First Steps

The clock ticked to 8:50 a.m., and the ghost-grace ended with a snap—the invisible strings that had guided Janet's body through the lobby and up the elevator, vanished.

*****

I felt it happen all at once.

One moment, the legs were striding with effortless grace; the next, I was fully in control—or as much control as any man would have in a body built for curves and poise he never possessed.

I stood barefoot in the office, toes flexed involuntarily, painted nails catching the light from the floor-to-ceiling windows. The pencil skirt had ridden up an inch when the body had leaned earlier, exposing more thigh than I was comfortable with. I tried tugging it down, but the clung fabric sent a shiver up my legs that felt foreign.

"Get it together," I muttered in a voice that sounded melodic, sexy even. I hated it instantly.

I bent to pick up the heels and nearly toppled forward. The weight of Janet's breasts—my breasts—shifted with the motion, pulling me off-balance. I barely caught myself on the desk. The blouse gaped slightly, offering me a view down to lace that cupped soft flesh.

For three heartbeats I just breathed. Finally, I got up on shaking legs, closed the blinds and locked the door.

If I was going to survive the next two days inside this body, I needed an inventory. I needed to know exactly what I was working with. Cold, clinical assessment. Nothing more.

I faced the full-length mirror bolted to the back of the door. The figure staring back was exactly the kind of woman I used to undress with my eyes in bars and forget by morning. Now I was living inside her.

I started exploring, like I was debugging code.

I looked at my hands first. Slender fingers, nails painted like red wine, no calluses. A faint tremor ran through my wrists. Arms were smooth and light, with a subtle strength like I could row across the Puget Sound if someone dared me. Shoulders were narrow, collarbones sharp beneath skin that smelled faintly of rose.

I unbuttoned the blouse one button at a time, telling myself it was reconnaissance. A black lace bra cupped real breasts—no implants, just gravity-defying weight that shifted when I breathed. I both liked and hated how perfect they looked. Hated the way the lace rasped over my nipples already hard from the office AC. I brushed a thumb across one, just to test.

A bolt of electricity shot straight between my newly smooth thighs. I yanked my hand away as if burned.

“Just a biological response,” I murmured in the husky voice that still made me want to punch the mirror. “Nerves. Nothing more.”

I swallowed hard, as I unzipped the skirt and let it pool at my feet. The mirror delivered the rest: sheer black lace panties, a trimmed auburn landing strip visible beneath. Thigh-high stockings framed legs that looked a mile long. I turned sideways—ass round and high, the arch of a lower back that begged for a hand to press it down. I hated that the reflection looked like every fantasy I’d ever paid for.

Almost hesitant, I slid one hand down the flat plane of my stomach—still research, nothing more—and stopped at the lace edge. I didn’t go further. I couldn’t. But the heat was impossible for me to ignore. A single brush of my knuckles over the front and my hips rocked forward involuntarily. A soft sound escaped my painted lips, a mix of gasp and moan.

A low chuckle echoed in the room, as Zeta materialized behind me, without warning. Eyes sparkling with her usual sadistic delight.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I nearly shouted, half-shocked, half-embarrassed.

“Good idea, pet. Almost an hour until Ray expects you in the war room. Plenty of time to... get acquainted.”

Heat burned my cheeks, a feeling I hadn't known before. I spun from the mirror, and dragged the skirt back up with shaking fingers. My breasts bounced with the motion. The friction of the skirt rising up sent another pulse between my thighs. I buttoned the blouse with clumsy haste, and **** myself to walk to the desk, staring at Zeta with pure hatred.

Unbothered, Zeta continued to watch me with amusement.

I ignored her, yanked open the drawers, and started looking. Top left: Montblanc pens, business cards, USB sticks. Top right: a black satin sleep mask… and a sleek, rose-gold vibrator the length of my middle finger. It buzzed to life with a touch, low and evil. I dropped it like it burned.

A memory fragment flashed in my mind: I was sitting on this chair, legs spread, vibrator buzzing against my clit while I pinched a nipple hard, moaning quietly.

My body shuddered.

Zeta spoke with a velvet voice. “Janet’s ritual before big meetings. Stress relief and focus. 'It sharpens my edge every time,' she wrote in her Day One journal last Tuesday."

