The Rules

Craig's new job didn't make any sense.

That was the first thought that settled in as the morning wore on, steady and persistent, like the faint hum of the office lights overhead. He'd been instructed that morning that his new workstation would be a band new desk. Glass. Sleek. Minimalist in a way that suggested importance without actually proving it. Positioned just outside Daniel Mercer's office, angled so that anyone walking past had a clear line of sight straight through it.

Straight through to him.

Or more specifically, straight through to the pencil skirt and sheer pantyhose that had somehow become his idea of 'dressing like a manager'.

Craig shifted slightly in the chair, the movement subtle, automatic. It didn't help. Of course it didn't. The desk didn't care about modesty. The desk cared about aesthetics. And apparently, so did the job. A job that, according to the contract currently sitting open on his computer screen, was supposed to be management.

Craig stared at the document again, scrolling slowly, eyes catching the same phrases they'd caught three times already.

• Leadership development.
• Workplace morale.
• Creating a comfortable and welcoming environment.
• Other duties as assigned.

A lot of words. A lot of nothing. Nothing about logistics. Nothing about operations. Nothing about anything that resembled the warehouse work he'd spent years learning inside and out. Still, every time someone passed his desk, they smiled.

"Morning, Craig."

"Looking sharp today."

"Is our newest manager settling in alright?"

Manager.

That was the word they kept using.

Manager.

Craig leaned back slightly in the chair, the fabric of his blouse shifting softly against his skin, and let out a slow breath. The pay stub sitting in his inbox made the confusion easier to swallow.

So. Much. Money.

It still didn't feel real. One day. That was all it had taken. One day to jump from barely scraping by to getting ahead. No, more than getting ahead. Something bigger. Enough that the number alone made his chest tighten every time he thought about it. Enough that it made everything else, all his changes, all the humiliation, negotiable. The amount of money that motivated him to stay flexible, to see how far it would go, and get paid handsomely to do it.

A quiet chime broke through his thoughts. Movement in the doorway behind him. Daniel Mercer leaned out of his office, phone pressed to one ear, hand braced against the frame.

"Everything good out here?" he asked, covering the receiver with his palm.

Craig turned slightly in his chair, offering a quick nod.

"Yeah, all good."

Daniel's gaze flicked down, briefly, toward the desk. Toward Craig. Something unreadable passed across his face, gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

"Good," he said. "I've got a call. Can you grab the phones for a bit?"

Craig hesitated for half a second, then nodded again.

"Yeah. I've got it."

"Perfect."

And just like that, the door closed. Craig stared at it for a beat. Then glanced at the phone on his desk.

"Of course," he muttered under his breath.

The next hour passed in a blur of ringing lines, polite greetings, and messages scribbled down in careful handwriting. Names. Extensions. Notes that felt important despite the fact that he had no real context for any of them. It wasn't hard work. It was just not his work. Or at least, not the work he thought he'd signed up for. Not a manager's work.

The thought lingered right up until someone leaned over the edge of his desk.

"Hey, Craig?"

He looked up. A woman from accounting, name somewhere on the edge of his memory, smiled down at him.

"Any chance you could make another batch of those cookies? The ones from yesterday? Everyone's been talking about them."

Craig blinked.

"Cookies."

"Please?" she added, hopeful. "I can get one of the junior girls to cover for you while you're baking."

A pause. Then a slow exhale.

"Yeah," he said. "Sure."

Because of course. Because why not. Because the money.

The apron tied neatly at his waist a few minutes later, soft fabric settling into place just like the previous day. Pink. Lace trim. It was amazing how quickly things that should have made him run away had become familiar, normalized.

Flour. Sugar. Mixing bowls. The process of baking also came easily. It wasn't just following the recipe, it was doing something he was getting good at.

Measure. Stir. Fold. Craig moved through it with a quiet efficiency, hands working while his mind drifted somewhere else entirely.

This isn't management. The thought circled, persistent. Cookies had nothing to do with running a warehouse, with logistics, with office work. The smell of baking cookies filled the oddly residential kitchen again, warm and inviting, wrapping around him in a way that felt almost domestic.

Craig frowned slightly, pushing the thought aside as he pulled the tray from the oven.

No. No, that wasn’t right. None of this was right.

And yet he was doing it.

Because the pay was fantastic.

---

It got worse after that. Or stranger. Possibly both.

"Craig, you free for a minute?"

The voice came from down the hall. Craig turned, spotting Steve Chalmers, one of the division directors he'd been introduced to that morning, standing a few doors down, waving him over.

"Yeah," Craig said, setting the tray aside. "What's up?"

Steve smiled.

"Need a hand with some folding."

Folding. Craig nodded slowly.

"Yeah, okay."

"Thanks Craig," Steve responded. "Good hustle. Management quality. Third door on the left."

Steve pointed down the hall to a closed door that had no indication what might be inside. The copier room made the most sense to Craig. Mail-outs. Paper. If Steve needed folding, it would be something like that. Instead, the door opened to something else entirely.

Craig stopped in the doorway. His jaw dropped.

Laundry.

A washer. A dryer. A folding table. A basket sitting empty off to the side. The space looked like it had been lifted straight out of a suburban home and dropped into the middle of the office without explanation.

Just like the kitchen.

"What the actual fuck..."

As if it was perfectly timed for his arrival, the dryer beeped, indicating that the cycle had completed. Craig closed his eyes for a second. Then opened them again.

Money.

Good money.

Very good money.

A quiet sigh slipped out as he stepped inside, grabbing the basket and pulling open the dryer door. Warm air spilled out. Clothes followed. Shirts. Socks. Underwear. Craig dumped the load onto the table and started folding.

