The entire fourth floor - Management & PR department - and its employees might as well be frozen in time due to the damning silence. No one dares to invite the ire of a woman who challenges their tyrant of a CEO before his first cup of coffee daily. Their rivalry is the stuff of gossip that happens during lunch break beside the water coolers, even at another company. 

And today, every employee of Modas might be an unwilling witness to a homicide. 

All because someone ate the last honey stick and most probably forgot to refill the jars and thus, dooming them all to the unspoken and unofficial rule: 

‘In case of a pissed off VP, make sure a honey stick is available.’ 

Lo and behold, the voice that carries from the pantry might as well be the Grim Reaper’s. Deadly yet clear for all to hear. More than one heart marches frantically to the beat of a familiar pair of stilettos. 

The Vice President of Modas emerges as if she knew that the fictitious spotlights would be on her. All sharp lines and soft curves radiating with displeasure. An intern hiding behind the water cooler sighs, a little lovesick, to which she received some incredulous stares from her friends. 

No one dares to make eye contact when the VP slowly scans the floor. Her judgmental eyes take in all. 

Ding! 

The elevator makes itself known. 

Now, let it be said that Wajid can’t play the part of a saviour instead of a tyrannical CEO from time to time because his presence is the only reason that saved them all. 

Or rather, served as a convenient target for that heated smoulder immediately locked onto him, and a pair of toned, muscular arms revealed by rolled-up sleeves. A senior executive from the client servicing team quickly diverted his gobsmacked expression because, for one crazy moment, he thought that VP looked like she was less likely to maul Wajid’s face off and more like she was seconds away from sitting on it. 

“I’m sorry, is it lunchtime already?” Wajid says, as apropos of nothing. His eyebrow cocked knowingly. Pretending to check his watch, he continued on unimpressed, “Why isn’t anyone working?” 

And just like that, time unfreezes. The phones ring to life once more. People scramble to finish up their briefs and manage calls with the suppliers and clients. Those heading out kept their head respectfully low when they passed Wajid. Saying it’s difficult to ignore Wajid and VP facing off in the middle of the floor is an understatement. Try borderline torture. Especially for the poor production manager who refuses to acknowledge the sweat dripping down his back or how Wajid’s gaze trails down from VP’s open blazer that teases the smooth plunge of her cleavage to the corset that’s unapologetically tight enough to cinch her waist. 

Man, those deadlines really needed to be sorted out in everyone’s calendar! 

With that thought, he scurried away. He took everything he needed with him to the studio below so he wouldn’t have to return. 

“It’s been 30 minutes. How long does it actually take to make coffee? And why aren’t you using the coffee machine in my office?”

“Where are the honey sticks?” 

And there it goes again - the silent tension. However, unlike before, it didn’t stay for long. 

“We have new clients coming in today and a brand to secure. You’re here for the last, I don’t know, an hour or so already pissed off because of what? Lack of sweets? VP. Be for real.” 

“I wouldn’t be this pissed off if you didn’t make me work overtime because of your lack of preparation. I told you that we would be struggling to manage this pitch and oversee fashion week at the Empire at the same time.”

A pair of Junior Designers who just got up with folders of sketches promptly make a U-turn to the elevator. 

When Wajid exhales loudly, headaches descend onto the group from the PR department. Wajid and VP’s intense dynamic is practically an open secret in Modas. It’s a Sisyphus trial keeping it from public knowledge, yet no one from that department is suicidal enough to get in between them. 

“I know we lack the manpower, but need I remind you that you have the second-highest authority in this building? You should’ve delegated most of the workload regarding the fashion week to the Head of Operations - it’s literally in their job description.”

“Are you choosing to go deaf regarding the manpower? Delegating isn’t the issue! With you, it’s always, “This year’s quarterly budget isn’t sufficient for new staff members, VP.” Or “The efficiency of the Servicing Department is fine as it is, VP.” Or, and I quote verbatim, “Stop complaining about your workload, VP, and give me the lion's share already. We’ll go through them together in my office.” Do you hear how broken you are as a record, Wajid?” 

Someone snorts. His complexion then took a deathlike pallor when Wajid and VP locked onto him. A pair consists of an executioner and a judge.  

