Ms. Farah Djed was the quintessential overbearing middle-manager. I'd heard just enough to paint a picture of her in my mind. An immigrant's daughter, through and through, who had drank a little too much of the 'American Dream' Kool-Aid. Ms. Djed was feverishly loyal to towing the company line and would've gladly axed half of the branch had her executive handlers ordered it; for some, this was not a matter of theory.
To make matters worse, Farah had been blessed with the looks of a 30-something Egyptian fertility goddess but was an open pantsuit feminist; a raging one at that. She dressed as conservatively as possible to conceal every inch of her caramel complexion. A short yet professional hairdo with a stylishly slanted cut of the bangs, curtaining a thin pair of silver-framed spectacles; honey hazel irises narrowed into speculative slants, eagerly scanning for infractions. Someone had to bring her down a peg—for all our sakes—and I'd just the plan.
***
"Bryant?" Farah, uncharacteristically timid in her summons, anxiously scanned the conference room. There was little reason to be here after hours and she knew it, especially on such lurid pretenses; only a few, flickering fluorescents blinked overhead.
I kept a cool composure in my response, "Sorry, Ms. Djed, I don't think Bryant is coming."
The manager's eyes widened slightly before narrowing back to their usual, suspicious squint. Her gaze was inquisitive yet snide, as if she'd already worked out just how many infractions I could be nailed with for the deception, "Why would 'you' be in the building after hours? Policy dictates—"
An interjection. "You know, it's amazing what the guys in IT can do with these company phones; I was never good with tech but they're like wizards." The tease was cryptic so I elucidated, "Then again, you get a lot of use out of your phone, don't you, Farah?"
There was a slight twitch to her eyes, orbs of light that subtly darted from side to side. Farah's mind raced, "Is this some kind of game?" There was a moment when she'd believed she had the upper hand, giving an empty guffaw, "You must want to get fired, don't you?" Little did she know...
"Not as much as you." I flashed the screen of my own company phone and played my hand in full, "You've stepped on some toes in the IT department so it didn't take much for them to mask my number with Bryant's; all it took was a little conversation for you to send a picture of your tits?" There they were on my screen, perfect orbs of honey with milk chocolate areola, candidly pressed together; Farah's face grew pale.
"You really thought you were talking to a VP, huh? Someone with a bit of power, a handsome man with enough sway to move you up the corporate ladder. Hell, maybe you thought he'd sweep you off your feet and out of this white-collar hellhole, but what would the company think about you using your phone to send this type of shit?"
"Y-You tricked me, you rat! You, of all people; don't you work in the mail room?" The manager's voice quivered with fear and anger now; the color drained from her cheeks. She tried to regain control by playing off the situation, "It's my word over yours...They'd see that..."
"Oh please, like that would matter," I chuckled, "If I sent these photos—in which your face is very much visible—there's no doubt you'd be out the door. Plus, the guys that helped me are willing to erase any evidence of my involvement."
The plan had been executed flawlessly. Farah squirmed in her suit, every breath a gasp, "So then what is this? Some sick joke?"
"Nope, just a little payback for you being such a pain in the ass." My smile broadened, "And speaking of which, why don't we talk about your next assignment?"
Farah's eyes went wide as saucers. "Assignment? Excuse me, but I don't know who you think you are! I-I am a respected member of this company!" Such arrogance given her circumstances; breaking Farah down would be sweeter than I'd initially calculated.
I jabbed below the belt, "You're a whore, 'Ms.' Farah. All it takes is for me to send this to an actual VP, or any leadership member for that matter, and you'll be packing up your desk in the hour. Accept it." The soft glow of artificial light gave my already devilish smile an even more sinister cant.
"No way! You can't blackmail me!" With great difficulty, Farah turned from the screen, eyes burning with a thin glaze of tears.
"Yes. Yes I can. If you do as I say then these photos never leak. You get to keep your job," it felt amazing to wield such power, "but only if you do exactly as I say and follow each assignment I give to a tee; no one can fine out about our deal. So, tomorrow when you come into the office, wear something with more skin; slutty, even." It was a simple enough arrangement, and the beginning of my long awaited plan to turn the office ice queen into a boardroom cum dump.
***