The elevator ride to the boardroom floor felt eternal, my palms growing damp as I clutched a notepad against my chest. My heart pounded with each ding of passing levels, a mix of nerves and that shy excitement bubbling inside me.
When the doors slid open, I stepped into the hushed corridor, the polished floors reflecting the soft overhead lights. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the heavy door to the boardroom, the cool air greeting me like a whisper.
There she was—Tricia, standing at the head of the long mahogany table, her confident stance drawing my eyes immediately.
She was reviewing notes on a tablet, her posture straight and assured, the fitted blazer accentuating her poised figure. A few other team members were already seated, including our manager and a couple of senior colleagues, chatting quietly with the SoftCorp representatives across from them.
The room smelled faintly of fresh coffee and printed agendas, the large windows offering a view of the city skyline that suddenly felt too vast for my fluttering stomach.
I slipped into a chair near the end, as unobtrusively as possible, my skirt brushing against my thighs as I crossed my legs, trying to steady my breathing.
Tricia glanced up as I entered, her warm smile flashing briefly in my direction—a small acknowledgment that sent a flush creeping up my cheeks.
'Glad you could make it, Loraine,' she said softly, her voice carrying that gentle authority that made my pulse quicken. I nodded, managing a quiet 'Me too' that barely rose above the murmur of settling papers.
She turned back to the group, launching into the meeting with seamless ease. 'Let's get started, everyone. SoftCorp, we're excited about this partnership, but we need to align on terms that benefit both sides.'
As she led the discussion, I sat back, listening silently, my notepad open but untouched. Tricia pushed hard for better terms, her calm authority weaving through the conversation like a steady current. She leaned forward slightly, her hands gesturing with precise emphasis as she outlined our proposals.
'Your initial offer on distribution rights is solid, but we can't accept the current margins—they don't reflect the value we're bringing to the table.' The SoftCorp lead, a stern woman in a crisp suit, countered with figures and projections, but Tricia didn't yield.
Her voice remained soft-spoken, yet it held an unshakeable confidence, commanding the room without raising a decibel.
I admired her skill from my spot, cheeks flushed with a warmth that had little to do with the room's temperature. There was something quietly dominant in the way she handled the pushback, her eyes scanning the table, ensuring everyone was engaged.
My thoughts drifted, shy and unbidden, to how that same assurance might feel directed at me—her gaze lingering, her words coaxing me out of my shell.
My soft curves shifted uncomfortably in the chair, a faint awareness of my futanari sensitivity stirring beneath the layers of fabric, born from the workplace crush that made every glance feel intimate.
I bit my lip, forcing my focus back to the negotiation, but the awkwardness only heightened the romantic tension coiling in my chest.
The back-and-forth continued, numbers flying across the table like sparks. Tricia conceded on minor points with graceful nods, but she pressed firmly on the key issues—royalties, timelines, exclusivity clauses.
'We're investing heavily in this integration,' she explained, her tone supportive yet firm, 'and we need assurances that our contributions are protected.' The SoftCorp team huddled briefly, then returned with a revised offer that seemed generous: improved margins and extended support.
I thought we'd won; the room buzzed with tentative agreement, our manager nodding approvingly. Relief washed over me, mingled with pride for Tricia's leadership.
But just when I believed we'd reached the best deal, Tricia leaned in again, her expression unwavering.
'That's a strong step forward, but we can do better. If we're committing to this long-term, I need to see an additional 15% on the backend royalties and a clause for joint marketing initiatives.'
Her words stunned everyone present—the SoftCorp lead's eyebrows shot up, and a ripple of surprise passed through our side. She wasn't demanding; it was more like a gentle insistence, wrapped in that calm authority that made it impossible to dismiss.
The room fell silent, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning. I held my breath, my heart racing wildly, caught between awe and the shy thrill of watching her take control.
After what felt like an eternity, the SoftCorp representative cleared her throat, exchanging glances with her colleague. 'That's ambitious, Tricia. Let us consult internally for a moment.'
They stepped out briefly, leaving the boardroom in a charged hush. Tricia turned to us, her victorious smile emerging slowly, warm and reassuring as it met my eyes across the table.
That smile—soft, confident—made my heart race even faster, a flutter of hopeful fantasies sparking in my mind. What if this boldness extended beyond the boardroom?
The thought left me flushed, my hands trembling slightly on my lap, the awkward shyness making the moment feel electric.
They returned with concessions, agreeing to most of her demands, sealing the deal with handshakes and satisfied nods. The meeting wrapped up on a high note, chairs scraping as people gathered their things.
Tricia caught my gaze again, her expression lingering with that supportive kindness.
'You were quiet, but I appreciated having you here, Loraine. Felt good to have the team together.' Her words wrapped around me like a gentle embrace, easing the nerves and stoking the office romance I'd been nurturing in secret.
As we filed out, the anticipation of what might come next—perhaps a shared coffee, or a quieter conversation—hung in the air, leaving me yearning for more.