Wajid treats every second as a dollar. He didn’t waste any on the merchandiser and continued to invest in VP. The poor sod collapse from overwhelming anxiety. The coworkers close to him scramble to drag him off the floor. 

“Alright, you know what? You win, VP. You win. Is that what you wanted to hear? Does that make you feel good? Well, guess what? You’re gonna have the honour of raising that particular concern to the board members at our next meeting. I’d say good luck, but that would imply I care. Now are you done? That was a rhetorical question, by the way - we’re going back to the conference room. We need a game plan for this pitch, and we needed it yesterday.” 

VP sneers, marches to the elevator with Wajid following closely - some would say too closely - behind. Their arguments resume as they’re being carried upwards. 

A collective sigh of relief bounces off the walls of the fourth floor. 

Lunchtime couldn’t come sooner. 

-

The fashion industry is a dog eat dog world where not even carcasses are left for the vultures to pick or maggots to festered in the rot. None are even for the rats. 

It’s a terrifying truth for models like Bianca. 

Long legs. Perfect portions. A million gold coin smiles. 

She has them in spades and more, but what does that matter? 

Modelling is a career dancing on a fine line, and it gets shorter the older you get. 

And once you’ve fallen off, well, the replacement will know to shine brighter than Bianca ever could. 

So Bianca of some no-name port town of the many islands surrounding Intacia walk down the runway separating controversy and revelry as if it was her last. Her smiles become more expensive for every flashing camera. She dons on clothes that leaves the world in a daze. 

She becomes the reigning face of Modas itself. 

“How are you feeling? Nervous?” The makeup artist makes idle inquiries as she does the final touch-up on Bianca’s face. The makeup department and models benefit from a symbiotic relationship - the artists pretty them up, set the mood before shooting, and in return, the models display their masterpieces to the world. Using the models as a medium to market themselves. 

“Is there any reason to?” Bianca muses, her confidence well earned. She closes her delicate lashes, enjoying the gentle brushes of the eyeshadow. 

“The fact that this is the first time Modas is collaborating with Enchanted Adelina, and the Madame specifically asked for you to model their latest product? I’d say the pressure’s all on you today. Even more so than usual.” 

Announcement trickled from the management floor that for the first time ever, Modas signed an indie skincare and makeup brand as their latest client. Given that the fashion house is known for its wealthy partners and clientele, journalists ate it up. All eyes would be not only on Bianca but also this new brand. 

When Wajid and VP called her into their offices - closely adjacent to one another - it was impressed heavily that her job isn’t enough to make the product look good. It must be irresistible to the point people are desperate to get their hands on it. Even if it’s not considered a luxury product. 

The bosses also mentioned a challenge. 

Bianca will face it with a smile. 

She hums after the makeup artist finishes off with a setting spray. “I’ve been using Enchanted Adelina even before I started modelling; their rosewater facial wash is good for sensitive skin. I think I mentioned it during an interview. That must be why they wanted me to model their newest lineup.” Speaking of which... “Will the Madame be here? This is the first shoot after all.” 

The makeup artist shrugs. That’s as far as the news goes, Bianca supposed. 

The journey from the dressing room to the studio is an organised chaos. The clothes on Bianca are triple checked, photographers rushed to set up their equipments and other employees at hand are handling the rest. She’s being left to her own devices for the most part; waiting for the gig to begin. Everyone is waiting for the signal from the CEO and the Vice President. 

Who, in an alarming jolt, are walking towards Bianca. The strange, familiar tension wound between them is ever present. The two of them shared a colour today - a red ribbon in VP’s hair and a red watch around Wajid’s wrist; Bianca absentmindedly wondered if it’s coincidental. Then again, the two often colour-coordinate so maybe it’s to show unity towards the employees despite their infamous rivalry. 

If so, then it fooled absolutely no one. 

“You’re ready. Good.” The Vice President comments. Her piercing eyes sweep over Bianca’s profile. She doesn’t squirm underneath her clinical assessment. Showing weaknesses within the fashion world is the quickest way for rivals to strip your flesh from its bones. There’s a flicker of satisfaction for Bianca’s steely spine, however, it shifts to displeasure when VP turns to Wajid. “I still think the safest route isn’t going to make Enchanted Adelina stand out amongst its competitors. For Goddess’ sake, Wajid, she could’ve launched her new honey lip balm in-house if you’re dead set on the nature aesthetic.” 