One piece at a time.

Neat. Efficient.

Automatic.

"This is my life now," he murmured, folding a pair of Steve Chalmers' boxers with careful precision.

It didn't make sense. None of it did. How was folding one of his coworker's laundry get him a soulmate?

Only keeping his mind focussed on the paycheque kept him from feeling the despair that threatened to overwhelm him. Not having to worry about making rent, being able to pay off debt, having a little extra spending money on the side would help smooth over any bad feelings, any sense of losing control.

Eventually.

Probably.

Hopefully.

The basket filled. Delivery came next. Steve Chalmers took it with an easy smile, nodding in approval.

"Appreciate it, Craig. You're fitting in really well."

Fitting in. Craig **** a small smile.

"Thanks."

"Seriously," Steve added. "Great addition to the team."

Craig nodded again. Of course he was.

He made cookies. He answered phones. He folded laundry.

Management.

---

By the time late afternoon rolled around, the pattern had fully set: Phones. Tidying. Errands. A constant stream of small, domestic tasks dressed up in corporate language.

Creating a comfortable workplace.

Supporting the team.

Other duties as assigned.

Craig sat back down at his desk, the glass surface reflecting a faint, distorted version of himself as he stared at the screen.

Manager.

Right.

A soft buzz from the intercom broke the quiet.

"Craig? Can you step into my office for a minute?"

Craig stood, smoothing the front of his skirt without thinking, and stepped inside. Daniel sat behind his desk, posture relaxed, hands folded loosely in front of him.

"Close the door."

Craig did.

"Have a seat."

Craig settled into the comfortable chair, waiting. Daniel smiled.

"I just wanted to check in. Give you a bit of feedback."

"Okay."

"First off," Daniel said, leaning back slightly, "you've been doing great. Seriously. The feedback I'm getting from everyone has been overwhelmingly positive."

A small pause.

"Second day in the role, and you're already making an impact. That's not something we see very often."

Something in Craig's chest lifted. Despite everything. Despite the fact that he'd spent the day, as far as he could tell, mostly just performing domestic duties.

"Thanks," he said.

Daniel nodded.

"Keep this up, and we’re going to be talking about your next promotion by the end of the quarter."

"That fast?"

Daniel shrugged lightly.

"For the right person? Yeah."

The right person. Craig had never been considered the right person before. Was this it? Was Eros changing how people saw him? Would that lead him to his soulmate? But why make him dress like a woman to do it?

"Thank you," Craig said. "I appreciate the opportunity."

"You've earned it," Daniel replied easily.

A beat.

Then Daniel shifted slightly, expression tightening just a fraction.

"That said... there are a couple of things we should fine-tune."

Craig straightened, eager to hear how he could do his job better. Maybe this was the moment where he was shown the actual managerial duties he was supposed to be performing.

"Okay."

Daniel hesitated, obviously uncomfortable with what he was about to say.

"Honestly, I almost didn't bring this up. Everything else has been so strong."

Craig waited.

"Your desk time," Daniel said. "You had quite a bit of it today."

Craig nodded slowly.

"I guess, yeah."

"And during that time..." Daniel gestured vaguely toward the outer office. "You didn't do your nails."

Craig blinked.

"I... what?"

Daniel's expression didn't change.

"I noticed. There were a few windows where things were quiet. Obviously, that's part of your role too. I mentioned that, didn't I?"

A pause.

"At first I was wondering if we hadn't equipped you, if we hadn't gotten you the office supplies that you needed. But I checked, and there are three bottles on your desk, all unopened. Let me know if you'd like other colours, or if there's something else holding you back. If you're going to take full advantage of this opportunity, you need to stay focused. Not just on tasks, but on the whole picture."

Craig stared at him.

"Right," he said faintly.

"Tomorrow," Daniel continued, "start with that. First thing."

Craig nodded slowly, not believing what he was hearing. Because what else was he going to do?

"First thing."

"Good."

Another pause.

Then Daniel shifted again, this time even more awkwardly.

"There's... one other thing."

Craig braced himself.

Daniel winced slightly.

"And I hate to even ask this, given how well everything else has gone, but..."

A breath.

"Are you wearing a bra?"

Craig froze.

"No," he said immediately. "Of course not."

The image of the drawer back home flashed through his mind. Lace. Rows of it.

Daniel stared at him. Genuinely shocked.

"Craig."

The tone changed.

"I thought you had better judgment than that."

Craig opened his mouth. Closed it.

"The HR department is pretty relaxed here," Daniel went on, shaking his head slightly, "but not that relaxed. You need to be wearing one. That's part of the dress code."

Silence.

"No bra, no work."

The words landed hard.

Flat.

Final.

Craig sat there, trying to process it. Dress code? Since when?

Then it hit him.

Since Eros decided to get involved.

The number on that pay stub flickered through his mind again. So. Much. Money. Craig **** a smile.

"Got it," he said. "I'll fix that. I don't know what I was thinking. Sorry."

Daniel nodded, satisfied.

"Good. Like I said, everything else has been excellent. You're on a great track here."

Craig stood, smoothing his skirt again out of habit.

"Thank you," he said. "For the feedback. And the opportunity."

"And Craig?"

He paused at the door.

"Don't waste it."

Craig nodded.

"I won't."

---

Sitting at his desk after thanking Daniel for the feedback, the office felt quieter. Heavier. The rules of his new life had begun to become clearer. Or maybe just stranger.

Craig stared at the screen without really seeing it. Fast track. Shortcut. Opportunity. All of it laid out in front of him.

The only question was the cost.

And how much of himself he was willing to pay.