Hotline Desires

Six

By the time the meeting wrapped, the room was buzzing like a kicked beehive. Chairs scraped, voices overlapped, and the girls were split down the middle. Maya was practically bouncing in her seat, already cracking jokes about needing to “practice arching her back for the camera.” Trixie laughed with her, tossing her hair over her shoulder like she was auditioning on the spot.

Lola smirked but muttered under her breath, “Corporate pimps, that’s what we’ve signed up for.”

And Denise? She looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her whole. Her knuckles were white around the edge of her chair. The moment Victor dismissed us, she stood so fast the chair screeched, then stormed out without a word.

The rest followed in their little clusters, buzzing with complaints or excitement, depending on which side they fell.

I lingered. It wasn’t my fight. Not really. God knows I’d learned early that picking every battle only left you bloody. But Denise’s expression… the way her jaw trembled when she said, “I don’t want to do this”—that stuck. She wasn’t being dramatic. She was genuinely uncomfortable. And not everyone here had the same thick skin or survival tactics.

So instead of trailing after the others, I pivoted and slipped into Victor’s office.

He didn’t look up right away. Typical. His office smelled faintly of leather and espresso, neat shelves of books and awards lining the walls. He was scrolling through something on his tablet, broad shoulders squared, tie loosened just slightly at the neck like even perfection had limits. His profile was sharp—strong jaw, lips set in a firm line, that intense stillness that always made the air feel thicker when you stepped into his orbit.

Finally, his eyes lifted, dark and cutting straight through me.

“Something on your mind, Jade?” His tone wasn’t harsh, but it had weight. Like he’d already measured the value of whatever I was about to say.

Straight to the point. Always.

I shut the door behind me softly, the click echoing louder than I expected. “It’s about Denise.”

One brow arched. “Ah.” He set the tablet down deliberately, leaning back in his chair like a king listening to a subject plead a case. “She’ll come around. They always do.”

“Not this time.”

My arms folded across my chest almost on instinct, a small shield against that unblinking stare. “She wasn’t exaggerating in there. She doesn’t want this, and forcing her isn’t going to help anyone. You’ll end up with a sulking employee who half-asses her calls. That’s not good for business either.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a heartbeat, I thought he’d shut me down right then and there. Instead, he tilted his head, studying me like I was part of some equation he hadn’t solved yet.

“You’re not her union rep, Jade.” His voice was low, even, laced with that clipped patience he used in staff meetings.

“No,” I agreed, holding his gaze. “But I know how to read a room. And I know what resentment sounds like in a headset. You want the clients to hear fake moans and distracted answers?” I let my mouth curve in a half-smile. “Because that’s what you’ll get.”

Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. He leaned back farther in his chair, fingers tapping lightly against the armrest. The movement was subtle, but I caught it—Victor Cole didn’t fidget. Ever. Which meant he was thinking harder than he wanted me to see.

Finally, he exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose with a look that bordered on frustration but fell just short. “Fine. She can sit this one out.”

I blinked, caught off guard by how quickly he relented. Just like that?

His gaze snapped back to mine, sharp and catching the flicker of surprise I hadn’t hidden well enough. His lips curved, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Don’t look at me like I’m heartless. I make decisions for the good of the business. But I’m not unreasonable.”

There it was again—that strange balance he carried, ice layered over fire. Always untouchable. Always calculated.

“Appreciate it,” I said softly, nodding once before turning toward the door. My hand had just brushed the cool metal of the handle when his voice stopped me.

“Jade.”

I glanced back over my shoulder.

He was watching me with unnerving stillness, one arm draped over the armrest, the other resting against his desk. His eyes… God, his eyes weren’t casual. They were drinking me in with a focus that made my pulse quicken, even though he didn’t so much as blink.

“Drinks,” he said. A single word, low, deliberate. Then, after a pause that made the air tighten, “After work.”

Not a question. A statement.

My throat went dry. He didn’t ask often. Hell, he didn’t ask at all. Victor Cole didn’t do after-work drinks, not with us, not with me. He didn’t blur lines.

And yet, here he was, cutting right through one.

For a split second, my instinct was to deflect. Joke, dodge, something. But the way he was looking at me—calm, unshaken, as if he already knew my answer—pulled the words right out of me.

“Sure.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, the barest ghost of approval. Then he reached for his tablet again, as if the conversation was over.