Now Bianca is very self-aware on where she stands within the attractive scale but it does put a dent on her ego for someone as handsome and powerful as Wajid to not even glance at her. 

Though to be fair, everyone knows - and is immensely relief - that the CEO of Modas direct his unyielding attention solely on the Vice President most of the time. 

“And I’ll remind you again that the colours needed to reflect the brand’s CI. Since lip balms are visually unappealing, emphasising the brand’s identity will put what we’re trying to market in the forefront of people’s minds.” Wajid counters in his usual no-nonsense tone. 

Soft rose is the heart of the brand. Ivory lace for the antiquity of pressed letters. Moonstone grey and black ink for the clarity within its typography. Sage whispers as a nod to the brand’s natural and overall plant-based skincare ingredients. Champagne gold for the embossed logo.

These colours give Enchanted Adelina a sense of luxury without the ‘loudness’ of most high-end brands - the studio and the clothes Bianca is wearing reflect that. 

VP pinched the bridge of her nose, as if to resist an oncoming headache. “You and I received that file from the Madame about her brand’s story. We know that Enchanted Adelina is a love letter to softness within beauty - the glow of a full moon during Spring and pressed flowers tucked between the pages of velvet-bound journals. We know our target customer - women who are daydreamers, romantics, and those who see magic in the mundane.” 

“So what’s your point?” 

“I’m getting to it! The honey lip balm isn’t supposed to make a statement; it’s about the presence of the wearer. Every product under the brand is a small enchantment that feels romantic. Ethereal. Whimsical. We need Bianca to convey that instead of blasting the colours in the customers’ faces.” 

“We can still go with your narrative, but we can’t take out the colours. The Madame - ”

“Didn’t insist on it. So I say we tone it down and have Bianca integrate the brand’s concept into everyday scenarios. The busier the better.” 

A heated discussion breaks out. Bianca takes one step backwards. Two. And then three. Most of the staff gave them a wide berth too. 

Wajid wants to use her to capture that old-world romanticism and slow, intimate moments with a clear product shot while VP has a different idea. She wants to bottled that Cottagecore Dream within the product as a means of escape for genteel women. 

Bianca does not doubt that the two will eventually come into a common ground - they always do - but for now, she’ll wait. She’ll observe. 

Amidst the warm and dreamy atmosphere of the studio, stillness in beauty, VP and Wajid exist in their own world. 

Untouchable to outsiders, and the loudest unspoken conversations that Bianca has ever seen. 

-

The office can be eerie, in a quiet sort of way that can only be achieved after hours. Lights dimmed and hummed. The whirring fan a familiar noise. 

It’s just as well. It’s way past midnight after all. 

Most of Abel’s - the capable, able Abel PR Overlord of Modas, yes, that running joke has passed its expiration date after working in the company for a decade - colleagues have long gone home. But here he is, still hunched over the typewriter. A lone desk lamp illuminates his corner. A half-empty cup of disgustingly cold sludge that used to be coffee beside it. 

But why is Abel staying so late in the office, you may ask? 

He has no grand ambition to see his face hang on the ‘Employee of the Month’ wall like any green employee. No. He’s not even trying to look like a hard worker. 

He’s just three deadlines, a press release from hell and one scandal thanks to an uppity model with an ego bigger than his dick away from a total meltdown. 

The twitching of his left eye is testament to that. 

So Abel leans back against his chair to stretch, rubs his tired eyes, and decides that a break is in order - the sixth draft of the press release of Enchanted Adelina x Modas isn’t anything better than the previous attempts. The sixth is more or less similar to the second, except he replaced ‘whimsical’ with ‘romantic’ in the tenth paragraph. He’s not getting anywhere with this. Years' worth of PR instincts are yelling at him to sprinkle some sensation into his writing or else no one would read it. 

Whenever you’re stuck in a rut, it’s always good to pull someone into an impromptu brainstorming session. 

