Rachel had worked her new job at the radio station for just over five weeks, the last she’d checked. She’d wanted to be assigned to the Programming department, where she understood the station’s music list was chosen and where she could hopefully submit some of her own work.

But not only was she misinformed as to what to expect, the station manager took her ignorance – and her poor behaviour in light of her ignorance – as an excuse to bust her down to Promotions instead.

She’d thought she’d heard the worst of the fancy-sounding job titles that the station liked to use, but “Promotional Officer” was the worst yet. So far, her role had consisted of being hauled around in the back of the mobile unit van—the ‘street team,’ as they were known, setting up booths and running wires for three trade shows and a farmer’s market while the real talent waited to show up until two minutes before broadcast.

Most of the team were interns from the nearby college, and were dismissed as idiot children by the other station staff – and even at thirty-eight years old, Rachel was now lumped in with them.

Honestly, she’d have thrown up her hands if Mr. Hardecker hadn’t told her that she needed to spend three months in Promotions before he would consider posting her anywhere else, or if it hadn’t cost her a painful and humiliating session over his knee to arrange even that meager deal.

Her co-workers were all right, though. Leon, a skinny black kid, was a Communications major who wanted to work in television once his degree was finished. Stephen was from Estonia or Romania or someplace in Europe, a burly young man with boundless energy and an accent that she only sometimes understood.

And then there was Amy.

They hadn’t met under the best of circumstances, and Rachel had been convinced that the younger woman would see her new mentorship role as an opportunity to make Rachel’s life miserable. To her surprise, Amy was incredibly chill. She welcomed Rachel to the team as if nothing had transpired between them, gave her a run-down of her new duties, and within the first hour they were packed into the van.

At twenty-six, Amy was the most senior member of the existing team. The imposing blonde had played rugby throughout her school years and had the physique to show for it. It wasn’t just vanity muscle, either – she’d once picked Rachel up by the armpits and set her in the van, just to prove she could.

Rachel might have had a bit of a crush on the young woman, if she weren’t also such a terrible gossip.

Since starting to work with the street team, Rachel had heard about every hook-up, break-up and affair that had gone on under the station’s roof. And once Amy got started talking, she couldn’t stop, even without Leon and Stephen egging her on. Rachel wasn’t familiar enough with any of the people involved to keep up with the conversation, so she would end up sitting in the van in silence, waiting to arrive at their muster point or for Amy to run out of breath, whichever happened first.

Unfortunately, that silence had convinced Amy that Rachel was sitting on something really juicy.

“Wait, you were a DJ?”

They were in the van, coming back from a Christmas village out in the country. The night had darkened early, and Rachel was cold and in no mood for Amy’s probing.

The drop in temperature earlier had played havoc with their equipment, but it was a problem that Rachel had dealt with in her last life when playing outdoor sets, and the street team was able to solve the issue before they’d been able to get a station engineer to call them back. Amy had been impressed by the quick fix, but now she wouldn’t leave Rachel alone, even when she should have her eyes on the road.

Rachel sighed, “Some freelance gigs, but mostly I hosted club nights at the university for a few years.”

“No way! I knew I’d seen you before!”

Amy’s sand-coloured hair was usually tied back in a ponytail, but she’d shaken it loose at the end of the day. A few loose strands reached out toward Rachel in the seat beside her.

“It feels like a long time ago now,” said Rachel.

“Not that long ago,” Amy joked, “So what got you working down here with us kids?”

There wasn’t a short answer to that question. Rachel shrugged.

“Life happens.”

Out the window, she caught sight of the billboard marking the city limits. They should be back at the station in ten minutes, she figured. She hoped that the rain would hold off until then, at least.

A few moments passed in silence, and Rachel relaxed. Maybe she’d heard the last from Amy for tonight.

“So, you’ve worked in the belly of the beast, so to speak,” said Amy, smashing Rachel’s hopes, “You must know things that we don’t hear about. What do they say about us back at the station?”

They don’t think about you at all, Rachel was tempted to say. But somehow she didn’t think Amy would be satisfied with that. And there was that nugget she’d picked up from one of the receptionists.

