I Wore A Silk Dress To Work — And My Feared Boss Finally Snapped
Part 2
Greg sat down right next to me, his thick thigh brushing heavily against mine and sending a terrifying jolt of electricity straight through my core.
I hissed his name under my breath, mortified and furious, demanding to know what on earth he was doing crashing my date.
He completely ignored my frantic whispering, his dead-eyed stare fixed entirely on the man sitting across from us.
He methodically rattled off Craig’s entire background, exposing him as a senior data analyst for a shell corporation owned by a rival mafia family.
Craig visibly paled, shrinking back into the plush booth as his hands began to tremble uncontrollably against the pristine white tablecloth.
He desperately tried to maintain his fake composure, stuttering wildly that he was just there on a normal blind date.
Greg leaned across the table, grabbed Craig roughly by the knot of his cheap tie, and yanked him forward so fast our water glasses violently spilled over.
Greg smoothly pulled a silver switchblade from his dark coat pocket and rested the cold edge dangerously against Craig’s sweating cheek.
He whispered that if Craig ever looked at me again, or ever breathed my name, he would peel his skin off and mail it to his boss.
Craig nodded frantically, tears of absolute terror springing to his wide eyes as Greg abruptly shoved him backward into the booth.
Greg commanded him to run, his tone leaving absolutely no room for any hesitation.
Craig scrambled out of the corner booth, nearly tripping over his own feet, and bolted out of the restaurant in sheer panic.
A heavy, suffocating silence hung painfully over our ruined table as the gravity of the situation finally sank into my bones.
I realized with sickening clarity that I had just been callously used in a violent mob turf war by a man pretending to like me.
A wave of intense humiliation washed over me, my cheeks burning hotly in the beautiful green dress.
I accused him of completely ruining my rare evening out, refusing to let him see how deeply the cruel betrayal had actually hurt me.
Greg turned his head slowly, and the cold, psychotic killer who had just threatened a man’s life was suddenly completely gone.
He looked at me sitting there in my silk dress, his dark eyes softening into something reverent, obsessed, and terrifyingly possessive.
He reached out his large, rough hand, gently tucking a stray dark curl securely behind my ear.
He murmured that he had just saved my life, his thumb brushing slowly against my jawline and completely ignoring the way I gasped.
Why was the most dangerous man in the city looking at me like he wanted to devour me?
Part 3
Megan stared at the massive, terrifying man sitting next to her in the dimly lit booth of the restaurant.
She wondered desperately why the most dangerous man in the entire city was looking at her as if he wanted to completely devour her.
The answer lay deeply buried in the dark, silent years they had spent working together, a secret he had guarded with lethal intensity.
Greg Robinson had been fiercely, irrevocably obsessed with her from the very first day she walked into his office.
He was the city’s most feared underground king, and she was the untouchable secretary who knew all his darkest secrets.
But when she walked into the office wearing a dress that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, his cold control shattered.
Nobody was allowed to look at her but him.
The top floor of Robinson company was a fortress disguised as a corporate headquarters.
Behind the floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the city skyline, deals were made that dictated the flow of power, money, and blood in the city.
At the center of this empire was Greg Robinson, a man whose ruthlessness was whispered about in the darkest alleys and the highest political offices.
But the true engine keeping Greg’s empire running was seated right outside his mahogany doors.
Her name was Megan Miller.
Megan was 28, razor sharp, and unapologetically fat.
In a criminal underworld populated by size zero models, plastic socialites, and fragile trophies hanging off the arms of mobsters, Megan was an anomaly.
She was a woman of substance in every sense of the word.
She had thick thighs, a soft round stomach, wide hips, and a generous bust.
She commanded respect not through intimidation, but through a terrifyingly flawless competence.
She managed Greg’s legitimate shipping schedules, laundered his meetings, and kept the police off his back with a flick of her manicured fingers.
For 5 years, she had worn conservative tailored pantsuits in navy, black, and charcoal.
She kept her head down, her heart closed, and her boundaries fortified until this particular Friday in late October at 4:45 p.m. the quiet hum of the executive floor was interrupted by the heavy measured footsteps of Greg Robinson stepping out of his office.
