs that the girl can learn when the stakes are personal. India arches, one hand braced on the polished wood, the other buried in Charlotte’s hair, steering the rhythm where it counts. Wet, steady, relentless. India presses back, eyes fixed on the waiting screen while her body finally gets the attention everything else has denied it all day.