But as I turned back to the door, my skin still buzzed. Because even if his voice had been calm, even if he’d returned to his work like nothing had shifted… I could feel it.

Victor Cole was watching me. And he hadn’t looked away until I was gone.

---

The bar wasn’t the kind of place I usually went to after work. Too polished, too expensive, the kind of place with dim golden lighting and shelves lined with whiskey bottles that cost more than my rent. But Victor fit here like he’d been carved out of the same stone. He was already at a high-backed leather booth when I walked in, jacket off, sleeves rolled to his forearms.

My throat tightened. I hated that he looked that good.

“Jade,” he said simply, as I slid into the booth across from him.

His gaze lingered as I shrugged off my coat. Not a quick glance—he took his time. Down my throat, my blouse, the way my skirt rode high on my thighs. It wasn’t leering. It was deliberate, like he wanted me to feel every inch of it.

“You’re late,” he murmured, but his mouth quirked just slightly at the corner.

“I had to remind myself this wasn’t an interrogation,” I shot back, picking up the menu.

“I don’t interrogate,” he said, leaning back, voice smooth as sin. “I observe.”

I snorted. “Creepy.”

The waitress arrived, and Victor ordered a bottle of wine without asking me what I wanted. I almost bristled, but when the glass touched my lips, it was smooth, rich, sliding down my throat like silk. Damn him.

The conversation started easy enough. Work. The new marketing push. How the hell Lola was still on payroll with her smart mouth. But the longer the drinks flowed, the less it felt like boss and employee. His laugh was low, rare, and addictive. I caught myself leaning closer than I should, my knee brushing his under the table.

He didn’t move away.

Victor’s gaze dipped to my mouth as I sipped, then dragged back up to my eyes. I felt my pulse hammer in my neck.

“Tell me, Jade.” His voice had dropped lower now, silk wrapping steel. “Do you enjoy the work?”

I smirked. “What, moaning in strangers’ ears? Pretending I’m dripping wet when I’m really just scrolling Twitter?”

His brow arched. “That’s not what I asked.”

Heat pooled low in my belly. Because he wasn’t asking about work. Not really.

I leaned in, lowering my voice. “Sometimes,” I whispered. “Sometimes, I like it.”

The silence that followed was thick. His jaw flexed once, and then he moved—slowly, deliberately. His hand slid across the table, fingers brushing the inside of my wrist. Not casual. Not accidental. Claiming.

My breath caught.

We didn’t last long after that.

By the time we stumbled into the backseat of his black car, my body was already aching. His driver barely had the door closed before Victor’s mouth was on mine, rough and hungry, hands fisting in my hair.

“Victor—” I gasped, half-laughing, half-desperate.

“Quiet,” he growled, biting my lower lip before sucking it between his teeth. “You talk too much.”

Heat shot straight between my legs.

He didn’t wait. His hand slid up my thigh, shoving my skirt to my hips, fingers dragging across my panties until I gasped.

“Already wet,” he murmured, voice thick with something darker. “f**k, Jade.”

I grabbed at his shirt, yanking at the buttons, clumsy with need. “I told you—sometimes I like it.”

The growl that left him was pure animal. He shoved my panties aside, freed himself, and thrust into me in one brutal stroke that made my head slam back against the leather seat.

“God—yes,” I hissed, nails digging into his shoulders as his hips pistoned hard and fast, rocking the entire car.

“Harder,” I gasped, and he obliged, one hand gripping my hip so tightly it bordered on pain, the other sliding up to wrap around my throat, pulling me flush against him.

The confined space made every movement sharper, every sound louder. The slap of skin, the creak of leather, my cries muffled against his mouth as he f****d me rough and relentless.

“f**k, Jade,” he groaned, voice breaking against my ear. “You’re so damn tight.”

My body burned, spiraled, shattered. Release tore through me violently, my legs shaking, my scream swallowed by his kiss. And he followed right after, hips jerking, his groan low and wrecked as he spilled into me.

For a long moment, all I could hear was our ragged breathing, the hum of the engine, the faint sound of the city outside.

When I finally opened my eyes, his hand was still around my throat—loose now, thumb stroking lightly, almost absentminded. His gaze locked on mine, dark, unreadable.

And I knew one thing as I sat there, trembling, still filled with him in the backseat of his car.

This wasn’t going to stay just drinks.