The Exposure

Lucy Park stepped into Parler Carol's office with her shoulders squared and her portfolio tucked under one arm, already rehearsing the numbers for the quarterly review in her head. The glass walls of the open-plan floor gave way to the solid oak door that clicked shut behind her, muting the low hum of keyboards and murmured conversations. Parler sat behind his wide desk, salt-and-pepper hair catching the afternoon light, gray eyes fixed on her with that same calm weight he always carried.

"Close the blinds," he said, voice low and even. Lucy hesitated for half a second before reaching for the remote. The slats lowered with a soft whir, sealing them in.

"You wanted to see me about the expense reports?" she asked, keeping her tone professional, the same sharp edge she used in meetings.

Parler didn't answer right away. He opened a folder on his desk and slid a single printed page toward her. "Sit."

Lucy took the chair opposite him, scanning the page. Her own initials stared back from three separate line items, each one inflated, each one signed off under her authority. The falsified receipts sat right there in black and white.

Her stomach tightened. "These are from last quarter. I can explain the discrepancies. There was a system glitch with the corporate card."

"No glitch," Parler said. He leaned back, the leather chair creaking once. "You adjusted the amounts after the fact. Three times. Each adjustment funneled an extra two thousand into an account that traces back to your brother's consulting firm. That's fraud, Lucy. Not a rounding error."

She felt heat climb her neck. "I was covering a shortfall. The client deliverables were at risk. I can fix it. I'll repay everything this month."

Parler shook his head once. "Repayment doesn't erase the paper trail. HR would terminate you by end of day. Legal would decide whether they want to press charges. You're looking at jail time and a permanent mark on every background check for the rest of your career."

Lucy's fingers tightened on the armrest. "Then what do you want? You didn't call me in here just to list my options."

A small, cold smile touched the corner of his mouth. "Correct. I have an alternative. You resign from your current role and accept a special internship directly under me. Title stays the same on paper for appearances, but your actual duties change. You follow every instruction without argument. In return, these documents disappear. No HR file. No investigation. You keep your salary and the promotion track we discussed last quarter remains open, provided you perform."

She laughed once, short and sharp. "An internship? I'm twenty-eight years old. I've closed seven-figure deals. I'm not fetching your lunch like some college kid."

"You will fetch whatever I tell you to fetch," Parler said. His voice never rose. "And you will do it exactly as instructed. Or you walk out that door and deal with the consequences on your own. Your choice."

Lucy stared at the folder. The numbers blurred for a moment. She thought of her brother's mortgage, the client presentation scheduled for next week, the mortgage payment that cleared only because of the extra cash she'd moved. Pride burned hot in her chest, but fear sat colder underneath it.

"What exactly does this internship entail?" she asked, voice quieter.

"Obedience. Public and private. You start by addressing me as Sir at all times when we're alone. You kneel when I tell you to kneel. You complete every task I assign without hesitation. If you refuse even once, the deal ends and the reports go to HR."

Her pulse thudded in her throat. "This is blackmail."

"It's an arrangement," Parler corrected. "One that keeps you employed and out of handcuffs. Decide now."

Lucy's mind raced through exits, angles, ways to negotiate down to something less humiliating. None of them held. She swallowed. "Fine. I'll do the internship."

"Sir," Parler said.

She met his eyes. The word tasted bitter. "Sir."

"Good." He stood and moved to the small side table where a fresh pot of coffee waited. He poured a single mug, black, no sugar, and set it on the desk in front of him. "First task. Fetch my coffee."

Lucy rose, reaching for the mug.

"On your knees," he added.

She froze. "You're joking."

"I don't joke about instructions. The blinds are closed. No one can see. Crawl behind the desk, bring the mug to me without spilling, and set it on the coaster. That's the task."

Lucy's face burned. She glanced at the closed door, then back at the mug. Every professional instinct screamed to walk out, yet the folder of reports sat open on the desk like a loaded gun. She lowered herself slowly, the pencil skirt riding up her thighs as her knees met the carpet. The wool scratched against her skin.

She crawled the short distance, the movement awkward and deliberate. Her ponytail swung forward. When she reached the side of the desk, she rose just enough to grasp the mug with both hands, careful not to let it slosh. Parler watched, expression unreadable. She backed up on her knees until she was directly in front of him, then lifted the mug onto the coaster.

The position forced her to look up at him. Shame flooded her, hot and sudden, tightening low in her belly in a way that made no sense. She hated the feeling. She also felt the first slick pulse of unexpected wetness between her thighs, the contrast so sharp it startled her.

Parler rested one hand lightly on the top of her head, fingers threading through her dark hair without pulling. "Good girl. That's how you begin."

Lucy stayed where she was, knees pressed into the carpet, skirt bunched, breathing shallow. The heat in her face refused to fade. She told herself it was only fear, only anger at being forced into this. The way her body responded said something else entirely, something she wasn't ready to name.

"Stand up," he said after a long moment. "Tomorrow the real work starts. For now, go finish your reports and come back at six for the next instruction. Don't be late."

Lucy pushed to her feet, legs unsteady for the first step. She smoothed her skirt with shaking hands. "Yes, Sir," she said, the words quieter than she intended.

Parler opened the folder again and closed it with a single decisive snap. "You're dismissed, intern."

She turned and walked to the door, every step carrying the echo of the carpet against her knees and the strange, unwanted throb that still lingered low in her body. The blinds stayed lowered behind her as she stepped back into the fluorescent light of the office floor.