Another normal trip to work.

When you get on the elevator Violet's there. She's almost stereotypically Chinese: about four inches shorter than you, straight black hair, c-cup breasts, dressed in tight jeans and a leather jacket at the moment. Kennedy's mind fills in that Violet lives on the eleventh floor, two above you, and runs a consulting business of some kind. She's also a flagrant lez and a horrible flirt.

"Hey Kennedy, what's hanging?"

"Nothing, as usual. I'm just going to work."

"Can I see your panties today?"

Yes!

"No, they're nothing special."

You can feel a slight tingling between Kennedy's legs. The attention combined with her naughtiness is turning her on. Violet leans in for a hug and her eyebrows raise.

"Nothing special? My garter-sense is tingling. Let's have a look."

Violet reaches for your skirt hem; Kennedy is definitely getting aroused. You're not sure if it's the touch or her imagination, but that doesn't really matter.

"Violet, I–"

The elevator stops and the door opens. Six-foot-six Mister Thompson gets on in his medium gray business suit, then turns to face the doors without saying a word. His wife had twins about two months ago and he's not taking the stress or the sleepless nights well.

Violet is looking frustrated and whispers in your ear, "This isn't over yet, girl."

When you get to the ground floor Kennedy immediately leaves the elevator and heads out with only the polite wave everyone in the building uses. Violet is watching your ass, as usual.

It's a twenty-three minute subway ride out to where your workplace is located; it's the last station on the line, but thank god it's still on the line. Nobody bothers you or even looks at you. The mousy librarian look is like a cloak of invisibility.

When you come up out of the station, you find something you don't expect.