Storytelling Saturdays: Office Politics

By Braheim Gibbs

“I need to see the secretary now!” Nathan barked, barging past Justine, who didn’t get out of her chair fast enough.

“I tried to stop him, Madam Secretary,” Justine called out, running behind him.

Nathan stormed into the room—and froze. Dead center in the lavish office, he stood dumbstruck, his mouth ajar.

The silver-haired executive ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing his jacket as if trying to reassert control.

Across the room, the secretary’s eyes met his—glazed, yet piercing.

“It’s okay, Justine,” she said, breathless but composed. “I’m almost finished anyway.”

“Secretary Mya Van…” he started.

“Right there, don’t stop,” she murmured, voice low and electric as her hands disappeared beneath her desk.

Nathan glanced from her to Justine, confusion blooming in his eyes. Justine quickly looked away, her cheeks flushed a deep shade of red.

Mya let out a deep moan and shuddered. Her thick, kinky fro spilled over the back of her chair.

“Good job. You can get up now,” she said, pushing away from the desk.

A young man in a tailored vest and blue dress slacks crawled from beneath it. Rising to his feet, he adjusted his jacket with practiced ease.

“James?” Nathan’s voice cracked with disbelief, anger, and something else—arousal, maybe disgust.

He turned to Mya, seething. “How dare you make me wait like some… common, common—” He caught himself, rage curling his lip. “I have power, damn you. My company put your Black ass in that seat. And we can damn well send you back to the ghetto.”

Mya didn’t flinch.

“Justine, hold my calls. James, make sure I’m not interrupted, please. This won’t take long.”

“Yes, Madam Secretary,” they said in unison.

James paused, staring hard at Nathan. The older man stepped back, silenced.

Mya rose, walked to the door, and closed it gently behind them. Nathan took her seat without being asked.

“I can’t believe you made me wait while you got fucked,” he spat.

“First off, Nathan,” she said coolly, “get the fuck out of my chair.”

She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t have to.

He scrambled out, pacing the rug like it might catch fire.

Mya smoothed her hunter green dress and sat back down with queenly grace.

“Second, dear sir. I fuck who I want, when I want, and where I want. Now—why are you here?”

Nathan stopped in front of her desk, red-faced.

“I gave you twelve hundred dollars toward your campaign, and I haven’t seen anything for my contribution.”

Mya laughed, short and sharp.

“What do you think twelve hundred dollars was going to buy you?” she asked, incredulous. “Please. I make more than that every week from men who just want to be seen with my cocoa brown ass.”

She leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

“All those photo-ops I did for you and your company? That’s what your paltry little donation bought you. And now you want a bill passed that’ll net your company hundreds of millions—and you think I owe you for that?”

She shook her head.

“Forget twelve hundred, Nathan. Try twelve million.”

“What?” he gasped.

“Twelve million, or I kill the bill,” she said flatly. “I’m not bluffing.”

“You won’t get away with this,” he hissed, moving toward the door.

“Oh, I think you misunderstood me.”

She pressed a button on her desk.

“Justine, can you please email that packet to Mr. Bolden now?”

“Yes, ma’am,” came the reply through the intercom.

“Walk me to my car, Nathan,” Mya said as she grabbed her hunter green blazer from the rack.

They exited together. James stood to the side. Nathan and James locked eyes, but it was Nathan who looked away first.

Pulling out his phone, Nathan scrolled frantically.

“What is this?” he muttered, staring at the screen.

Mya took the phone from his hands and calmly scrolled through the images.

“This is you fucking various people,” she said matter-of-factly. “Tax records that don’t add up. And a lot of racist shit.”

She tossed the phone back at him.

“I’m sure a lot of powerful people would pay me to get their hands on that packet. Your wife’s divorce lawyer. Your congregation. Hell, even some young hotshot looking to take your seat.”

She sighed.

“But I’m not some upstart, Nathan. I’m already in the seat. And now that price? It went up. It’s thirteen million.”

Nathan blinked.

“I’m not bluffing, and you don’t have to pay me. But if you don’t, your secrets are mine to spend.”

She checked her watch.

“It’ll take four more minutes to get to my car. The price goes up every minute you waste my time.”

Nathan, nearly foaming at the mouth, hissed, “Okay. Thirteen million.”

Mya smiled.

“That’s a good boy. Now bend down and kiss the Black ass you thought you could control.”

She turned and waited.

The blood drained from his face. He coughed, bent down as if to tie his shoe—and lightly brushed his lips over her ass.

Mya turned, her smile dazzling.

“Go get my fucking money,” she said.

She and Nathan exited the building. James opened the door for her, and the car pulled away.

Nathan shuffled toward his car, pulling out his phone.

“Wire thirteen million to Mya Van’s superPAC,” he said into the receiver. “I know what I said earlier. Listen to what I’m saying now and send it.”

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