We pass Paul downstairs, already in uniform. He eyes Zayne, clearly wondering why Zayne isn’t dressed for work yet or ready to take over the desk when he should be starting in just ten minutes.
“Be back down in a jiff, Paul,” Zayne calls as we step outside our building.
Then, on the corner of the street, still in full sight of Paul and anyone else we live with who might be passing by, he kisses me full on the lips. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back hard, savoring it. Savoring the way he makes me feel.
When I climb onto the subway train toward work, it does not feel like a Monday. There’s no slog in my steps, no despair about going back to work again. I’m just… happy.
It’s a strange feeling.
I reach the office with plenty of time to spare before my first meeting. I wave cheerily to Sara at the front desk as I stride past her to the coffee room.
She frowns and watches me from the corner of her eye. But I get it. It’s still Monday for most people. For anyone who hasn’t discovered a secret hottie living undercover in uniform in their own building, whose cock is huge and thick enough to make them see sparks when they come…
I shake my head to clear out the cobwebs, and pour myself a cup of coffee. Beth and John are leaning against the water cooler chatting, but they fall silent the moment I step into the room.
“Hey guys.” I smile at them, and after a beat, they smile back. But it’s strained, forced.
What’s with everyone this morning?
Ignoring the strange stares, I fill my coffee mug and head back to my desk. This time, though, the whole office feels like it’s tracking me. I catch Becky from accounting making eye contact and spinning around almost immediately, a faint snicker escaping her. Carl from IT winks at me and pats his chest appreciatively. I scowl back at him. Gross. And also, what the hell has gotten into everyone?
I spot that new girl again, Hannah. She has her arms crossed and her chin lifted. She’s glaring at me too, judgmental, just like all of them. What the hell?
Even my boss is frowning when I walk past her, eyes darting to me and away again quickly as though they were rocks skipping across the surface of a particularly distasteful pond. I swallow hard. What now?
I thought I was catching up on all of the deadlines we talked about on Friday. And I know that we had a pretty rough day, but it’s not like we haven’t had those before…
I shake my head as I return to my seat. I’m probably just imagining things. Blowing this out of proportion.
I take a seat at my desk, and almost immediately, a new chat window pops up. “Girl” is all the message says. It’s from Andy Slate, my best gay at work.
Clove: What?
Andy: How did this happen?? Did your phone get stolen by bikers or something? Tell me it’s Photoshop.
I steal a peek over the top of my monitor at Andy’s side of the office. He sits on the far side, at least fifteen desks away from mine. But I’m still close enough to make out his signature WTF face which he’s wearing at full tilt right now, directed straight at me.
Clove: What the H are you talking about?
Swearing, alas, raises flags on our company servers. Otherwise, I’d already be cursing up a storm to threaten him into telling me what’s going on.
Andy: … Shit. You haven’t seen it.
Clove: You know I hate suspense almost as much as I hate surprises, Andy. Out with it.
Andy: It’s not exactly SFW, if you know what I mean.
Clove: I own a phone, dude.
Next thing I know, said phone buzzes with a text. There’s no explanation, only a link from him. I click on it and hold my breath. I don’t know what I’m expecting. Nuclear apocalypse news? A letter from my boss explaining that we’re all being let go? I don’t know, but somehow, what I find is simultaneously worse and more personal all at once.
The page finishes loading, and it takes me a moment to comprehend what I’m staring at.
Tits, obviously.
But not just any tits. Familiar tits.
A pair of breasts I see in the mirror every single day. Not to mention the face attached, fully visible, because oh my god what was I thinking when I took that photo, I didn’t even crop it, didn’t even think that someone might be able to get a hold of it.
It’s me.
Naked.
In front of, I can only assume, my entire office.
Underneath the photo, much to my chagrin, there’s a caption. And below that, a few hundred comments. The caption is short, sweet and to-the-point.
Slut for hire, it reads. Willing to do whatever you ask, as long as it’s dirty as hell.