He was a mountain of a man clad in a bespoke designer suit that failed to hide the lethal coiled energy of a predator.
He had a file in his hand ready to bark his usual evening orders.
But the words died in his throat.
Megan had taken off her oversized black blazer, draped it over the back of her ergonomic chair, and stood up to retrieve a document from the printer.
For the first time in 5 years, she wasn’t wearing her corporate armor.
Instead, she was poured into an emerald green silk wrap dress.
The fabric clung to her like a second skin.
The deep V-neck accentuated the heavy curve of her breasts, while the tightly cinched belt dug into her waist, emphasizing the dramatic flare of her wide hips and the plush softness of her stomach.
The slit on the side rode up just enough to reveal a thick smooth thigh sheathed in sheer black pantyhose.
The rich green color made her warm skin glow and her dark eyes flash.
She looked breathtakingly powerful and deeply intoxicatingly feminine.
Greg froze.
The file in his hand crumpled slightly under the sudden crushing grip of his fingers.
His dark dangerous eyes swept over her tracking every curve, every dip, and every soft line of her body.
The air in the room suddenly felt incredibly thin.
Megan turned around papers in hand and stopped short when she saw her boss staring at her.
A heavy suffocating silence stretched between them.
Greg’s jaw was clenched tightly a muscle ticked wildly beneath his skin.
Mr.
Robinson.
Megan asked, her voice steady despite the sudden spike in her heart rate.
Did you need the quarterly reports?
Greg didn’t look at the reports.
He took a slow, deliberate step toward her desk.
The sheer gravity of his presence made the spacious room feel claustro phobic.
He stopped just inches from the edge of her desk, leaning his large, knuckle-scarred hands flat against the mahogany surface.
He leaned forward, towering over her, his dark eyes burning with an emotion she had never seen directed at her before.
It wasn’t anger.
It was raw, unfiltered possession.
Who are you planning to kiss after work in that dress?
Megan.
Greg’s voice was a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated straight through her chest.
Megan’s breath caught.
She adjusted her glasses, a nervous habit, and forced herself to meet his intense gaze.
I beg your pardon.
You heard me.
He growled, leaning in closer.
The scent of his expensive cedar wood cologne and dark tobacco washed over her.
You don’t wear a dress like that to file paperwork.
You don’t wear silk that looks like it was painted onto your body just to sit at a desk.
So, I’ll ask you again.
Who is he?
Megan felt a flush of heat rise to her cheeks.
She was used to Greg’s controlling nature when it came to business, but this crossing of personal boundaries was new and thrilling and terrifying.
With all due respect, Greg, she said, using his first name to remind him they were alone.
My personal life is not stipulated in my employment contract.
Everything you do is my business.
He countered instantly, his voice dropping an octave.
His eyes flicked down to her cleavage and slowly dragged back up to her lips.
Is it someone from the legal department?
Because I will fire him.
No.
Megan said, lifting her chin, refusing to be intimidated.
It’s a blind date.
A man named Craig Davis.
We met on an app and we are having dinner at the restaurant at 6:00.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, my shift ended 2 minutes ago.
Greg stared at her, a dark storm brewing in his irises.
The idea of another man looking at her, let alone touching her, sent a violent surge of territorial rage through his veins.
He had spent years appreciating Megan’s brilliant mind, actively forcing himself to ignore the soft, luscious body hidden beneath her boxy suits because she was the only woman he trusted.
She was his right hand.
But seeing her now displayed like a feast broke the iron chains of his restraint.
Cancel it.
Greg ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Megan grabbed her designer purse and slung it over her shoulder.
Good night, Mr.
Robinson.
Have a good weekend.
She turned and walked toward the private elevator.
Greg watched the sway of her heavy hips, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
As the elevator door slid shut, hiding her from his view, Greg pulled his phone from his pocket and hit a speed dial number.
His underboss Tyler picked up on the first ring.
Tyler.
Greg said, his voice deadly quiet, “Get the car.
We’re going to the restaurant and run a full background check on a Craig Davis.
