Nobody, for a while.

You've run reception before. Most days there's no need for a receptionist but any time your firm is interviewing potential new hires or hosting investors the job falls to you, as the lowest-ranking person in the building. In the six long weeks you've been on this temp assignment, you've been the friendly face of the company several times.

But this morning, the usual flow of employees through the door is gone. With the world in chaos, who in their right mind would just roll up their sleeves and go to their office job?

Occasionally, you hear the rumbling of your own voice from within Georgia's office. The tone is sharp and urgent, Georgia's signature style. She's such a contrast to you, and now that she's in your body without missing a beat, you're **** to consider that it's simply an immutable character trait.

She's a winner. She'll always be a winner.

You, on the other hand... are sitting alone in an empty hallway while Georgia and his engineers discuss the important things. It was nothing new, but for some reason because Georgia is now leading the charge in your body, it feels very personal.

With a sigh as you ponder the entirely uninspiring life you've led, you lean back and slouch down into your chair. Your skirt and stockings, however, are much more slick than the trousers you're used to. You're still not entirely accustomed to your body and the stiletto heels you're wearing, either, so you're unable to stop yourself as you fall off the chair, which wheels away from you as you land on your ass.

"Perfect. That's just perfect."

But despite yourself, you can't help but find amusement at your reflection in a nearby mirror. Georgia, sitting on the floor like a child, skirt hiked up enough to show the tops of her stockings. It was a far cry from the usual look of the powerful woman you know her to be. She looks silly, almost incompetent.

But your brain understands how reflections work. That's you. You're the silly, incompetent woman.

With difficulty, you manage to get your feet under you despite the stiletto heels, but it requires you you first get on hands and knees and then carefully shift to your feet while clinging to the side of the desk. You feel ridiculous. But as you move your new body through various positions, you catch sight of your reflection again, and this time you really look.

You are sexy as hell. Every line of your body is toned and sculpted. Your eyes travel up the line of your calf and thigh as you stand, smoothing your skirt over your hips. You stare at your reflection, hands rising to your trim waist. Tilting your head and turning slightly to admire yourself, you feel a strange sense of pride. As a man you'd kept in good shape, but this was somehow different.

You tug on the tank top under your blouse to show an extra centimeter of cleavage. Your cleavage, you decide with no small amount of satisfaction. Being sexy is a brand new concept for you, and already you find you like the way it feels. Intrigued, you pull the tank top down another bit, enjoying the sight of the now-generous amount of flesh on display.

A man enters the building and strides confidently towards you. You don't know him but you're sure you've seen him somewhere before. A clean-cut man in his forties, he's clearly a no-nonsense business-type, like Georgia. Crisp suit, expensive but not extravagant. It's his eyes; that piercing gaze that calculates the value and utility of everything it touches.

Embarrassed, you spin to face him, hoping he didn't see you ogling yourself in the mirror. "Good morning, sir. What can I do for you?"

Several inches taller than you are, the man looks down at you, pinning you to the floor with that gaze. Your eyes shy away after a moment and your hands fidget slightly.

"You're not Georgia Valentina." He said simply. His eyes moved down your body for a moment, weighing you. Being subordinate to successful people is nothing new. Always being seen as less-than. A no-talent grunt who handles menial tasks. What is new, is the unmistakable sexual undertone to the process. He's superior to you, and he knows it. What's more, he knows you know it.

Finally, he speaks again, his tone very slightly amused. "Well, not-Georgia. My name is Frank Hall. I'm here for the product launch. Is Georgia... prepared?"

Frank Hall. Your heart races. He's a massive investor. It's critical to the success of the whole company that he is pleased with today's demonstration. Georgia would literally **** you if you offend him. Every instinct you have kicks into gear and you find yourself bowing slightly before the man.

"Of course! Yes, sir. Despite this morning's events, Georgia has everything under control. Mr. Hall, please let me show you to the conference room and get you settled in. Would you like something to drink?"

You lead him to the conference room, feeling his eyes on you with every step.