“I didn’t want to bring it up, but I’ve heard them call you the ‘sheet team.’ I guess they think you’re all in bed together?”

Amy stared at her, open-mouthed. And then she fell back into her seat laughing.

“Oh, that’s funny,” she said, brushing the hair from her eyes, “I wish I’d come up with that name. Do you remember who you heard it from?”

“Does it matter? It’s just some rumour.”

“Yeah, sure. But it’s kind of true.” She took a moment to enjoy Rachel’s stunned expression and added, “I mean, we’re all active young people, and most of us move on in a year or two. So no wonder it’s like the Olympic Village.”

“So you and say, Leon…”

“Sure, or me and Stephen. Or Leon and Stephen, we’re a pretty open-minded group.” She reached over and ran her strong fingers through Rachel’s short locks. “And you’re welcome to join us any time. I’ve seen how you look at me.”

The unexpected touch – and the very unexpected invitation – left Rachel sweating. She hadn’t thought that Amy had noticed her glances, much less understood them. Buff men had never really done anything for her, but something about ‘muscle mommies’ tuned Rachel into a nervous teenager.

Her body jerked softly, and she realized that Amy had put the van into park. They were back at the studio.

“I’m flattered,” said Rachel, suddenly glad for the exit, “but I’m with someone, my wild days are over.” She saw Amy frown and quickly added, “I mean, had my own slut phase in my twenties, I’m not judging you. You go, girl.”

It was clearly the wrong thing to say. Without another word, Amy got out, walked around to the back of the van, and started removing crates.

The final task, at the end of each day, was to pack up all their borrowed gear in the rack room at the back of the garage. That name, like most other titles at the studio, was misleading—a cabinet surrounded by chain link, the rack room was a chicken coop where electronics had replaced the poultry. Being the only one who didn’t find the space cramped and hard to move in, Rachel had been delegated to sorting crates inside the cage, while the rest of the team unloaded them from the van.

Expecting that Amy was doing the same, she didn’t see what the other woman was doing until she heard the gate close behind her.

“Amy? What are you doing?” Rachel fought with the handle, but Amy had already locked her in from the other side.

“I wanted to ask you about a rumour I heard,” said Amy idly, “The word is, Mr. Hardecker pulled some strings to get you this job after you spent some time alone with him in the studio.”

Now it was Rachel’s turn to get angry. “Until last month, I was a producer. You think I’d fuck the station manager just so I could work with you guys?”

Amy glared. That comment must have stung, but she shook it off.

“That’s not what I heard happened. I heard you got in his face, so he put you over his knee and spanked you on your bare butt.”

“It wasn’t on my bare—“ Rachel started, and then saw Amy’s eyes light up.

“It’s true? Oh, you little freak! I’ve heard stories about Mr. Hardecker for years, but I didn’t actually think… did you get off on it?”

“No, it sucked! You’ve had your fun, let me out.”

“Uh-uh,” said Amy, “Does this have anything to do with that complaint I made about you bugging me for airtime? And what’s going to happen if I have to complain again? Are you going to get another spanking?”

No, Rachel remembered, because the one she’d gotten had been her first and only warning. The building was empty at this time, and Leon and Stephen were already gone. She was at Amy’s mercy – and Amy knew that.

“What do you want?” she tried.

“That’s more like it. First, I never want to hear about my ‘slut phase’ again. Second, if you don’t want to have another ‘conversation’ with the boss, then you’re going to want to keep me happy for the rest of your time here. Do we have an understanding?”

Rachel’s heart sunk. “I’m sorry I said that. I mean, when I was your age—“

“Do we have an understanding?” Amy interrupted, “I can wait. The studio’s closed until Monday if you want some time to think.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?”

Amy smiled and reached for the light switch on the nearby wall. The cage began to feel a lot smaller. Rachel’s heart was racing.

“There are two ways this can go,” continued Amy, “In the one, I hear about how the dumb new girl locked herself in the rack room all weekend. You’ll say it was me, but nobody’s going to believe you.

“Or…” she added with a smile, “I’ll let you out of your cage, for the price of a kiss.”

“Just a kiss?”