I want to know what he eats, where he sleeps, and exactly how many bones I’m going to have to break tonight.”
The restaurant was the kind of restaurant where the lighting was dim, the jazz was live, and the menus didn’t have prices.
Megan arrived feeling a mix of anxiety and defiance.
For years, she had struggled with her body image, dealing with a society that constantly told her she took up too much space.
But tonight, wearing the emerald dress, she felt undeniable.
Craig Davis was waiting for her in a corner booth.
He was classically handsome in a non-threatening corporate way, sandy blonde hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a neatly pressed blue suit.
He stood up when she approached, though his eyes widened momentarily in surprise before settling into a polite smile.
Megan caught the micro-expression.
It was the look of a man who hadn’t quite expected a fat woman to show up, despite her dating profile being entirely honest.
“Megan, wow, you look striking,” Craig said, pulling out her chair.
“Thank you, Craig.
It’s nice to finally meet you in person,” she replied, taking a seat and smoothing the silk over her wide thighs.
The date started decently enough, but within 20 minutes, Megan felt a creeping sense of unease.
Craig was charming, but his charm felt rehearsed.
When the waiter came, Craig took the liberty of ordering for both of them without asking what she wanted.
“We’ll take two garden salads with dressing on the side and the steamed sea bass, Craig told the waiter smiling tightly.
Megan frowned.
She loved a good steak, rich sauces, and decadent sides.
She wasn’t a woman who pretended to eat like a bird to appease a man.
Actually, she interrupted looking at the waiter.
I will have the ribeye medium rare with garlic mashed potatoes and asparagus.
Keep the salad, but I want extra blue cheese dressing.
Craig looked taken aback, his smile faltering.
That’s quite a heavy meal, Megan.
Are you sure?
I’m positive, she said coolly.
The tension lingered, but Craig quickly pivoted, leaning in across the table.
His blue eyes narrowed slightly.
So, you mentioned you work in logistics for Robinson company.
That must be intense.
Greg Robinson has quite a reputation.
Megan’s professional instincts kicked in.
She took a slow sip of her water.
It’s a demanding job, but very rewarding.
We handle mostly overseas shipping and real estate.
Right, right, Craig said swirling his wine glass.
But with all those international shipments, you must have access to the main port ledgers.
I imagine a guy like Robinson keeps two sets of books.
How does someone even manage a database like that?
Megan felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
Blind dates usually asked about hobbies, favorite movies, or travel goals.
They didn’t ask highly specific questions about corporate ledgers and encrypted databases.
Before she could craft a dismissive response, the atmosphere in the restaurant abruptly shifted.
The soft murmur of conversation died out.
The live jazz pianist fumbled a chord and stopped playing.
Megan turned her head toward the entrance.
Walking through the double doors, parting the sea of wealthy patrons and terrified waiters like a dark god, was Greg Robinson.
He had ditched his tie, the top two buttons of his black shirt undone, his tailored coat flapping slightly as he moved with predatory grace.
Behind him were his two most lethal enforcers, Tyler and Brian.
Megan’s stomach dropped.
What is he doing here?
Greg didn’t look at the maître d’.
His dark, burning gaze was locked entirely on the emerald green dress in the corner booth.
He walked straight toward their table, the heavy thud of his designer leather shoes echoing in the silent dining room.
Craig paled, shrinking back into his seat as the massive mafia boss stopped right beside their table.
Greg didn’t say a word at first.
He reached over, grabbed a spare chair from the adjacent table, dragged it over, and sat down right next to Megan.
His thigh brushed heavily against hers, sending a jolt of electricity straight through her core.
“Mr.
Robinson,” Megan hissed under her breath, mortified and furious.
“What on earth are you doing?”
Greg ignored her.
His dead eyed stare fixed entirely on the man sitting across from them.
“Craig Davis.”
Greg said, tasting the name like poison on his tongue.
“Born in the midwest, moved to the city 3 years ago.
Currently employed as a senior data analyst for a firm in the financial district.
A firm coincidentally owned by a shell corporation registered to the rival family.”
