Field Testing

It wasn't the morning light spilling across the office windows that caught Zara's eye as she stepped off the elevator, nor was it the strong scent of coffee wafting from the breakroom. Her focus was drawn, with each step, to the deliberate click her glossy heels made as they struck the tile.

Click.

Click.

Click.

She had practiced that sound. All night.

Zara had walked laps around her apartment like a determined flamingo, wobbling at first, arms occasionally windmilling for balance, but gradually improving. By midnight she had managed a convincing strut from the kitchen to the living room and back again without looking like a newborn giraffe.

This morning, walking into the office where she was about to shatter everyone's assumptions about her, she felt almost professional.

Her pencil skirt hugged her hips snugly, the fabric smooth and dark, tapering above the knee. The blouse she'd chosen was a deep red, fitted enough to follow the curves of her torso and unbuttoned just enough to put the HR handbook to the test.

Her mother had, after all, always referred to Zara's chest as her 'greatest assets.' Zara had never particularly cared about that assessment before. Now, thanks to her boyfriend, she appreciated the geometry of it.

She paused briefly at the glass doors leading into the main office floor and checked her reflection. Short black pixie cut. Black-framed glasses. Mascara, carefully applied. Eyeliner, still slightly uneven if one examined it too closely. Red lipstick that made her mouth look bold and deliberate.

The makeup had been the hardest part. Clothes were engineering: fit, angles, proportions. Makeup was chemistry and brushwork and mysterious blending techniques. Fortunately, years of painting Warhammer figurines had given her a surprisingly steady hand. YouTube tutorials had done the rest.

She lifted her chin. Evolution complete. Sexy Girl Zara accomplished.

Then she stepped inside. The reaction was immediate.

Not dramatic, not a record scratch moment where everyone stopped and stared, but subtle shifts in attention rippled through the office like a disturbance in still water.

One of the junior analysts looked up from his monitor and blinked. Another man walking past slowed down half a step before continuing on. Someone across the room definitely walked into a cubicle wall.

Zara felt the warmth of victory bloom through her chest. It was working.

She wasn't attracted to any of them, not in the slightest. The old Zara still existed under the eyeliner and heels, perfectly comfortable with her asexual orbit.

But the attention was data. Confirmation. She was on the right track.

Roy would notice.

The thought sent a pleasant electric thrill down her spine. Without experimentation, there was really no way to know whether or not she was on the right track. Zara had no instinct in the field of attraction. Of course she could make educated guesses. The Sexy Girls never had a shortage of attention from the opposite sex. But could she become a Sexy Girl? And if she did, would it work?

It seemed, by the evidence at her fingertips, that it would.

She made her way toward her cubicle, hips moving with what she hoped was a confident rhythm instead of the cautious balance she was actually maintaining.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Halfway there she encountered Mark from accounting. Mark was normally the kind of man who spoke to Zara with the polite distraction of someone half-reading an email while answering a question. Perfectly nice, just uninterested. Something that, in the past, she'd been quite grateful for.

Today, though, he stopped mid-step. His eyes widened slightly.

"Oh... uh... morning, Zara."

Zara beamed.

"Good morning! Yes! It is a good morning, statistically speaking. I got just enough sleep, which is excellent for cognitive performance, and also I finally figured out how garter belts work."

Mark froze.

"...What?"

Zara waved a hand enthusiastically.

"Not that I'm wearing one right now. That would be wildly impractical for office work. But the mechanical design is fascinating. Little tension clips! I had to watch three tutorials and then practice in my bathroom mirror for twenty minutes."

Mark's brain visibly stalled.

"Oh."

She leaned slightly closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially.

"I think the trick is distributing the tension evenly across the straps. Otherwise the stockings twist."

Mark nodded slowly.

"I... will remember that."

Zara straightened, delighted.

"Great! Anyway, have a productive morning!"

She swept past him with another series of careful heel-clicks, completely unaware that Mark stood frozen behind her like a man who had just encountered a glitch in reality.

Zara reached her cubicle and sat down with the grace of someone who had also practiced that maneuver repeatedly the night before.

Even The Sexy Girls had jobs.

Her computer screen flickered awake. Emails waited patiently in her inbox. Across the office she noticed something else: the occasional glance drifting her way. Quick looks. Curious looks.

One man dropped a pen. Another nearly spilled his coffee.

Zara tried very hard not to grin too broadly.

This was working.

Roy was going to love it.

The thought warmed her all over again. She imagined his expression when he saw her tonight. That quiet, thoughtful way he had of looking at people, like he was really seeing them. Tonight, though, he'd be looking at her with something other than empathy and compassion. Tonight, Roy would see her like he sees Elaine or Michelle: not just a woman he loves, but a woman that he desires. Tonight Zara would, for the first time, be sexy.

Her fingers began moving across the keyboard, replying to emails, adjusting a spreadsheet, slipping back into work mode.

Minutes passed.

The office hum settled into its normal rhythm again. Then her phone buzzed softly beside her keyboard. Zara glanced down. A text message.

From Roy.

Her heart skipped.

She opened it.

ROY: Hey Zara. What's the plan for tonight?