The Deal Maker chapter 1

 The Deal Maker

Chapter 1

God I hate that expression.

I'm not a deal maker. I'm a fixer. A sculptor of success. You don't know my name, but you know my work. You see it on the front pages, on the news and at victory parties. I don't build businesses, I build careers. I shape the winners. I tilt the scales when they need tilting. And I make damn sure the right people stay on top.

You could call me a controller, but that would be too small, too crude. What I do isn't about taking changes or influencing, it's about guarantees. When I back someone, they don't just have an edge; they have the whole game rigged in their favor. Politicians, CEOs, media darlings, I make them. I whisper the right names into the right ears. I ensure the right scandals disappear but also that the right people fall. When you win, it's not luck. It's me.

Some dishonest people would say that I own them and maybe I do.

I keep my operation flawless, my identity separate from the deals I broker. No trails, no receipts. Just a network of power, a pulse beneath the surface of society's elite. It's a dance, one I move through with precision, tailored suits and an unshakable confidence.

I don't gamble. I don't take risks. I orchestrate. And I always, always win. You could say I am always in total control except for one serious weakness but that's a secret I keep hidden.

Claire, my new secretary, has been with the company for two years only and that should have been the first flag of possible problems. And yet she's been with me for two months already. From the moment I saw her, I knew she was different. She's young, ambitious, dangerously sharp and very intelligent.

Her green eyes, framed by sleek glasses, held something unreadable, while her short black hair added to her confidence she carried so effortlessly. Her full lips, painted in a deep, almost sinful red, curled into a knowing smile whenever she caught someone staring. And people did stare.

She's always impeccably dressed, sleek pencil skirts, silk blouses. Today, it's a deep emerald blouse, slightly unbuttoned, offering just a glimpse of the soft swell of her lovely breasts, just enough temptation to make anyone wonder and distract. Her long legs, wrapped in black pantyhose, extend effortlessly from beneath her skirt, ending in sharp stiletto heels. When she sits, she crosses them with ease, her posture always poised, always deliberate.

She seems to know the effect she has on me when she slowly slides her fingers along her sexy, long legs during a meeting, tracing the delicate fabric, teasing me and others. There's something deliberate in the way she crosses her legs, the way she lingers, as if testing invisible restraints. My eyes catch the contrast of silk against her skin, the elegant tension in her pantyhose, a soft barrier, but not an unbreakable one.

Maybe it's the way she makes restriction look so effortlessly alluring, as if she could command attention even if she weren't able to move a leg and walk so freely. The thought lingers, dark and tempting, stirring something deep, something unspoken, some crazy, undeniable potential with those long legs that coils tight in my mind.

But there's something about Claire that doesn't quite add up. No one really knows where she came from. No mentions of old jobs, no past connections. Her resume checks out, but it feels... manufactured. There's no history, no family, no college friends who drop by or old colleagues who recognize her. It's as if she simply appeared one day, fully formed, perfectly placed. And yet, she operates with a confidence that suggests she's always belonged.

"Good morning, Claire," James, one of the junior executives, greets her near the coffee machine.

"Hello, James," she replies, her red lips parting, flashing a lovely smile. She lifts her coffee, tapping her nails against the ceramic.

"Big meeting today James?"

He nods, shifting under her gaze. "Yeah. You know how it is."

She chuckles lightly, taking a slow sip. "I do. Try not to look too nervous, though. Confidence sells."

James laughs awkwardly before making a quick exit, leaving Claire to walk toward my office with that confidence she always carries. My eyes trail her as she moves her long, shapely runners legs in black pantyhose, the sharp click of her stiletto heels against the floor a sexual tease to me.

The emerald blouse she wears is crazy temptation, the silk blouse moulding her round breasts like it was made just for her. With every step, the fabric shifts, catching the light, offering a glimpse of smooth skin at the open collar, just enough to draw the eye, to make me wonder if she enjoys the attention. The subtle dip reveals the perfect swell of her breasts, the delicate hint of something meant to be uncovered.

She never knocks, never respects the barrier of a closed door, just strides in as if she belongs here, as if she owns the space. Her deep red lips curl into a smile as she sets the folder on my desk with deliberate ease, her movements slow, controlled, aware of every inch of herself and the effect she has.

"Your nine o'clock call is confirmed," she says, her voice smooth and professional, yet carrying that unmistakable hint of something more sensual. Then, with a knowing glance, she adds,

"And a reminder, Janet, your client no longer uses her full leg braces and crutches. She's fully transitioned to her sleek, sporty red wheelchair now. So, be mindful of what you say... and don't forget to tell her how stunning she looks in it."

"Thanks for the reminder," I say, my eyes lingering on her as she shifts her weight ever so slightly. Then, almost casually, I let the thought slip. "Can you imagine yourself in a wheelchair, Claire?"

My gaze drops to her legs, long, sculpted, in black pantyhose. The idea lingers between us, unspoken but heavy, as she tilts her head, a slow smile on those deep red lips. "Now that," she murmurs,, "would be quite the sight, wouldn't it?"

I watch her for a moment, noting the way she meets my gaze without hesitation. Who is she, really? Where did she come from? Something tells me I need to find out before....

I waited too long to investigate Claire. She's a sexy angel and a computer genius. She moves through the office like she owns it, but she never oversteps. She works efficiently, smoothly, but always seems one step ahead, as if she knows more than she lets on.

One evening, after most employees had left, Claire sat at her desk, absentmindedly scrolling through company files while a secret program of hers scrolled in the background. The glow of the monitor reflected against her sharp, inquisitive eyes.

Then something caught her attention.

A hidden folder, buried beneath layers of encrypted files, locked with a passcode she cracked in under a minute. When the files opened, her lips parted slightly, her breath catching, she smiled licking her lips.

The Deal Maker
Chapter 2 to come
K