Craig’s breath hitched.
He tried to maintain his composure, but his hands were trembling visibly against the white tablecloth.
I I don’t know what you’re talking about.
I’m just here on a date.
You’re a long way from rival territory, little boy.
Greg’s voice was a soft, deadly purr.
And you made a fatal miscalculation.
You thought you could target my secretary to get access to my port ledgers.
You thought you could use a fake dating profile to manipulate a woman who has more loyalty and intelligence in her little finger than your entire bloodline.
Megan stared at Craig in shock.
The weird questions, the forced charm, it all suddenly made horrifying sense.
She wasn’t just on a bad date.
She was being used in a mob turf war.
A wave of humiliation washed over her.
He didn’t want her.
Nobody ever just wanted her.
She lowered her head, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed in the beautiful green dress.
Greg felt Megan stiffen beside him, and a murderous rage flashed across his face.
He leaned across the table, grabbing Craig by the knot of his cheap tie, yanking him forward so fast the water glasses spilled.
“Listen to me very carefully,” Greg whispered, pulling a silver switchblade from his pocket and resting the cold, flat edge against Craig’s cheek.
“If you ever look at her again, if you ever breathe her name, or if you ever come within 10 miles of Robinson territory, I will peel your skin off and mail it to the boss.
Do you understand me?”
Craig nodded frantically, tears of terror springing to his eyes.
Greg let go, shoving him back into the booth.
“Run.”
Craig didn’t need to be told twice.
He scrambled out of the booth nearly tripping over his own feet and bolted out of the restaurant leaving his coat behind.
Silence hung heavily over the table.
Megan sat frozen, a storm of emotions raging inside her.
Anger at being used, embarrassment at the public spectacle, and a strange overwhelming heat emanating from the massive man sitting entirely too close to her.
You ruined my evening.
She finally said, her voice shaking with a mix of fury and unshed tears.
She wouldn’t let him see her cry.
Not over this.
Greg turned to her.
The cold psychotic killer who had just threatened a man’s life was gone.
Instead, as he looked at her sitting there in her emerald dress, his eyes softened into something reverent, obsessed, and deeply possessive.
He reached out his large, rough hand gently tucking a stray curl behind her ear.
I saved your life, Megan.
Greg murmured, his thumb brushing against her jawline, ignoring the way she gasped at his touch.
And more importantly, I told you nobody touches you but me.
You just don’t know it yet.
The walk out of the restaurant was a blur of flashing lights, frantic whispers, and the terrified gasps of wealthy patrons.
Megan marched ahead of Greg, her emerald silk dress swishing furiously around her thick thighs.
She did not wait for him to open the heavy mahogany doors.
She shoved them open herself, stepping out into the crisp, unforgiving October air.
The neon signs of the city reflected brilliantly in the damp puddles on the sidewalk, casting a gritty cinematic glow over the chaotic scene.
Greg followed closely behind her, his towering muscular frame casting a long dominant shadow over her form.
Matteo and Brian trailed at a discreet distance, guarding their boss with absolute unwavering loyalty.
A sleek black sports car idled perfectly at the curb, its engine purring like a caged beast.
Without asking for permission, Megan reached for the silver door handle, but Greg’s massive hand shot out, covering hers completely.
His palm was heavily calloused from years of street fighting and weapon handling, radiating a blistering heat that made her breath hitch painfully in her throat.
He pulled the passenger door open for her, his dark eyes locked intensely on her flushed angry face.
“Get in,” he commanded softly, his voice a low vibrating rumble that sent involuntary shivers trailing down her spine.
Megan slid into the luxurious leather interior, her wide hips settling deeply into the bucket seat.
The heavy door slammed shut abruptly, trapping her in a dark cocoon of silent leather and the overpowering scent of his expensive cedar wood cologne.
Greg rounded the hood with predatory grace and climbed into the driver’s seat, instantly making the spacious luxury cabin feel suffocatingly small.
He did not start the engine right away.
Instead, he gripped the leather-wrapped steering wheel, his knuckles turning a stark white under the ambient glow of the streetlights.
