April Olsen: My Double Penetration’s Fantasy!

In her green velvet minidress, April helps a senior sales associate teach his protégé a little something about confidence. After a wild night, it’s April who ends up getting her deal sealed.

The charity gala was in full swing by the time April arrived, the ballroom of the Grand Hotel transformed into a glittering wonderland of chandeliers and candlelight and the kind of floral arrangements that cost more than most people’s monthly rent. She paused at the entrance, letting her eyes adjust to the scene, and felt a small flutter of nerves that she quickly suppressed.

This was her moment. She’d worked for it, planned for it, sacrificed for it. Now all she had to do was execute.

The green velvet minidress had been a calculated choice. Professional enough for a room full of industry heavyweights, distinctive enough to be remembered, and just daring enough to suggest that April was someone worth paying attention to. She’d spent more than she should have on it, but looking at her reflection before leaving her apartment, she’d known it was worth every penny.

Across the room, she spotted them: Marcus Webb, senior sales associate at the city’s most prestigious commercial real estate firm, and his protégé, a young man named David Chen who’d been making waves in the industry for all the wrong reasons. Marcus was a legend—thirty years in the business, deals that had shaped the skyline itself, a reputation for closing sales that everyone else had given up on. David was his latest project, a brilliant but arrogant twenty-something who had all the raw talent in the world and none of the polish needed to use it effectively.

April had done her research. She knew that Marcus took his mentoring seriously, that he’d been trying for months to teach David the subtleties of the business—the art of reading a room, the importance of building relationships, the difference between confidence and arrogance. She also knew that David was struggling, that his natural gifts were being undermined by his inability to connect with people on a human level.

She saw an opportunity.

“April!” A voice cut through her thoughts, and she turned to find Sarah, a fellow agent from her firm, approaching with two glasses of champagne. “You made it. And you look incredible.”

“Thanks. So do you.” April accepted the glass, scanning the room over Sarah’s shoulder. “Is the whole industry here tonight?”

“Feels like it. I’ve seen at least four people I’d happily never see again, and about a dozen I’m desperate to impress.” Sarah followed her gaze. “Oh, look. The dynamic duo.”

Marcus and David had been joined by a small group, Marcus doing most of the talking while David stood slightly apart, his expression a careful mask of interest that didn’t quite hide his boredom. Even from across the room, April could see the problem: David was present but not engaged, his body language saying “I’d rather be anywhere else” even as his mouth formed the right pleasantries.

“Marcus is wasted on him,” Sarah murmured. “All that experience, all that wisdom, and the kid just wants to skip to the closing.”

“Maybe he needs a different kind of teacher.”

Sarah shot her a look. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing. Yet.” April smiled and took a sip of champagne. “But watch and learn.”

She waited until Marcus was alone—a rare moment, but it came eventually when David excused himself to the restroom and the other conversations drifted away. Then she crossed the room with the easy confidence of someone who belonged everywhere and approached him with her hand extended.

“Mr. Webb? I’m April Foster. We haven’t met, but I’ve admired your work for years.”

Marcus turned, and she watched his expression shift from polite attention to genuine interest as he took her in—the dress, certainly, but also the way she held herself, the directness of her gaze, the confidence in her voice.

“April Foster,” he repeated. “You’re with Continental Commercial, aren’t you? I’ve heard good things.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I’ve worked hard to earn a reputation worth talking about.” She gestured toward the spot where David had been standing. “I see you’re still mentoring the next generation. That must be rewarding.”

Marcus’s smile flickered slightly. “Rewarding. Yes. That’s one word for it.”

“Not going well?”

He hesitated, clearly weighing how much to reveal to a stranger. But something in April’s expression must have encouraged him, because he sighed and shook his head. “The kid has talent. Real talent. He can read a balance sheet like nobody’s business, and he’s got instincts for valuation that most people spend decades developing. But he doesn’t understand people. He thinks business is about numbers, not relationships. And until he learns otherwise, he’s going to keep hitting the same ceiling.”

April nodded thoughtfully. “My first mentor told me something that stuck. She said that in this business, people don’t buy properties. They buy confidence. They buy the feeling that the person across the table knows what they’re doing and has their best interests at heart.”

“She was right.”

“She was. And she also told me that confidence isn’t something you can fake. It has to be real. It has to come from actually knowing your stuff, actually caring about your clients, actually believing in what you’re selling.” April met his eyes. “Sounds like your protégé hasn’t figured that out yet.”