And luckily for Abel, the CEO and VP are still around. No doubt finalising the feedback received from the Madame and according to the grapevine, the photoshoots were less-than-stellar when compared to the company’s benchmark. Yeah, he’s really not looking forward to brace whatever argument he’s willingly walking into. 

“Intacia sure is looking good this time of the year.” Abel muses after letting out a tired yawn. Shuffling down the hallway with a notebook and pen in one hand, he glances at the poster of one of the most popular tourist destinations at Intacia. Warm beaches and delicious food; Goddess, when was the last time he took himself to a well-deserved vacation? He makes a mental note to apply for some annual leave when stepping into the executive wing. 

Abel turned the corner. His entire being stilled. 

Something isn’t right. 

Why is the usually open door to the CEO’s office closed? Flicker of shadows indicate movement inside; the small cracks in between the blinds that cover the glass panel tells all. 

And then he heard it. 

A soft moan. A panting murmur. The unmistakable sound of wet lips against another. 

Exhaustion completely disappears as horror sinks into Abel’s bones. 

VP and Wajid; standing too closely. One of them pressed against the glass. 

His poor brain conjured the position before he wanted to:

Wajid, still in his impossibly immaculate suit, is looming over VP, who is equally as devastatingly dressed. Anger sizzles between them, but now he knows, against his consent, that there’s more. 

“Oh my Goddess…” 

The pair hadn’t noticed him yet. Thanked the Conqueror. 

He backed away in slow steps. Heart pounding in his chest. Eyes wide as he willed himself not to breathe too loudly or die on the spot. 

“ - it’s distracting and you know it - fuck, don’t pull away from me. Can’t wait to have your honeyed lips stretched around my cock.” 

“It’s just lip balm. You’re the one who can’t keep your eyes, or mouth, off it.” 

Papers rustled. A soft thud against the glass. 

“Then why are you letting me pin you against the window? Hmm? You taste like every bad idea I’m about to do.” 

VP lets out a sharp inhale, followed by a low growl from Wajid. The sound of a belt unbuckling has never been so mortifying to Abel. He prays that the carpet won’t squeak under his feet. 

“ - don’t think I’ve forgiven you for hiding that last honey stick in your drawer. You’re only fooling yourself, Wajid.” 

A delectable whine echoes by VP. It’s insane how Abel can somehow glimpse through the cracks that Wajid hoists her onto his desk. Heavy panting envelopes the office when Wajid begins rutting into VP’s spread legs. 

“Every time your mouth part to suck that damn tube - I want it. I want you. Spread across this table. Sticky. Sweet. Mine.”

“You’re… o-obsessed. Ah!” 

“You knew. You fucking knew and you let me starve. So I’m going to taste all of you. Starting from these lips.” 

The noises are utterly pornographic - the wet sound of VP’s pussy taking Wajid’s cock. Broken moans shared between sloppy kisses as they desperately peeled each other’s clothes off. The sway of the dimmed lights highlights the CEO’s figure as he tears himself from VP’s lips to duck down and take one of her nipples into his mouth. Sucking and biting it as he fucked her. Cries of pleasure grow louder as VP arched her back, not only pushing her chest closer to his hungry mouth but also letting his cock thrust deeper into her drooling cunt. Greedy and needy. 

A rhythm builds up, fast and shameless. Until - 

“Yes, yes - fuck! I’m going to cum! Wajid - ”

“You’re not leaving until I make sure my cum is dripping our of your panties. That’s it, habibti. Let go for me.” 

He must’ve emptied himself inside her, his cum stuffed fulled that it dripped onto the floor. What a sight the VP must be - naked body sprawled on Wajid’s table, legs and pussy spread wide with honeyed lips. 

Ragged breaths louder than screams of pleasure. 

It’s only when Abel’s out of the wing did he spins his heels and literally runs back to his own office. He slammed the door shut, collapsed into his chair with a wheeze. 

“Hell no. Hell fucking no. Nope. Nope. I didn’t see anything. I didn’t hear anything. That did not happen. I’m not even here.” Abel pressed his face into his hands. He hates how it all makes sense now. 

The bickering. The indecisions. The shoot. The whole dynamic. 

The problem wasn’t because the CEO and VP couldn’t agree on which art direction to go with for the new collaboration. Ethereal fairy core? Minimalist modern magic with a touch of pink? That’s not the issue. 