The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the ragged, uneven sound of Megan’s panicked breathing.
She stared straight ahead at the dashboard, refusing to look at him, fiercely fighting the hot tears of humiliation that threatened to spill over her carefully applied mascara.
The memory of Craig’s fake rehearsed smile burned painfully in her mind, serving as a cruel glaring reminder of every single time a man had looked right past her humanity to use her for something else.
You think you have the absolute right to humiliate me.
Megan finally whispered, her voice trembling violently with a mix of barely suppressed rage and deep sorrow.
You think because you pay my salary, because you run this underworld, you own every single second of my existence.
Greg slowly turned his head to look at her.
The dim blue ambient light from the dashboard illuminated the sharp, ruthless angles of his jawline and the dangerous curve of his lips.
I do not just pay your salary, Megan, he said softly, the lethal danger in his tone completely masked by a disturbing, obsessive tenderness.
I protect what belongs to me.
And you have belonged to me since the very first day you walked into my office five years ago.
Megan let out a bitter, incredulous laugh, turning to face him fully.
Belong to you?
I am your employee, Greg.
Nothing more.
You do not look at me.
You do not truly see me.
You see a highly efficient machine that meticulously files your illegal port ledgers and keeps your daily schedule perfectly clean.
You didn’t even notice me as a woman until I put on this stupid, revealing dress and painted my face like a showgirl.
She gestured wildly to her own body, her deep-seated insecurities violently breaking through her carefully constructed professional armor.
I am the fat, invisible secretary who makes your complicated life flawlessly easy.
Craig didn’t want to me, and neither do you.
You just want absolute control.
With you, it is always about control.
The air in the car shifted abruptly, the temperature seemingly dropping as Greg’s demeanor hardened into pure, unadulterated possessiveness.
He unbuckled his seatbelt with a sharp click, leaning heavily across the center console until his handsome face was mere inches from hers.
Do not ever insult my intelligence or your own unimaginable worth by comparing my intentions to that pathetic, sniveling rat.
He growled, his eyes burning with a dark, consuming fire.
You honestly think I didn’t see you?
I have spent five agonizing years staring at you, Megan.
Five years watching you deliberately hide a magnificent body built for a king inside those tragic, oversized, shapeless corporate suits.
I kept my distance because you needed professional boundaries to feel safe in my chaotic, violent, blood-soaked world.
He reached out his large hand, wrapping gently but firmly around her thick, soft throat, his thumb resting perfectly over her frantically racing pulse.
I stayed away because I knew with absolute certainty that the second I finally touched you, I would never, ever let you go.
Greg confessed, his voice dropping to a harsh, desperate whisper.
“I knew that once I tasted you, once I felt your skin against mine, I would happily burn this entire city to the [ __ ] ground before I ever let another man breathe the same air as you.
You think Craig was the first man to try and take you out?”
Megan throws her eyes, widening in sheer shock.
“What do you mean?”
A dark, unapologetic smirk crossed Greg’s lips.
“Did you really believe you just had terrible luck on those dating apps?
That guy from accounting, 2 years ago, who suddenly transferred overseas?
The barista who asked for your number and mysteriously quit the next day?
I ruined them, Megan.
I crushed their careers and drove them out of the city.
Craig was a rival spy yes but even if he had been a saint, he would have never made it to the appetizer.
I have systematically destroyed every man who dared to look at you for 5 long years.”
Megan’s heart hammered against her ribs in a frantic, wild rhythm.
The revelation was deeply terrifying, undeniably toxic, and yet a dark, hidden part of her soul thrilled at the sheer, overwhelming magnitude of his obsession.
She had spent her entire life trying to shrink, trying to apologize for taking up space, trying to be smaller.
But this ruthless, terrifying mafia boss was looking at her as if she were a divine goddess, meant to be fiercely worshipped and ruthlessly guarded.
“You are insane.”
She breathed the words, lacking any real condemnation.
“I am completely obsessed.”
He corrected her, his thumb stroking her jawline.
“You are not invisible, Megan.
You are the only beautiful thing in this miserable, rotting world I actually see.