“He thinks he has. That’s the problem.” Marcus studied her with new interest. “You’re very perceptive.”

“I’m very motivated. There’s a difference.”

“Meaning?”

April smiled. “Meaning I’ve spent five years building my career, learning my craft, proving myself over and over. And I’m ready for the next level. I’m ready for deals that matter, clients that count, a seat at the table where decisions actually get made.” She held his gaze. “I’m ready for someone to teach me what I don’t know I don’t know yet.”

Marcus was quiet for a long moment, assessing her in a way that felt professional rather than personal—though April was aware, acutely, that the green velvet dress was doing its job.

“You’re offering yourself as a replacement protégé?”

“I’m offering myself as an additional option. Someone who’s hungry, who’s humble enough to learn, and who actually likes people.” She shrugged. “David can have all the talent in the world. But if he doesn’t want to connect, he’s never going to close the deals that matter. I do want to connect. I want to learn. And I think, given the chance, I could make you proud.”

The word hung between them—proud. It was exactly the right word, April knew. Marcus was at an age where legacy mattered, where teaching mattered, where the idea of passing on his wisdom to someone who would actually use it was deeply appealing.

“You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that,” he said finally. “Walking up to a stranger at a charity gala and pitching yourself as a better investment than his current project? That takes confidence.”

“Not confidence. Conviction. There’s a difference.”

Marcus smiled—a real smile, warm and genuine. “You’re right. There is.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. “Call me Monday. We’ll have coffee. Talk about what you’re looking for, what I might be able to offer.”

April took the card, careful not to let her hand tremble. “I will. Thank you, Mr. Webb.”

“Marcus.” He nodded toward the bar. “Now go celebrate. You’ve earned it.”

She walked away, the card burning in her palm, her heart pounding with triumph. Behind her, she heard Marcus greet someone else, his attention already moving on. But she had what she came for—an opening, a chance, a foot in a door that could change everything.

At the bar, she ordered champagne and allowed herself a moment of pure satisfaction. The night was young, the gala was beautiful, and April Foster had just taken a massive step toward the career she’d been dreaming of since she started in this business.

Across the room, she saw David return from the restroom, looking vaguely confused that his mentor was no longer where he’d left him. He scanned the crowd, spotted Marcus deep in conversation with someone else, and his expression flickered with something that might have been insecurity.

April raised her glass in a small, private toast—to him, to herself, to the strange ways that careers advanced and opportunities appeared. He didn’t notice. He was too busy wondering where his mentor had gone, too busy assuming that the world would keep revolving around his schedule and his needs.

He had no idea that the ground had just shifted beneath his feet.

Later, as the gala wound down and people began drifting toward the exits, April found herself standing near the terrace doors, watching the city lights. Marcus appeared beside her, two glasses of champagne in his hands.

“Thought you might want another,” he said, offering one.

“Thank you.” She accepted it, turning to face him. “Your protégé looks lost.”

“He’ll figure it out. Or he won’t. Either way, it’s not my problem forever.” Marcus leaned against the railing, studying her. “You know, I’ve been doing this for thirty years. I’ve met thousands of young people who wanted my time, my attention, my connections. Most of them, I forget within five minutes.”

“And me?”

“You I’ll remember.” He smiled. “Not because of the dress—though it’s a hell of a dress. Because of the way you think. The way you read situations. The way you saw exactly what I needed to hear and said it.”

April felt a flush of pleasure that had nothing to do with the champagne. “So coffee Monday?”

“Coffee Monday. And then, if it goes well, we’ll see where we go from there.” He straightened, setting down his glass. “I should get back inside. David’s probably worried I’ve abandoned him.”

“He probably is.”

“Good. Worry’s good for him.” Marcus extended his hand, and April shook it—firm, professional, perfect. “Monday, April. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t.”

She watched him walk away, back into the glittering ballroom, back to his protégé and his colleagues and his world of deals and dollars. Then she turned back to the city lights and allowed herself a moment of pure, uncomplicated joy.

The green velvet dress had done its job. But more than that, she had done hers. She’d been smart, strategic, authentic. She’d shown Marcus not just what she looked like, but who she was—and who she could become with the right guidance.

Monday couldn’t come soon enough.

As she finally left the gala, stepping out into the cool night air, April felt like she was walking on air. The deal she’d come to seal wasn’t the kind you signed on paper. It was the kind you sealed with a handshake and a promise and a card tucked safely in your clutch.

But it was a deal all the same. And April Foster had just closed it.