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Confronting the Goat
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2025-03-21 07:00:39The email from Zoe arrived at 9:16 AM, just as I was making my second cup of coffee, desperately trying to shake off the fog of a night spent at Mami Lulu's bedside. I'd managed maybe two hours of restless sleep after the car service dropped me home.
Subject: Vega Davidson - Status Update
Maya,
I'm sorry to be the bearer of disappointing news. Despite my best efforts and the creative team's genuine enthusiasm for your designs, our executive committee has decided not to move forward with the collaboration we discussed.
I wish I could say this was purely a business decision, but in the interest of transparency, I should tell you that concerns were raised about potential "complications" with Russo Designs. While no one stated it explicitly, the implica
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I took the subway downtown, fury propelling me forward. The Russo Design headquarters occupied the top three floors of a sleek high-rise, all glass and steel and money. I'd worked here for years, my designs making millions while I remained a carefully managed asset.The security guard recognized me, hesitating when I approached the desk."Mrs. Russo. I, uh... don't see you on the appointment calendar.""That's because I don't have an appointment. But I'm sure my husband will make time for me."I still had my access badge—Daniel had never bothered to deactivate it, probably assuming I wouldn't have the nerve to return. But today, I'm using it. I swiped it at the elevator, relieved when the light turned green. At least I'd avoid the awkwardness of being escorted up by security.The executive floor was quiet when I arrived, most offices dark. It was after seven; the regular staff had gone home. But I knew Daniel would still be here. He always worked late, his dedication to the company on
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Outside, the night air hit me like a slap, clearing some of the fog from my brain. I walked aimlessly for several blocks, processing the conversation with Daniel, the mysterious woman, the impossible situation I found myself in.By the time I reached my apartment, a plan had begun to take shape. If manufacturers wouldn't work with me, I'd create pieces that didn't require them. If traditional materials were inaccessible, I'd work with unconventional ones. If established channels were closed to me, I'd forge new ones.I stayed up until dawn, sketching designs that could be executed with minimal equipment, researching techniques I could master quickly, sourcing materials that wouldn't require industry connections to obtain.By morning, Maya Vega Designs had evolved from a desperate dream into a concrete plan. I studied my own pendant—the glass bead necklace from my childhood—and sketched variations I could produce with minimal equipment. I'd need to work with what I had and maximize eve
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The post that changed everything wasn't even my favorite piece. It was a jagged cuff bracelet—asymmetrical copper wire wrapped around rough-cut smoky quartz that I'd found at a gem show years ago and squirreled away. I'd photographed it on my wrist against the peeling paint of my windowsill, morning light catching the raw edges of metal.Caption: Some days we're all just broken things holding tighter to our broken parts.I'd hit share at 3 AM, exhausted and emotional after another day of working, visiting Mami Lulu, and trying not to think about Natalie Bryant's perfect manicure or the photo of her with Alex at that gala.By morning, the post had gone viral in design circles, with over fifty thousand likes and comments flooding in. Not mainstream famous, but niche-famous in the exact community I needed to reach. A popular queer fashion blogger had shared it with a lengthy post about resilience and authentic voice in an industry built on artifice. From there, it had spread through desi
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I spent the weekend finalizing designs for both the collaboration and my independent line, organizing the new workload, and visiting Mami Lulu, whose condition remained stable but unchanged. I'd managed to pay enough to maintain her current care level, but the better treatments—the ones that might actually help her recover—remained financially out of reach.Monday morning, I arrived at Vega Davidson's downtown studio an hour early, prepared for the scrutiny I knew would come with being the controversial new designer. The security guard issued me a temporary badge with my photo taken against a white wall—a stark reminder of my provisional status."First floor is administration, second is design, third is marketing and executive," he explained, handing me a map. "You'll be in Studio B on the second floor."Studio B turned out to be a spacious workspace with natural light flooding through west-facing windows. Several designers were already at their stations, glancing up curiously as I en
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"Your forbidden fruit is downstairs demanding to see you. Security won't let him up because he's not on the approved visitor list, and he's refusing to leave without talking to you." Troy's eyes gleamed with the joy of someone witnessing prime workplace drama. "It's delicious.""Shit." I ran a hand through my hair. "How long has he been there?""About ten minutes. Richard is having an aneurysm. You should have seen his face when security called up."The elevator doors opened on the ground floor, revealing the scene: Alex in an impeccable charcoal suit, hands braced on the security desk as he leaned toward the increasingly uncomfortable guard. Richard Davidson stood nearby, arms crossed, face set in a mask of professional displeasure."I don't care about your protocols," Alex was saying, voice tight with controlled frustration. "I need five minutes with Maya Russo. It's a personal matter.""Mr. Thorne," Richard's voice was glacial. "As I've explained, Ms. Russo is in meetings all after
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We stood there, drenched and staring at each other, the rain creating a strange intimacy—a world of just the two of us on the crowded sidewalk where pedestrians hurried past with umbrellas and newspapers held over their heads. The storm had been building all day, but we'd somehow ended up arguing in its worst moments, neither of us willing to postpone the confrontation for better weather."My contract with Vega Davidson prohibits professional contact with you," I said finally."I'm not here professionally. You stated that yourself" He said nodding towards the entrance,water running down his neck, disappearing beneath his collar. "I'm here because I can't stand another day of you thinking I lied to you. That what happened between us wasn't real.""What did happen between us, Alex? We kissed. We almost went further. Then real life interrupted, like it always does.""Real life is why I'm standing in the rain right now, making a scene outside your office." He reached out, his fingers brush
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Daniel waited exactly twenty-six hours to destroy me.I was in the subway when the first message arrived, my phone buzzing against my hip as the train lurched between stations. Service was spotty underground, so it wasn't until we pulled into Union Square that the avalanche of notifications hit—seventeen text messages, twenty-three emails, and thirty-eight social media alerts.The first text was from Troy: DO NOT COME TO THE STUDIO. Call me NOW.The second was from Olivia: Have you seen Design Weekly? Daniel leaked the photos.My stomach dropped as I opened the link Olivia had sent. There it was, splashed across the digital front page of the industry's most influential p
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Outside, the bright spring day felt like an insult. I walked aimlessly for several blocks, my mind racing through options that dwindled with each step. Without Vega Davidson's manufacturing capabilities, I was back to creating pieces by hand in my apartment. Without their distribution channels, I was limited to online sales. Without their industry connection, I was just another independent designer making unsubstantiated claims about my talent.By the time I reached Washington Square Park, my phone had died from the constant notifications. I sat on a bench, watching students sprawled on the grass enjoying the sunshine, their lives uncomplicated by vengeful ex-husbands or industry blacklisting."Quite a morning you've had."I looked up to find Troy standing beside my bench, two coffee cups in hand. He offered one to me."How did you find me?""I didn't." He sat beside me. "I got fired too. Was walking to drown my sorrows in caffeine and spotted you looking pathetic.""They fired you?"
