JM's Muscle Cuties
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Closing Bell Confidential
🕑 Added 2025-09-07 08:00:05 +0000 UTCThe moment Mina found the browser tab, the market made a little more sense.
Between quarterly reports and a spreadsheet the size of Manhattan, her boss—Avery Lang, the investor who could move a stock with a shrug—had left open an interview with a “pro physique champion.” Headlines about “discipline,” “conditioning,” and “peak mass” lined the screen like tickers. Mina pushed her glasses up, cheeks warming. Well then.
She glanced at her reflection in the black monitor: neat bob, round glasses, white blouse strained by shoulders the dress code pretended not to notice. She rolled one sleeve; veins rose in tidy blue lines across her forearm. The copier hummed; the skyline burned pale gold through the window. A plan formed as cleanly as a buy signal.
When Avery returned, she was already at his desk with the board meeting packet. “You like efficiency, sir,” she said, voice bright. “So I streamlined the presentation.”
She laced her fingers beneath the bottom button and exhaled—slow, controlled. Biceps rounded under cotton. The button held for a heartbeat, then pinged softly into a stack of research notes. Mina’s smile lived somewhere between professional and daring. The open vee of her blouse framed black lace and a shelf of pec muscle that rose with each measured breath.
“You track fundamentals,” she continued, pivoting to the window where the late sun turned her sleeves to porcelain. “I track performance.” She rolled her shoulders; seams whispered. Her delts pressed at the cotton like bullish candles. Another tiny pop—harmless as a bell chime—announced the second button’s surrender.
Avery sat, very still.
“Core strength is up quarter over quarter.” She drew her elbows toward her waist. Her midsection tightened into clean blocks, each line sharp as a chart axis. Papers shuffled in a small wind no one had turned on. “And our… ceiling is flexible.”
The blouse finally gave up pretending, opening into a neat pennant that framed the lace. Mina smoothed the placket with tidy secretary hands, then capped a highlighter with a click that sounded far louder than it should have.
