The Fallen Salesgirl - Chapter 2: Chapter 2
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The air in the sales office grew heavier as Vivian Lowell remained silent, her stillness practically an invitation for Richard Winston's wandering hand to creep up her skirt.
Perspiration dotted her forehead like morning dew, her cheeks burning crimson.
I clenched my jaw. Richard's harassment was escalating by the minute. These modern men had absolutely no boundaries.
But the worst was still coming.
After some forced pleasantries, Richard requested—no, demanded—Vivian accompany him to the restroom.
I pretended to organize files at my desk, my stomach twisting into knots.
Five agonizing minutes ticked by with no return.
When I reached the men's room, Vivian's choked whimpers hit me first. "Mr. Winston... please... not so rough—"
The unmistakable sound of flesh meeting flesh followed, punctuated by her stifled cries.
My hand flew to my mouth. Jesus Christ. They were already going at it.
This was the same Vivian whose boyfriend showered her with roses every Friday. Who bragged about their romantic weekends in Napa Valley.
Now she was spread out in a public restroom for some creep she'd met sixty minutes ago—all for a commission check.
The stall door rattled with each thrust, the vulgar symphony growing louder.
I stood paralyzed.
I'd known Richard was a predator, but this? In broad daylight?
Crashing in now would only humiliate Vivian further. The line had already been crossed.
Grabbing a maintenance sign, I planted it by the entrance and stood watch like some twisted sentinel.
Vivian's moans turned desperate, blending with Richard's growl: "Quit the innocent act. Two million bucks? You'd better put on a show."
My stomach turned. She was trapped.
Three brutal years of recession had gutted our industry. Losing this whale client could sink our branch.
God, just let him finish already.
But the old bastard showed no mercy—ten minutes in and still pounding away.
My college boyfriend had tapped out after five. How was this silver fox outlasting him?
Then Vivian's shriek sliced through the air: "Mr. Winston, STOP—!"
No attempt at discretion now.
My fingers twitched toward the door. Should I—?
Vivian had a whole life back home. If this ended with a plus sign on a pregnancy test...
I lurched forward—just as Vivian's pained wail echoed off the tiles.
Richard's satisfied chuckle followed.
Game over.
He strutted out moments later, straightening his tie like he'd just taken a piss, making small talk like we were at a damn garden party.
And even after his conquest, those piggish eyes still crawled over my body, hungry for seconds.
Perspiration dotted her forehead like morning dew, her cheeks burning crimson.
I clenched my jaw. Richard's harassment was escalating by the minute. These modern men had absolutely no boundaries.
But the worst was still coming.
After some forced pleasantries, Richard requested—no, demanded—Vivian accompany him to the restroom.
I pretended to organize files at my desk, my stomach twisting into knots.
Five agonizing minutes ticked by with no return.
When I reached the men's room, Vivian's choked whimpers hit me first. "Mr. Winston... please... not so rough—"
The unmistakable sound of flesh meeting flesh followed, punctuated by her stifled cries.
My hand flew to my mouth. Jesus Christ. They were already going at it.
This was the same Vivian whose boyfriend showered her with roses every Friday. Who bragged about their romantic weekends in Napa Valley.
Now she was spread out in a public restroom for some creep she'd met sixty minutes ago—all for a commission check.
The stall door rattled with each thrust, the vulgar symphony growing louder.
I stood paralyzed.
I'd known Richard was a predator, but this? In broad daylight?
Crashing in now would only humiliate Vivian further. The line had already been crossed.
Grabbing a maintenance sign, I planted it by the entrance and stood watch like some twisted sentinel.
Vivian's moans turned desperate, blending with Richard's growl: "Quit the innocent act. Two million bucks? You'd better put on a show."
My stomach turned. She was trapped.
Three brutal years of recession had gutted our industry. Losing this whale client could sink our branch.
God, just let him finish already.
But the old bastard showed no mercy—ten minutes in and still pounding away.
My college boyfriend had tapped out after five. How was this silver fox outlasting him?
Then Vivian's shriek sliced through the air: "Mr. Winston, STOP—!"
No attempt at discretion now.
My fingers twitched toward the door. Should I—?
Vivian had a whole life back home. If this ended with a plus sign on a pregnancy test...
I lurched forward—just as Vivian's pained wail echoed off the tiles.
Richard's satisfied chuckle followed.
Game over.
He strutted out moments later, straightening his tie like he'd just taken a piss, making small talk like we were at a damn garden party.
And even after his conquest, those piggish eyes still crawled over my body, hungry for seconds.
End of The Fallen Salesgirl Chapter 2. Continue reading Chapter 3 or return to The Fallen Salesgirl book page.