The Payback
At thirty, Nicola was well-known among businessmen, rubbing shoulders with the lot, closing deals with a smile and a firm handshake. She believed all was fair in business—even a dash of flirtation if it got her ahead. Some partnerships blurred the lines, but she wasn’t one to apologise. She played the game, and played it well.
As she once confided to her friend Amelia over a glass of pinot:
“I didn’t just sleep with anyone. Only the ones I actually fancied. Not exactly boardroom behaviour, I know, but try getting a foot in the door as a woman in this world—it’s still a boy’s club, even if we’ve chipped our way in.”
“Goodness, Nic, I could never. Me? I’m happy crunching numbers in accounts, letting the bosses do the thinking. But you? You’ve got that steel spine. Always have,” Amelia said, shaking her head.
“Darling, when I started out, I hit brick walls. ‘Women don’t have the stomach for it,’ they’d say. One old git, Bertram, actually winked and told me, ‘Lass, you’ll go far—if you find the right approach.’ So, naturally, Bertram became my first… *special* client.”
“Nic! How on earth did you—?” Amelia gasped.
“Oh, relax. With him, I realised you *can* separate business from pleasure. The latter’s just delayed gratification—seeing your company thrive *because* you schmoozed the right bloke.”
Nicola’s firm grew. She needed a sharp IT whizz, but hiring one had been a stretch—until a fresh-faced lad of twenty-five waltzed in. Oliver had a CV thinner than printer paper, but the ideas sparking behind his glasses? Brilliant.
“Afternoon,” he said, flashing a polite smile as he stepped into her office.
“Oliver, isn’t it? Sit. You’re on probation for two weeks. Botch it, and you’re out. One condition, though,” Nicola said, arching a brow.
Oliver blinked. “Which is?”
“Don’t dream of a fat salary yet.”
“Fair enough,” he agreed.
Oliver was *good*—just green. Too soft to wrangle the sales team, too hesitant to boot dawdling managers from meetings. Still, Nicola kept him on.
Her *unconventional* client meetings? Always in her office—efficient, really. Kill two birds with one stone, and all that. So when Oliver barged in one evening, clutching paperwork (who knew he’d stayed late?), and found her rebuttoning her blouse while a client sipped merlot, well—awkward.
“Christ—sorry, I—” Oliver stammered, bolting.
“Nicola, this’ll be all over the—” the client grumbled.
She smoothed it over, of course. Next day, she summoned Oliver.
“What you saw stays between us, yes?”
She’d meant to offer him a raise. Instead, one risky thought led to another. Oliver caught on *alarmingly* fast—shocking, really, for a lad his age. His enthusiasm? *Overwhelming*. She practically had to hose him down.
“Ollie, let’s not make this public. I won’t have whispers about favouritism. Understood?”
“Crystal. Boss and subordinate—got it,” he said, grinning.
Their affair lasted three years. He learned from her. She—well, she grew tired. Oliver got clingy, demanding “official” status, even marriage.
“Oliver, I don’t *love* you. Whatever spark there was fizzled. Move on,” she said bluntly.
Next morning, his resignation sat on her desk.
A year and a half later, Nicola’s business wobbled. Key clients jumped ship, citing “better offers.” *Bloody competition*, she thought. Then more fled. Profits nosedived.
One ex-client, Vincent, finally spilled: “Your competitor’s a ghost—no track record, yet they knew *everything*: contacts, prices, supply chains. Turns out? It’s Oliver. Your old IT chap. How’s *that* for irony?”
Nicola’s stomach dropped. *Revenge*. He’d nicked client databases, rerouted emails—easy for a tech-brain like him. And he’d wooed her “special” clients with sweetheart deals.
She stormed into his office.
“Oliver. Petty revenge? Really?”
“Call it a merger proposal,” he said smoothly. “We combine firms—you as my deputy. Oh, and we pick up where we left off. *My* terms this time.”
Nicola scoffed. “You nursed a grudge for *two years*?”
He shrugged. “Take a week to decide.”
She returned with her answer.
“I’m selling my firm. No merger. No *you*. And for the record? A *real* man builds his own empire—not pilfers one like a schoolboy hacking his teacher’s emails.” She slammed the door.
Oliver sat, stunned.
Nicola started anew—with George, her husband, by her side. A baby, a fresh business, and zero regrets. No more games. Just a strong shoulder to lean on—exactly what she’d always wanted.
