Employee of the Day

Craig knew something was different the moment he walked into the office.

The balloons came first.

Then the streamers.

By the time he had made it ten steps inside, Craig had the distinct impression that someone had raided a party-supply store, emptied the contents onto the floor, and told the staff to decorate until there was no beige left. Bright paper banners hung from the ceiling. Clusters of balloons floated above the cubicles. Fairy lights had been draped around partitions and doorways, their tiny bulbs twinkling despite the harsh fluorescent lighting overhead. Colourful signs had been taped to walls, desks and glass partitions.

One of them caught his eye as he walked past.

HAPPY CRAIG DAY!

Craig stopped for half a second.

Then kept walking.

"Shit."

The word came out under his breath, slipping past his painted lips before he knew he wanted to say it.

Yesterday had been the fashion show. Yesterday had been hundreds, maybe thousands, of revealing outfits and an audience that had treated every single one as a triumph. Yesterday had been Euphrosyne's day.

Today belonged to Thalia. She'd promised him a special blessing if he'd gotten to work quickly, which he had. Not because he'd wanted to be obedient to the goddess, but because his morning routine had become so easy that he didn't have to think about it. A quick shower, ensuring to shave his body hair, followed by moisturising. Picking clothes was as automatic as shaving. Part of him wanted to cover up, to find something as masculine as possible, but a larger part, the part that won, couldn't resist the flirty red pleated skirt, the tight black long-sleeve top, and the knee-high boots. Makeup, perfume, and earrings were all one before he even thought about what the next step was.

Thalia had a bagel and coffee waiting for him when he appeared in the kitchen, handing him the small black clutch and hurrying him out the door to his pink work car. It was only there, sitting in the driver's seat, keys in the ignition, that he fully realised how efficient his new morning routine was. Whatever these immortals were doing to him, he could now get completely ready, walk out the door looking like a fashion model, quicker than he ever could in his old life as a warehouse worker.

Craig tightened his grip on the strap of his purse and kept moving.

A few days ago, Craig would have been horrified to find himself dressed like this at work. Now it barely registered. If he were being honest with himself, he'd started to appreciate how the clothes felt on his body, how they moved, how he looked. Not that he didn't want to go back to his old life. He would trade anything for that. But there was no point in torturing himself, pretending the clothes didn't feel good. Besides, everyone in that building had seen him in far more compromising outfits than the one he had on that morning. Why feel ashamed?

His desk should have been just around the next corner, positioned neatly outside Daniel Mercer's office.

Craig rounded the corner.

His eyes widened.

An eruption of applause overwhelmed him. Every employee in the company seemed to be standing in the corridor. The crowd stretched from one wall to the other, packed around the space where his desk should have been. People were clapping, cheering and smiling at him with such enthusiasm that Craig instinctively looked behind himself.

Maybe they were waiting for somebody else.

No one was there.

Daniel Mercer stepped forward from the centre of the crowd.

"Happy Craig Day!"

The applause became louder. Craig stopped walking.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

Daniel laughed and spread his arms as though welcoming a celebrity onto a stage.

"Craig! There he is! The man of the hour!"

A few people whistled. Someone shouted his name. Daniel reached him and rested both hands on Craig's shoulders.

"You were so generous with us yesterday that we figured recognising your contributions to the company today was the least we could do."

"Contributions?"

"Don't be modest," Daniel beamed. "Your work in the warehouse yesterday morning was exemplary. I was fielding emails from shareholders all night talking about how impressed they were. They were asking why you've been kept out of the spotlight for so long. They want to see you moving up the ladder, Craig. They want more investment. More growth."

Craig stared at him.

"Right."

"You're a superstar."

The crowd applauded again. Craig felt heat creep into his face. He remembered the runway. The lights. The racks of clothes. The hundreds of outfits. The ridiculous poses his body had somehow known how to perform. The way people had cheered. At the time, he'd felt as though he were standing naked in the middle of the warehouse, even though he had technically been dressed the entire time. Now those same people were looking at him with open admiration.

No one seemed embarrassed for him. No one seemed to think there was anything humiliating about what had happened. The thought created a strange split inside him. One part of Craig wanted to scream that none of it had been his idea. Another part wondered whether life would be easier if he stopped thinking of it that way.

What would happen if he started seeing things from their perspective?

He was already coming to terms with the fact that wearing the feminine clothes in his closet were normal, nothing to be ashamed of. If hundreds of people thought the fashion show had been his greatest contribution yet, maybe fighting their perception was like trying to argue with gravity. Maybe, just like his own wardrobe, there was no point in insisting that something was humiliating when everyone around him had already decided it was glorious.

The idea made his stomach turn.

