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Leaning back, Vigo surveyed his work, a slight frown creasing his brow. Was it enough? The design was there, but the real test would come in the execution. His mind already raced ahead to the prototype. It would take him hours to build.
Outside Vigo's office window, the city of Chicago stretched out like a canvas of nocturnal energy, its skyline a jagged silhouette against the dark sky. The buildings, with their countless windows, were like pixels of light in a vast, urban tapestry. Streetlights cast pools of yellow glow on the sidewalks, and the occasional car headlights streaked through the streets, brief comets in the city's ceaseless motion.
Vigo stood for a moment, gazing out at the city. The towering skyscrapers, monuments to human ingenuity and ambition, mirrored his own determination. Chicago at night was alive, pulsating with a rhythm that resonated with his current state of restless creativity. The sounds of the city, a distant honking car, muffled conversations, and the faint, ever-present hum of the urban sprawl, filtered through his window.
He turned back to his desk, where the blueprint of his design lay. It was complete, each line and notation a step toward realization. But now, a new phase beckoned—the building of the prototype. The transition from paper to reality was always a delicate one, filled with challenges and uncertainties, but Vigo was ready. His mind was already racing through the components he needed, the assembly process, the delicate calibration of parts.
Vigo sat down, rolling up his sleeves. The lamp on his desk cast a focused beam of light, illuminating his workspace. As he immersed himself in his work, the night deepened outside. Chicago, a city that never slept, mirrored Vigo's own relentless pursuit of perfection. The hours slipped by, marked only by the gradual shift of lights in the surrounding buildings as some turned off and others flickered to life.
Just as the city didn't sleep, neither would Vigo until this design was finished and ready for review. Especially the testing part. He couldn't wait to put Tanya back in the review chair and watch his engine rev for her. But most of all, he wanted to watch her body sing.
CHAPTER5
TANYA
Tanya's fingers flew over the keyboard, making a staccato soundtrack that drowned beneath the ringing phones and clacking heels outside her office. Inside her office, it was an inferno despite the snow falling outside. Her corner space felt like an oven baking her in the heat of deadlines and expectations. She swiped at strands of hair sticking to her forehead, her eyes fixated on the glowing spreadsheet before her.
"Another late night?" Troy leaned against her doorway as he sipped from a cup emblazoned with the cheeky logo of Kringle Knotty or Nice Intimates.
"Unless you've discovered a way to add more hours to the day," Tanya snapped without looking up. "Nick's assessment is looming over us like the ghost of Christmas future, ready to judge if we've been naughty or nice."
"That's an easy answer, sis. We've been naughty. That's how we got the job."
"Ha ha." Tanya, hunched over her desk littered with reports and documents, didn't look up. Her hand moved deftly, correcting a calculation here, rewriting a sentence there.
"T, you're burning the candle at both ends. It's not sustainable, you know?"
"Look at this," she said, holding up a report with a glaring error. "If I hadn't caught this, it would've cost us dearly."
Troy sighed, walking over to her desk. "I get it, but you hired a team for a reason. They're good at what they do, little-big sister. You've got to give them a chance to prove it."
"A chance to prove it? Troy, we're not running a charity here. This is a business. Mistakes like these"—she gestured to the piles of paperwork—"they can't happen. Not on my watch."
"But that's just it," Troy countered. "You're the boss, yes, but you don't have to fix every little thing. Lead them, guide them, but let them do their job. Maybe if you start trusting them, they'll rise to the occasion."
There was a moment of silence as Tanya pondered his words. She knew he was right, but the fear of failure, the fear of letting go, was overwhelming.
She must have waited too long because her brother was already backing out the door with his hands raised in surrender. "Suit yourself. Just don't burn out before Nick arrives."
She wouldn't burn out. She couldn't afford to drop the ball, not when every ball in the air was a testament to her capabilities—or lack thereof. The upcoming assessment wasn't just an evaluation; it was Nick Kringle’s way of ensuring she was worthy of this office. She would not fail. But she did feel the edges of her nerves sizzle with the beginnings of a burn.
She needed a break. With some reluctance, she pushed away from her desk. The office was entirely deserted as she walked past darkened cubicles. There was one light on.
The door to the lab whispered open on well-oiled hinges, but Vigo didn't lift his head from the intricate blueprint sprawled across his desk. Tanya paused in the doorway, her gaze tracing the tense line of his shoulders before it dipped to the dark curls that begged for a distracting tug. The white lab coat he wore hugged his form just right, accentuating broad shoulders and narrow hips—a disconcerting reminder that brains weren't his only asset.
Her heels clicked a determined rhythm on the cold floor as she approached him. There it was, on the table next to him—the prototype, gleaming under the fluorescent lights with a new addition that made her pulse quicken. It looked like he'd made some major modifications, though.
"Is that what I think it is?" Tanya arched an eyebrow, her throat suddenly dry as if every drop of moisture had diverted course to pool elsewhere.
"Based on our debate over clitoral versus vaginal stimulation—" Vigo said, finally raising his head to meet her eyes. Glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose, a contrast to the wicked spark behind them as he held up the dildo attachment for the vibrator. "I've decided both might be more efficient for increased pleasure."
"Never thought I'd hearefficientandpleasurein the same sentence." She leaned over the table, her breath hitching as her imagination painted vivid scenarios. "But I'm intrigued."
"Good." He pushed the glasses up, and a rare smile played on his lips. "Because I've also adjusted the vibration patterns. More variety, less predictability."
"Predictable is the last thing I want," she admitted, circling the prototype like a predator sizing up its prey. Her fingers hovered over the attachment, a shiver skating down her spine at the thought of what was to come.
"Shall we see if science can indeed indulge the senses?" Vigo's question was rhetorical, his hand gesturing toward the recliner that served as ground zero for their experimentation.