Before she could process the staggering depth of his dark confession, the deafening, explosive sound of shattered glass violently shattered the intimate moment.
A sleek, armored, black SUV had suddenly pulled up directly beside them on the empty street, and the unmistakable, terrifying barrel of a military-grade submachine gun protruded from the rear tinted window.
“Get down!”
Greg roared, his lethal protective instincts taking over instantaneously.
He shoved Megan down violently into the cramped footwell of the sports car, throwing his massive, muscular body entirely over hers, just as the first deadly spray of automatic bullets tore mercilessly through the driver’s-side windshield.
The deafening, rhythmic roar of heavy gunfire filled the luxurious cabin, jagged glass and twisted metal raining down around them in a terrifying, chaotic storm of violence.
The ambush was a brutal, calculated strike.
The rival family had planned to hit Greg while he was distracted, assuming the blind date was a vulnerable cover to catch the king of the city off guard.
They had underestimated the lethal efficiency of his empire.
From beneath Greg’s heavy body, Megan squeezed her eyes shut, trembling violently as she heard the terrifying crack of returning gunfire.
Matteo and Brian were on the street, weapons drawn, laying down a deadly barrage.
Greg drew his firearm with blinding speed, never removing his protective weight from Megan.
He shifted slightly, aiming precisely through the shattered passenger window and fired three rapid shots.
A sharp scream echoed from the rival vehicle, followed by the screeching of tires as the attackers attempted to flee.
Brian shot out the fleeing vehicle’s rear tires, sending it crashing into a concrete streetlight.
The gunfire finally ceased, replaced by the wailing sirens of approaching police cruisers.
Greg holstered his weapon and pulled Megan up.
He scanned her body frantically, searching for any sign of blood on the ruined silk.
“Are you hurt?
Talk to me.” he demanded, his large hands gripping her hips, pulling her against his chest.
“No, I am fine.”
Megan stammered, clutching his ruined lapels.
She shook uncontrollably from the adrenaline.
Greg let out a ragged breath, pressing his forehead against hers.
For the first time, the invincible boss looked genuinely terrified.
“I thought I lost you.” he confessed.
He threw the damaged car into gear, the powerful engine roaring to life despite the shattered windshield.
They sped away from the carnage, navigating the hidden alleys until they reached a highly secure underground garage belonging to one of his private penthouse suites.
The ride up the private elevator was silent, but the electric tension was heavier than ever.
The penthouse was a stunning fortress of imported marble and luxurious velvet.
Megan kicked off her ruined heels, her thick legs trembling.
Greg caught her easily, sweeping her into his protective arms.
He carried her across the massive living room, laying her gently on the plush sofa.
He fetched a medical kit, kneeling humbly to carefully pluck tiny shards of glass from her sheer pantyhose.
“You are bleeding.
Megan whispered suddenly, reaching out to touch a fresh graze on his cheekbone.
Greg closed his eyes, leaning heavily into her soft touch.
A minor scratch.
He murmured, his large hands moving up to rest heavily on her soft thighs.
No more hiding, Megan.
Greg said, his voice a gravelly command.
No more oversized suits.
You are mine.
Megan looked into the dark eyes of the most dangerous man in the city and saw only unwavering devotion.
She wanted the thrilling power he offered.
She tangled her fingers into his dark hair and pulled his face down.
Their first kiss was a desperate collision of teeth and breathless gasps.
By Monday morning, the power dynamic at Robinson company had irrevocably and permanently shifted forever.
Megan walked gracefully off the private executive elevator, no longer wearing those conservative navy suits.
Instead, she was dressed in a stunning tailored crimson red sheath dress that perfectly hugged every single magnificent curve of her gorgeous figure.
A massive flawless diamond now rested heavily on her left ring finger, sparkling under the corporate lights.
The entire office floor went deathly silent as she moved with a terrifying regal confidence.
She was no longer just the invisible secretary.
She was the untouchable queen of the underworld and the king was eagerly waiting in his office, completely ready to hand her the absolute keys to the city.
THE END
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Disclaimer
This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. If you would like to share your story, please send it to [email protected].