Accepting it would be easier. But accepting it would also mean giving up. A memory of himself from before Eros surfaced in his mind. Normal clothes. Normal work. Normal problems. He could barely picture the man. Daniel clapped him lightly on the shoulder.

"So we decided, all of us, that today was going to be Craig Day," Daniel said as the crowd cheered again. "No more boring management tasks. No cookies. No laundry. No fixing my wardrobe malfunctions."

Craig blushed furiously at the memory of kneeling down at Daniel's feet when his boss had ripped a seam in his pants.

"Today is all about you enjoying yourself. And to start..."

Daniel stepped aside. The crowd parted. Craig stared.

His glass-topped desk was gone. In its place stood an upscale salon chair, gleaming beneath the office lights. Beside it was a wheeled cart loaded with hair products, brushes, scissors, styling tools and bottles Craig didn't recognise. A large mirror had been set up behind the chair, mounted above an elegant vanity covered in cosmetics. It looked like an expensive salon had somehow been dropped into the middle of the office.

Daniel spread his hands.

"...you're having a full salon treatment. On us, of course!"

Craig stared at the chair. Then at Daniel. Then back at the chair.

"You've got to be joking."

"This is Gerald," Daniel said as a man stepped out from beside the vanity. He was probably in his forties, immaculately groomed, with dark hair combed neatly back and a suit that looked expensive without trying to advertise the fact. His expression was pleasant, professional and completely free of the amusement Craig might have expected from someone looking at a man dressed like this. "Gerald has come highly recommended by the women here. He's going to take excellent care of you today."

"Enchantée," Gerald said with a closed-mouth smile, one hand resting lightly on the back of the chair. "Now, if you'll have a seat, and if the crowd would give us a little space, we can get started."

Craig looked at the chair. The chair looked back in the only way a pink salon chair could.

"I'm not sure I really want..."

"Nonsense, Craig."

Daniel slipped an arm around his shoulders. The gesture would have been friendly under normal circumstances. Instead, it felt like being gently guided toward a trap.

"Our pleasure is to take care of you for once, after you've been taking care of us so well."

Craig resisted for perhaps half a second. Daniel kept walking, pushing him toward the chair.

"Please," he said, his voice becoming almost imploring. "I know you don't need it. But let us do this for you."

Craig sat. The chair was ridiculously comfortable. He wished that it wasn't.

Daniel crouched slightly so that they were at eye level. There was something almost pleading in his expression. Craig looked past him. The employees gathered around them wore the same eager expressions.

Excited.

Hopeful.

Expectant.

Something about their faces bothered him. This wasn't simply enthusiasm. These people needed this to happen. Craig could feel it. Whatever Thalia had done, it had gone deeper than hanging balloons and replacing his desk. Her influence seemed to have settled inside everyone like a pressure they couldn't quite explain. They weren't merely interested in giving him something nice. They needed to see it happen. They needed him to accept it. They needed to believe that taking care of Craig was somehow essential.

The intensity made his skin prickle. He'd experienced enough situations over the past few days to recognise when a normal choice stopped being normal. Safety had become a strange calculation. Do what you want, and someone might become upset. Refuse, and you might discover what a magical goddess could do when denied.

There was no guarantee either way. But one option at least had the advantage of keeping everyone calm. And when desperate people were involved, keeping everyone calm sounded like the smartest move available.

Craig looked back at Daniel. The man was still waiting. Craig forced his mouth into something resembling a smile.

"Okay."

Daniel's face brightened immediately.

"Really?"

"Let's do it."

The reaction was instant. Another eruption of applause filled the office. People cheered. For one brief moment, Craig wondered whether he'd just agreed to something far more significant than a haircut.

Then the crowd began to disperse. That was just as strange as anything else that morning. Within seconds, employees were returning to their desks, gathering their things and drifting back into the office. Their expressions remained delighted, but the frantic need he'd sensed before was already easing now that he'd agreed.

"You're going to love this," Daniel said as he gave Craig's shoulder one final squeeze. Then he walked away, crossed to his office, and closed the door behind him.

Craig sat alone in the salon chair.

Gerald remained beside him.

The office slowly returned to something resembling normal, except for the balloons, streamers, fairy lights and giant HAPPY CRAIG DAY! signs still hanging everywhere.

Craig stared at himself in the mirror. He looked polished. Put together. Confident, if somebody didn't know better.

Craig knew better.

Gerald picked up a brush.

"Shall we begin?"

Craig looked at the reflection of the man sitting in the chair. Yesterday he'd been a model. Today he was apparently a makeover. Tomorrow would presumably involve something else. The pattern was becoming obvious. His life had become a series of things being done to him, followed by everyone else applauding once he'd stopped resisting.

Craig swallowed.

"Yeah."

The word sounded small in the enormous salon chair.

"Let's get it over with."