CEO and CFO are alone in CEO’s office.
CEO sits on the edge of her desk, her back arched to amplify her cleavage. CEO tries not to stare as CFO paces, his tie loosened, his pectoral muscles rippling with worry under his Luigi Borrelli dress shirt. CFO sputters about offshore accounts, reassurances from legal, and the certainty of jail time. CFO talks about everything but the only thing on both their minds.
This is their last chance.
CEO pats the space beside her on the edge of her desk. CFO joins her there, sitting so close they can feel the heat from each other’s hips.
So many wasted years, ticked down to these final minutes before the feds close in and shut everything down, the last time they’ll be alone together.
The lawyers say everyone could be in cuffs within the hour, but will CEO be in CFO’s arms? By dawn, the secret memos that should never have been sent will be on page one of every paper in America, but will CFO’s secret longing remain hidden from CEO’s eye? The world is about to learn about the billions in illegal trades, the blatant disregard for the millions of their countrymen who will wake up tomorrow with nothing.
And all CEO can think about is digging her manicure into the musculature of CFO’s strong, broad back.
And all CFO can think about is the 3.4 inches of thigh poking out from CEO’s not-at-all-dressed-for-jail-time skirt.
“Kiss me,” says CEO.
“I’m scared,” says CFO.
She knows he’s not scared of the police, or jail, or their names becoming synonymous with thievery and greed. He’s scared of what comes after the kiss.
Their repressed sexual energy has been the thing that’s made every quarterly earnings call such a delight to investors. It became a must-listen on the street. Investors would dial in as much to hear CEO and CFO giggle at each other’s flirty jokes and affectionate banter as they would to complain about the company’s delay in offloading potentially toxic assets.
“When Will These Two Corporate Superstars Just Quit Playing Games And Do It Already?” read one headline in Investors Daily.
“CEO and CFO Sitting In A Tree: K-I-S-S-I-NG?” queried Forbes in their Fortune 500 issue.
Bloomberg Markets once called CEO and CFO, “The Will-They Won’t-They Couple That’s Taking The NASDAQ By Storm.”
“When will-they won’t-they couples finally break down and do it,” CFO says. “They often find out the tension was the only thing holding them together. They fail as a couple”
“What’s in my heart is too big,” CEO insists.
“Too big to fail?” CFO asks.
CEO takes CFO’s hand and rests it over her breast, letting him feel the beating in her heart.
“I’m saying it’s too big to hold it in anymore,” CEO says.
Sirens. Lots of sirens. Less than a block away. With every whir of the sirens they feel each other drawn closer together.
Separate minimum-security prisons, CEO to ladies, CFO to men’s. There’s no telling how many years they’ll get. There’s no telling if they’ll still be emotionally present enough to love when they both are free again.
“We don’t know how we’ll take to minimum security prison,” CEO whispers. “You have to hide yourself away deep inside, where the other hacks can’t get to you. What if we won’t be able to find ourselves again when we get out?”
CFO’s hand is still on CEO’s breast. His touch pulses through her entire body. Her hand, on the small of his back, pulls his pelvis to hers. Their faces are so close they’re sharing the same breath.
“And what if we so adjust to minimum security prison life,” CFO says. “That when we’re finally freed, we commit more financial fraud just to get bounced back inside, because that’s the only life we know?”
CFO leaning closer now. CEO can almost taste his lips.
“Close the deal,” CEO commands her CFO.
By the time a secretary shouts, “Excuse me you can’t go in there,” the two executives at the top of the most brazen corporate malfeasance in American history have become one. When the feds burst through the double doors to CEO’s office suite, they put their pre-rehearsed “you’re under arrest” pronouncements on hold when they find a half-naked CEO and CFO sprawled across the desk in each other’s arms, laughing joyfully. Crimes were committed, yes, but more immediately, a desire was fulfilled, a love consummated.
Miranda rights can wait. All the feds can do just then is tuck their badges and warrants under their armpits and applaud.