When Hawk pushed open the door to Professor Emilia's office, she was facing away from him, bending down to look for something on a lower shelf. Her deep brown, form-fitting sheath dress perfectly outlined her mature, voluptuous curves. The angle of her bent waist and raised posture formed a silent invitation in the tranquil air.
"I thought you would be earlier, Hawk." She knew it was Hawk who entered without turning, her voice holding a hint of languid amusement.
"Just finished dismissing two enthusiastic friends," Hawk replied, locking the door behind him. The soft click was distinctly audible in the quiet room. He walked to the expansive desk and leaned against it casually, his gaze sweeping over the complex mathematical model documents spread out—the draft of his proposed dynamic game model.
Emilia finally straightened up, holding a bottle of excellent vintage red wine and two stemmed glasses. She turned, her face bearing the peculiar look of an intellectual—a mixture of scrutiny and seduction.
"The Lane Capital offer is very attractive, Hawk. It's far beyond the platform and… compensation Columbia can give me." She placed the glasses on the desk and skillfully uncorked the bottle, the dark red liquid pouring into the cups. "The CEO position implies absolute decision-making power? Including over the Lane family's patriarch and young master?"
"Absolute." Hawk took the glass she offered, his fingertip lightly brushing her skin, sending a subtle electric jolt between them. "Lane Group needs a pilot with true vision, boldness, and… someone who knows how to find the optimal solution within complex rules. You are that optimal solution, Professor Emilia."
"Call me Emilia." She raised her glass, her eyes blazing. "To the new venture? Or to the… in-depth discussion that's about to begin?" She meaningfully glanced at the model diagram on the desk.
For the next hour, the atmosphere subtly wavered between academic rigor and undercurrents of desire. They huddled over the model diagram. Hawk analyzed the evolution of Nash Equilibrium in a dynamic market, while Emilia used precise terminology to point out potential pitfalls in the model's parameter settings. Steel pens quickly sketched on paper, fingers occasionally touching, sometimes jointly pointing to key nodes. The air was thick with the sparks of colliding intellect and the rich scent of red wine.
The discussion deepened, extending from the model itself to the operational details of the Lane Capital and strategies for hostile takeovers of several target companies.
Emilia seemed to display unreserved interest in the term "hostile takeover." Hawk promised a generous equity share and compensation package, while Emilia gracefully negotiated, demanding a seat in the core decision-making circle and an independent execution team.
"One last question, then," Emilia put down her glass, walked around the desk, and stood directly in front of Hawk, the distance between them close enough to feel each other's breath. Her slender fingers traced the buttons of Hawk's shirt, her eyes hazy. "Regarding the 'core variable' of this model—its dominant player—can it maintain… well… absolute control in any negotiation?"
Hawk's lips curved into an arc of total command. He abruptly reached out, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her into his embrace.
"That depends on whether the variable is willing to submit to dominance." Before the words fully left his mouth, he lowered his head and sealed her lips with his own.
Emilia melted into him, lost in the sensation of overwhelming passion. Without warning, he lifted her effortlessly, seating her on the edge of his desk. Academic papers were swept onto the floor. The model diagram fluttered down in the chaos. The red wine was knocked over in the intense movement, the deep red liquid spreading like the blood of desire across the expensive Persian rug.
But neither noticed. His hands moved with purpose, unbuckling his belt, freeing himself. And then, with a single, powerful motion, he entered her, filling her completely.
A cry escaped her lips, swallowed by the silence of the room. His hips rocked forward, driving deeper, claiming every inch of her. His dominant presence left no room for hesitation, only surrender. Each thrust was deliberate, controlled, yet fierce – a masterful demonstration of his dominance. And with every thrust, the room was gradually filled with palpable passionate heat, along with the lustful moans of the Professor.
In front of the bookshelves piled high with economics classics, along the edge of the messy desk, and on the wide office chair that symbolized knowledge and authority, a fierce negotiation of "dominance" and "submission" unfolded.
....
In the evening, Hawk appeared in a private room at a highly stylish but exclusive club in Midtown Manhattan.
New York Mayor Elliot Dunn was already waiting. The political veteran had a composed demeanor, a professional smile, but eyes as sharp as an eagle's.
"Hawk, good to see you're prompt." Mayor Dunn stood up to shake his hand, his grip firm. "Your father was a regular at this club back in the day. You're following in some successful footsteps." His words carried a subtle reference to the Lane family's wealth and influence.
"You flatter me, Uncle Dunn. My father often speaks of your past boldness." Hawk smiled in return.
The meeting's main topic was the upcoming New York City Annual Charity Gala. Nominally, it was a fundraiser for the "City Youth Development Fund," but in reality, it was a venue for political and business elites to solidify relationships, showcase power, and exchange favors.
Hawk, representing the Lane Group, was the lead sponsor Mayor Dunn was keen to secure.
"The preliminary proposal is here," Mayor Dunn's assistant handed over a document. "Lane Group, as the 'Diamond Tier Sponsor,' will enjoy the main table seating, the opening address, exclusive naming rights… and final veto power over all aspects of the event. Correspondingly, the sponsorship amount we are hoping for is this figure." He stated a number that would make ordinary people gasp.
Hawk glanced at the document but didn't immediately address the money, skillfully shifting the topic: "The gala is massive. Security and the guest list need to be absolutely solid. Especially since Brooklyn seems a bit restless lately?"
Mayor Dunn sighed, raising his wine glass, his face showing genuine concern. "That's the second thing I wanted to talk to you about, Hawk. The crime rate in Brooklyn, especially in the Lower Borough, has skyrocketed in the last few months. Drugs, violence, gang warfare… it's becoming a lawless zone." He lowered his voice, conveying official helplessness and a touch of anger. "You know, the 'King'—the one who used to strike fear into those thugs—has completely vanished lately. His silence has made those scumbags from the Hand and the Dogs of Hell think they have an opening. Their drug labs have more than doubled in size! It's a blatant challenge! And the police… sigh, the results are minimal."
The Mayor only mentioned Brooklyn, carefully omitting the more problematic Hell's Kitchen, which was generally considered beyond saving...
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