Her smile turned cruel, "You’re already wet, pet. Your body remembers what your mind is refusing. Probability you'll come in less than ten minutes: ninety-one percent.”

“Shut up,” I hissed, and turned my attention to Janet's laptop. Her password flashed in my mind before I could blink.

I opened the Calendar and looked at the rest of the week. Wednesday: Series B final review for Aurora at 10:00 a.m.; Team happy-hour; Drinks/Catch-up with Dr. Kira Voss (Aurora) at 8:00 p.m. Thursday: blocked all-day for “Aurora prep”. Friday: Series B Signing (Four Seasons) at 7:00 p.m.

Next I moved to Janet's inbox. Few unread emails stood out. One from Ray Carver: 'Quick sync after the war room today – my office'. Another from Kira Voss's assistant: 'Please confirm for tonight. Kira needs to go over the final details'. Yet another one from Legal: 'Urgent – liquidation pref language needs your eyes before Friday'.

Lastly, I opened Janet's phone and looked at the unread messages. Ray: 'Looking forward to celebrating properly Friday. Wear the black one I like.'; Dylan: 'Got fresh info on Ray you’ll need before Friday. Will explain over drinks @ The Upstairs. Red set optional'; Angel: 'You still owe me for the last time, gorgeous.'

I opened Dylan’s thread, and immediately wished I didn't. Six months of messages: flirty, transactional, filthy. Dylan leaking boardroom gossip; Janet sending hotel-room selfies in lingerie; voice notes that ended in breathy moans; secret meetings in hotels. A dick pick attached with Dylan's last message. I wished I could unsee.

Another memory fragment flashed: my body riding a young, athletic figure in bed, moaning loudly mid-orgasm.

I felt the echo of that orgasm now, heat radiating though my body—a heat that wasn't entirely disgusting.

Zeta floated closer. “Your new fuck-buddy gets very chatty when he’s about to come. According to her online journal, Janet and Dylan have a good thing going."

She continued, "in the original timeline: Janet signs the Series B Friday. Monday she’s escorted out by security. A week later… let's say the numbers don't look too good.”

My pulse hammered, hands shaking so hard the screen blurred. The room felt too small. I slammed the phone down on the table, got up and paced. The carpet was soft under my bare feet. This body was making me feel things I didn't want to feel.

Zeta watched, amused. “You have thirty-five minutes. You could prep for the meeting… or prep the body. Janet always chose the second. Higher close rate.”

My eyes flicked momentarily to the vibrator still lying in the drawer like a dare. “No,” I pushed back, but the word came out shaky, unconvincing. I went back to the laptop, and continued searching. Janet has been working on funding for Aurora. I started there.

Jackpot: Aurora–Series B–Final Deck. Hundreds of pages: cap tables, liquidation preferences-. Janet’s notes in the margins were sharp, ruthless. "This is brilliant work." The compliment slipped out before I could stop it.

I continued, happy to use my mind, instead of worrying about how this body was making me feel.

At nine forty-five, I got up and reflected on what I understood so far:

Aurora Health was Dr. Kira Voss’s baby: an AI platform that read subtle biomarkers from wearable data to flag cancers months before standard scans. Janet believed in the company's success, and had been shepherding the deal on behalf of Apex Ventures for nine months; closing this Series B on Friday would fast track her to be the youngest partner in Apex's history and cement Aurora as the firm’s flagship win. Ray Carver was the Senior VP and head of the health-tech practice; the only signature that could override Janet’s lead on the term sheet and the only partner senior enough to re-assign carry credit with a single board vote. If he claimed Aurora Health as “his” deal, Janet’s name would be scrubbed from the win and her partner vote delayed indefinitely.

I slipped the heels back on, and practiced few tight laps around the office. I smoothed the skirt one last time, tucked a strand of red hair behind an ear, the way Janet’s muscle memory suggested, and unlocked the door.

Fifty feet of open-plan office waited.

As I stepped out and started walking, my hips swayed and breasts bounced with every step, everything felt unnaturally natural. My nipples were hard under the lace and silk—maybe I should have used the vibrator—I pushed the thought out.

Zeta’s parting whisper followed me into the hallway. “Probability Ray notices those headlights the second you walk in: ninety-four per cent. He’ll think it’s for him.”

I ignored her, took one deep breath, and continued walking.

Showtime.