“A good kiss, with tongue. Deal?”

Rachel blinked. She’d been expecting something a lot worse. Hell, she’d had private fantasies about kissing the younger woman, if that was all Amy wanted, she could have skipped the forcible confinement and just bought Rachel a drink.

But if locking Rachel in a cage was supposed to be foreplay? Fuck this bitch.

“Deal.”

She nearly jumped as the gate opened with a loud buzz. Amy swept out her arm in a welcoming gesture, and Rachel followed her out, careful to make sure that the door was closed behind her.

“Don’t you have something for me?” said Amy, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rachel swallowed the bile at the back of her throat and tilted her head back to meet Amy eye-to-eye. Did she see… hesitation? Did Amy think even after her threats, that Rachel wouldn’t follow through?

Rachel seized the moment and pressed her lips against the bigger girl’s. At first, Amy was left in shock, her mouth open, and Rachel thrust further, her tongue dancing past Amy’s teeth. Her breath was warm and moist.

This close, Rachel felt the flush from Amy’s skin. Regaining her composure, the brawny girl drew in, returning the kiss, falling into her.

And then Rachel bit down, hard.

Amy pulled away, holding up a hand to her bleeding lip. She didn’t make a sound, but the look on her face left Rachel satisfied. Pain, surprise—Amy might have even been impressed by Rachel’s sudden betrayal.

And then Rachel’s rational brain reminded her that she’d picked a fight with someone much bigger than herself, while that person stood between herself and the door.

She didn’t even see Amy move, but in a blur, Rachel’s cheek was pressed against the chain link. She struggled, but Amy only tightened her grip. The wall of the cage started to bow as if she was going to push Rachel through it.

“Nice try,” whispered Amy, her breath wet and coppery on the back of Rachel’s neck, “You still seem pretty wild to me. No wonder Mr. Hardecker had to take you in hand.”

Her fingers traced their way around Rachel’s left buttock, and Rachel heard a murmur of approval. It had been a cold month, and Amy had never seen Rachel outside of a coat or oversized sweater.

The appreciation was short-lived. Amy’s hand swept back and popped Rachel across her cheek once, twice, again. Each hit was emphasized with a clink of chain as Rachel bucked against the wall. They didn’t hurt – Amy hadn’t chosen her position well – but there was no way that Rachel was going to encourage the other girl any further. She had a hard hand, and if she tried, there was no doubt that Rachel would feel the result.

Amy shifted and struck again, but hissed and withdrew her hand. It took Rachel a second to remember she’d left her phone in her right back pocket.

As if prompted, the phone suddenly went off.

Both girls were silent, frozen in their respective poses as the ringtone sounded through the otherwise empty garage. Finally, Amy reached deep into Rachel’s pocket, far deeper than she needed to, and pulled out the offending device.

“Your boyfriend’s calling.”

She loosened her grip on Rachel and handed her the phone.

“Yes?” Rachel asked.

“Hi, honey. Sorry for calling, this probably could have been a text. I’m just letting you know that I’m going to bed, and that dinner’s in the fridge.”

Rachel glanced at Amy behind her.

“Thanks, honey. I’ll be on my way the moment work lets me go.”

Amy took the hint and released her. Rachel noticed the younger woman was breathing heavily, though she’d barely exerted herself in keeping Rachel pinned against the cage.

 “I love you,” said Rachel, and hung up.

The two women faced each other, unsure of their next move. Amy wiped at her mouth, leaving a red streak across her jaw. She admired her bloody hand.

“Huh. Thanks for the workout, Rachel. See you next week.” And then she left out the side door without another word.

It wasn’t until she’d heard Amy’s car pull away outside that Rachel was able to breathe. Her second thought was that she should check if the station had an HR department, or someone at least who she could talk to before she would see Amy again. She didn’t know how a harassment claim was made, but she had grounds for one here, right?

Even if her heart was racing, and not just from the struggle.

Even if she couldn’t put words to how she felt, trapped in that Amazon’s embrace, helpless to resist.

Even if she knew the shame would keep her silent.

Because her first thought, before any of that, had been: What would have happened if Bertie hadn’t called?