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"Maya," Father said, setting down his fork. "Let's be direct. The foundation you've established is creating a narrative that directly threatens our company's standing. Your use of the Vega name, your public statements about design appropriation—it's being interpreted as an attack on us.""It's not an attack," Maya replied. "It's the truth.""Truth is subjective in business," Father countered. "Perception is what matters. And the perception you're creating could do real damage.""To your profits," Maya said flatly."To our legacy," Mother corrected. "Everything we built—everything that would have been yours one day—is at risk because of this... crusade."Maya laughed, the sound startlingly everyone in the roo
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We moved to the dining room, a procession of expensive clothes and cold fury. I hung back, retrieving my phone, before moving to join them..The dining room looked like a spread from Architectural Digest—crystal chandeliers reflecting off polished silver, white roses arranged in perfect symmetry down the center of the mahogany table. It was the same setting Mother had used for every important dinner since I was a child.Maya paused in the doorway, her eyes scanning the familiar opulence. I could see the familiar expression that passed her face—recognition, remembrance, then it gave way to revulsion. Then it was gone, replaced by the careful mask she'd worn since arriving."You've redecorated," she observed, taking her seat. Alex sat beside her, his presence altering the careful balance of the table. Wher
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“Come here.”"I've been thinking about this for the last hour," he admitted, fingers already working at the button of my jeans. "You, just like this."I rocked against his hardened cock already evident beneath me. "You were supposed to be working.""Not with you biting your lip every time you read something challenging." His hands slipped inside my jeans, panties giving way, immediately finding my pussy like it was normal. "It's distracting.""Sorry," I said, with a slight shiver, but I wasn’t sorry at all."No, you're not." He squeezed, fingers digging into flesh in a way that made me gasp. "But you will be. Maya"The Mention of my name made something break loos
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I woke to the smell of coffee and unfamiliar sounds in my kitchen. For a disorienting second, panic flared—someone was in my house—until the memory returned. Alex. Beach. Car. Couch. Bed. Floor at some point. Then bed again.My body ached in ways both foreign and familiar. My pussy was raw and swollen from fucking all night. It felt good. We had fucked again even after Alex came in me. I stopped at that thought. Alex had cummed in me multiple times last night. The thought of it somehow made my pussy ache again, I could feel it getting moist again. I snapped. Shit. I would need to sort that out later —getting backup.I stretched, taking inventory of what Alex had done to me. Purple marks dotted my inner thighs. Finger-shaped bruises colored my hips w
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He pushed inside, one long, slow thrust that made me gasp. The sensation was different without the condom—It was warm. The feeling of his warm cock against the wall of my pussy made me squirm. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, urging him on."Fuck, Maya," he groaned, holding still for a moment. "You feel—""I know," I cut him off. "Move."“Fuck me!”He did, setting a pace that had me digging my nails into his shoulders. He wasn’t holding back this time like he had done initially on the beach. Each thrust hit somehow hit that sweet spot inside me that made the pleasure build up.“Go harder Alex!” I moaned, “Please don’t stop. Fuck me!”
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The drive back to my apartment was torture. Good torture, but torture nonetheless. Every red light felt like it lasted an hour. Alex's hand rested high on my thigh, his thumb tracing small circles that made it nearly impossible to focus on the road."You're going to make me crash," I muttered as his fingers inched higher, slipping beneath the edge of my underwear."Then drive faster," he replied, voice rough in a way I'd never heard from him before.He didn't stop. His fingers slid lower, finding me still wet from the beach. I gasped, my foot instinctively pressing harder on the accelerator as he stroked me."Alex," I warned, gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles went white. "This isn't—""Keep your eyes on the road," he instructed, his other hand moving to my breast, thumb circling my nipple through my shirt.The speedometer crept higher as his fingers moved faster between my legs. My vision blurred at the edges, body torn between focusing on driving and surrendering to th
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He kissed me with an urgency that matched my own, hands moving beneath my t-shirt to find skin. His palms were callused and warm against my ribs as they moved upward, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts. I arched into the touch, impatient for more.We were still awkwardly positioned against the post, and my shoulder blade dug painfully into the weathered wood. "Not here," I said against his mouth.He immediately stepped back, misunderstanding. "We can go—""No, I mean, not against this post. It's digging into my back." I took his hand, led him away from the post to where a dune created some shelter from the wind. I pulled him down with me onto the sand.The cold immediately seeped through my jeans, but the discomfort seemed irrelevant compared to the heat
