Too Late For Regret: Watch Me Shine

The heavy walnut doors banged against the stops, the sound cracking through the spacious CEO office like a thunderclap. The afternoon sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the massive mahogany desk in the center of the room. It was a picture of corporate power, but the scene in front of it was pure sleaze. Kevon was sitting in his high-backed leather chair, but he wasn't alone. Kayla Cruz was perched on his lap, her legs dangling over the armrest. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder. At the sound of the door, they jumped apart. Kayla let out a theatrical, breathy shriek, scrambling off Kevon's lap so fast she nearly tripped over her own heels. She frantically tugged at the hem of her tight pencil skirt, her face flushing a deep, ugly red. Kevon's face went from shock to fury in a millisecond. He slammed his hand down on the desk. "What the hell is this?" Behind Fiona, Leo, Kevon's special assistant, came skidding to a halt, panting heavily. "Sir, I tried to stop her, but she just-" Fiona turned her head just enough to pin Leo with a glare that could freeze water. "Leave." Leo looked at Kevon, then back at Fiona. The absolute, chilling authority in her stance made him swallow hard. He mumbled an apology and backed out of the room, pulling the doors shut. Fiona walked slowly toward the desk. Her heels clicked rhythmically on the hardwood floor. She stopped right in front of the desk, her eyes drifting to Kayla, who was now standing awkwardly beside Kevon, looking at the floor. "We were just... going over the PR department's proposal," Kayla stammered, her voice trembling. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture of feigned innocence that made Fiona's stomach turn. "Is that what they're calling it now?" Fiona asked, her voice dripping with disdain. "Physical data transfer via lap sitting?" "Fiona, enough!" Kevon roared, standing up so fast his chair rolled back and hit the wall. He straightened his tie, trying to regain his composure. "You don't just barge into my office like a madwoman. This is my private space." "Private space funded by my designs," Fiona corrected coldly. She looked at him, really taking in the arrogance that oozed from every pore. "I heard you froze my commercial resources last night. Trying to teach me a lesson?" "It was a necessary measure," Kevon said, his tone shifting to one of condescension. "You were hysterical. I needed you to calm down and realize what you're throwing away. Apologize to Kayla, and I might consider reinstating your line." Fiona stared at him. He actually believed his own hype. He thought she was here to beg. She raised the manila envelope in her hand. With a sharp, whipping motion, she hurled it at his chest. The thick stack of paper hit him with a solid thud, bursting open on impact. Pages scattered into the air, fluttering down like white snow, covering the desk and the floor in a chaotic mess. Kevon instinctively grabbed a few sheets out of the air. He looked down, his eyes scanning the bold, black type at the top. Comprehensive Termination of Commercial Collaboration and Endorsement Agreement. His face drained of color. His head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Are you insane? You can't unilaterally terminate! The non-compete clause will destroy you!" Fiona placed both hands on the edge of his desk, leaning in close. The red lipstick made her look like she had just drawn blood. "Check the actual holding company for the patents, Kevon. I don't own them. My offshore shell company does. Your non-compete is worthless." Kevon froze. He snatched the phone off his desk, jamming his finger onto the intercom button. "Legal! Get me the head of Legal, now!" The phone clicked. A nervous voice came through the speaker. "Sir, we're pulling the files on the 'Fiona Paul' line now... Initial documents show the patent authorization comes from a third-party shell company called 'Vanguard Holdings.' We need time to verify the background and contract details, but... it looks like the Baxter Group might not actually own the core designs. The situation is highly complex." The voice was loud enough to echo in the silent office. Kevon's hand dropped from the phone. He looked like a man who had just watched his house burn down. He collapsed back into his chair, his face ashen. Kayla took a tentative step forward, reaching out a hand. "Kevon, honey, maybe we can-" Kevon violently shrugged her hand off, his eyes fixed on the scattered papers. "Don't touch me!" Fiona stood up straight. She smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle on her sleek black sleeve, savoring the sight of them-the powerful CEO reduced to a sputtering mess, and the innocent victim rejected by her own savior. She reached into her clutch and pulled out a heavy silver fountain pen. She pulled the cap off with a sharp click and tossed the pen onto the desk in front of Kevon. It rolled to a stop against his motionless hand. "Sign it," Fiona commanded. Kevon stared at the pen. His hands balled into fists on the desk, his knuckles white. The humiliation was a living thing in the room, choking him. Fiona glanced at her watch. "You have three minutes. If that signature isn't on the bottom line, I'm holding a press conference in the lobby in twenty minutes. The headline will be about the CEO's office affairs and his fraudulent projections. Your choice." She stood there, watching the clock on her phone tick down. The silence was absolute, broken only by the sound of Kevon's ragged breathing.