Dead-end meetings? A dozen concept decks? Creative teams ready to jump out of the windows? Ain’t them either. 

It’s all because Wajid and VP can’t decide whether to fuck or fight whenever they breathe in each other other’s direction! 

“I’m going need to draft at least five NDAs, a distraction campaign and a damn miracle if this ever gets out. I need aspirin. Or tequila. Fuck me - wait, no. No! Bad thoughts!” 

The press release on the typewriter is still incomplete. 

‘Romantic’, it glares. 

Abel glares back. 

It’s not a word that he’d use for the PR disaster in that office.

One thing was for sure: Abel knew he wasn’t going to go back home tonight. Not because of the press release, but because the damage control now needed to contain an affair worthy of an emotional clusterfuck of a telenovela. 

The only solace is the lack of noise carried from afar. 

-

Friday WIP meeting begins at 10:00 AM on the dot.  

Suspicion breaks out among the employees gathered in the conference room. 

Everyone knows these meetings are lead by the middle management so to have Wajid and VP taking the rein instead of their usual hands-off approach? Bets were quietly exchanged - either someone died or someone is about to be promoted. 

PR Director Abel is cradling a triple shot of espresso in the corner as if the cheap paper cup is a stressed baby. His eyebags are the heaviest that anyone has ever seen. A few of his teammates tried to coax answers for their concern inquiries only to received nonsensical mumbles in return. 

“What’s up with Abel?” 

“Heard from the janitor that he didn’t go back home.” 

“Deadlines again? The PR department sure is hell on Earth.” 

The creative teams and suits gossip like schoolchildren. Despite the gleeful tittering, they look tired. No one looked hopeful. 

Such is the norm of the fashion world. The grind stops for no one. 

Then, Wajid and VP walked in. 

Together. 

Calmly. 

United. 

A pair in honey gold and warm oak. Even VP’s red lipstick matches Wajid’s tie. 

A whimper escaped from the PR Director. “Conqueror, kill me. They dressed like a joint mood board...” 

“Morning, everyone. Let me kick off this meeting with an announcement first. By now, I’m sure everyone knows that we have a new client under our belt - “

The PR Director suddenly tipped his head back and downed his coffee like a shot. His teammates exchanged increasingly worried glances. Someone even gripped Abel’s shoulder to steady him. 

“ - and after the initial rounds of feedback regarding the latest photoshoot, VP and I had a breakthrough. Bee-witching; that’s the honey lip balm that Enchanted Adelina is launching next month. After an in-depth discussion - ”

A dying wheeze echoes from the PR group. 

“ - we’ve decided to merge our art directions for the next shoot. While the overall key visuals will continue to have golden tones and organic textures, what would make the product stand out is an element of subtle passion hidden underneath the magic. It’s a product about touch, after all.” 

“A product that was on a certain someone’s lips last night, alright.” Abel thought, trying not to shudder while everyone broke into polite applause. “I’m sure that had nothing to do with the decision-making. Fucking hell. Does Modas cover trauma therapy?” 

The meeting soon concluded. Everyone makes their exit except the PR Director, who was told to stay behind for a quick check-in. 

“How’s the press release looking?” VP asks and look at that, Abel noted, Wajid shuts the door behind him. Seems he knows what the doorknob is for. 

“It’ll be printed out concurrently with the launch. I’ll have the finalised version delivered to the Madame for her approval later.” 

“I want a copy of it on my desk after lunch. Having another pair of eyes - Abel? Are you alright?” 

“Mmhmm. Peachy, Wajid. Just breathe through the wrong pipe.” 

Wajid raises an eyebrow. Even VP looks up from the quarterly reports when the silence stretches on. 

Abel awkwardly clears his throat, wanting nothing more than to disappear, but alas, his career comes first. “If that’s all, Wajid. VP. Oh, right. One more thing: I’m applying for a 6-month vacation after this campaign.” 

VP is surprised. “You’ll use up all of the paid leaves that you’ve carried forward ever since you started working for Modas.” The “Are you sure?” is unspoken. 

But Abel is resolute. When the fallout inevitably breaks out, well, at least he’ll be lounging at a warm beach and reading about it from a newspaper.