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“Well, I have something else. I’m going to show you an authenticated video. Kircher has no idea I have it.” Ronni looks over at me, takes a deep breath and looks each of the suits in the eye. One by one. “What you’re about to see is something I’ve worked hard to keep secret. I was ashamed for so many years. I’ve come to realize my story is important. I’m ready to share it. Especially if it will help prevent this stuff from happening again.”
The suits mumble amongst themselves. I stand and lower the shades on the glass conference-room windows facing the office. I’m here to give Ronni moral support and back up her decision. Doesn’t mean the entire floor needs to see what she’s going to show them.
Ronni connects her phone to the big screen at the end of the conference table and presses play.
I can’t help but tense up. I know what I’m about to see. I also know I’m going to have a horrific time watching it.
The video starts. It’s a bit grainy, but clear enough to see Kircher and his three schlubby counterparts sitting in what looks to be a barren room with auditorium-style seating.
I can’t help but ball my free hand into a fist. I clench and unclench it. My throat constricts painfully when fifteen-year-old Ronni follows Hannah, her longtime stylist into the room. The two women look like absolute babies. Ronni with a backpack slung over her shoulder. Hannah with bright-orange hair wearing purple Chucks.
“Good afternoon, I’m Veronica Mae Miller.” Ronni’s voice is the identical lyrical, sweet tone. A little less refined. More sassy, perhaps. She has a strange, fake smile on her face as she looks over at Kircher, who wears a tailored blue suit and two older out-of-shape guys are in dad attire.
One of the older guys licks his lips. His beady eyes travel up and down Ronni’s body. “Are you wearing the required attire?”
Ronni looks like she’s about to vomit. Tentatively, she holds up a polka-dotted bikini, but says nothing.
“You can change there.” Hannah apologizes to Ronni with her eyes, but gestures to a short, blue curtain hanging from the ceiling, which is virtually see through and stops short of the floor by at least four feet.
The low growl emanates from me and Ronni snaps her eyes to mine. I shake my head in apology. I press my lips together and puff out a short breath. Give her a smile. Squeeze her hand. I pray for some self-control over my reaction to seeing her this way, or Ronni may not get through the meeting.
I want to dive through the screen and slit every one of the bastard’s throats.
“Um... Sure, sounds good...” Ronni sticks out her chest, gives the men a smile that looks more like a wince. Her eyes flick over to the curtain. A wave of fear washes over her. She bites her lip, uncertain as she stands and stares.
The men glance amongst themselves. Chuckle and leer at Ronni. “In this lifetime, please,” Kircher snarks. He rubs his hands together menacingly.
My heart breaks for the younger version of my wife. I can tell she’s on the verge of bolting. Her thoughts are at war. You can essentially watch each emotion pass across her face as she wrestles with a decision. To stay? Or go?
Terror. Determination. Uncertainty. Resignation. Calmness.
Ronni marches into the changing area. Turns her back to the men. Pulls down her pants and underwear in one motion. Steps into her bikini bottoms. Clearly unaware that when she bends, the men get a flash of her pussy. One has the audacity to grab his cock and squeeze.
Beside me, Ronni gasps. Tenses. She’s determined, though, and doesn’t take her eyes off the screen.
Kircher looks at her like she’s his prey.
Next, Ronni strips off her top and ties on her bikini. Even though she’s not facing these assholes, they get a flash of her fifteen-year-old nipples. I find myself shifting uncomfortably in my seat. She’s my feckin’ wife, and even I feel like a creep watching her this way.
These guys? You can just see on their faces that this is a normal day at the office for them.
Disgusting. Utterly disgusting.
On screen, Ronni sucks in a breath as she adjusts her bikini top. Her lips move, though she’s silent. Resigned. Then she blows out a long gust of air. Turns and strides out to address the men. She catches each of their eyes. Smiles at them. Thrusts out her breasts. Bends her knee and juts her hip to the side. Two of the guys lick their lips, not bothering to hide their leers, as she recites her lines.
When she’s done, they stare at her. Eyes roaming up and down her body. She stands, frozen in her pose, while grown men openly comment on how hot she is. How fuckable. How they can’t wait to write in a “losing her virginity” scene. Ronni doesn’t move. It’s hard to tell if she just doesn’t hear what they are saying or is so traumatized she’s just tuned out.
After five or six uncomfortable minutes, Kircher sucks in a breath and nods to the door. Coldly dismisses her. “We’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you all, very much. I truly appreciate the opportunity.” Ronni walks backward, smiling that weird smile. She tentatively dips down to pick up her backpack, turns and hurries out the door.
When she’s gone, the three men laugh heartily. Kircher grabs his dick. “She’s definitely the lead. Hot damn, I’m going to make it my personal mission for that little honey to suck my fat cock as often as possible so I can come all over those tits.”
The video fades to black.
Ronni’s shaking. I put my arm around her in comfort. We look over at her legal team, all of whom are staring, slack-jawed, at the screen.
“Is it enough?” She glances around the room. “If so, you may release this to Kircher’s lawyers so long as it’s under an iron-clad protective order.”
