Professional Development

Morning had already gotten underway by the time Craig settled at his desk, the rhythm of the office humming around him in that low, steady way that made everything feel more official than it probably was. Once again, his new coworkers greeted him warmly as he walked to his workstation, thanking him for the cookies, asking if he was planning on making more. He just smiled as he passed, not answering the question they were asking, as he had no honest answer to give. The only thing sure about his new job, as far as he could tell, was the desk sitting outside of Daniel Mercer's office.

The glass surface that acted like a tabletop on Craig's desk still felt strange. Too clean. Too exposed.

Anyone walking by could see straight through it; see the way the paisley dress draped over his thighs, the line of his legs beneath sheer pantyhose, the careful way he kept his knees angled together without thinking about it. The beige bra underneath had been an experience, not just to select, but also to put on. He'd never worn anything like that before, and it had taken him a while to figure out how to fasten the clasps.

But they were necessary, apparently. Mandatory, if Daniel's "feedback" from the day before was to be taken seriously. And while Craig hated the very notion of wearing a bra, the fact was that this new job, with its elevated pay rate, was what he needed right then.

Craig shifted slightly in his chair, the movement subtle, controlled. Adjusting without drawing attention. It should have been a scandal. Having a former warehouse worker walk through the office in pantyhose and heels should have elicited laughter. Ridicule. But nobody batted an eye at his clothing. It was all seen as normal. That alone was unsettling.

There had been a note waiting for him on his desk when he arrived. A small square of paper placed neatly beside the keyboard, written in a tidy, looping script that definitely hadn't been his handwriting:

Nails first thing. -Daniel

That had been that. The other part of the workplace expectations that he hadn't met the previous day. The nail polish was still on his desk, still waiting for him to pick one. He stared at them, they stared back. He should have walked away. He should have argued that it wasn't in his contract. But he knew how powerful Eros' magic was, that the changes to reality would have taken all of his arguments and laughed them off.

So he'd done it.

The bottle of polish, baby blue, which he had thought would work with the blue in his dress, sat off to the side now, cap screwed back on tight. His fingers rested lightly against the desk as they dried, spread just enough to avoid smudging. The colour caught the light every time he moved, glossy and deliberate. The application had gone well. Better than well. It was as if he'd painted his nails a thousand times before, muscle memory well ingrained into every movement. But it wasn't his skill with the nail polish that was making him feel like he had a weight in his stomach.

It was another line crossed.

"Unreal," he muttered under his breath.

As if on cue, Daniel's door clicked open.

"Craig, got a minute?"

It wasn't as if he had anything else to do. Nobody had asked him to bake muffins. Nobody had asked him to get a stain out of their shirt. Craig stood, smoothing the front of his dress automatically before stepping into the office. Daniel Mercer looked exactly as he always did: polished, composed, like everything in his world made perfect sense.

"Do you mind closing the door?" Daniel said, already turning back toward his desk.

Craig did as instructed, pulse ticking up just slightly. Feedback again? Another correction? He'd worn a bra! He'd painted his nails! What could he have possibly done wrong now?

"Have a seat."

Craig sat carefully, posture straight, hands resting in his lap, baby blue nails catching his eye again.

Daniel didn't sit right away. Instead, he leaned back against the edge of his desk, arms loosely crossed.

"First off, I want to say I'm impressed," he began. "Very impressed. The feedback I'm getting from everyone? Overwhelmingly positive. You've made quite an impression in a very short time."

Craig blinked.

"Thank you," he said, because that was the correct response.

"And I mean that," Daniel continued. "Still in your first week and you're already integrating seamlessly. That's not something we see often."

A pause.

"And your nails look great," he smiled. "Not everyone can take constructive criticism and use it as a motivator to grow in their career."

Then a small, satisfied nod.

"Which is why I want to move you into the next phase of your professional development."

Craig hesitated.

"...Okay."

Daniel smiled.

"Dance lessons."

Silence.

Craig stared at him.

"Dance lessons?!" The words came out sharper than intended, edged with disbelief.

Daniel didn't even flinch.

"Every manager here participates in professional development," he said smoothly. "We identify gaps in experience and address them. It's part of what makes our leadership team so effective."

Craig blinked again, slower this time.

"I... don't see how..."

"You haven't taken dance lessons before, have you?"

"Well, no, but..."

"There we have it." Daniel's smile widened just slightly, like he'd proven a point. A click of the mouse punctuated the moment. "Gap identified. Solution implemented."

Craig opened his mouth. Closed it.

Daniel turned the monitor slightly, glancing at something on-screen.

"You're in luck, actually. There was an opening this morning. I've reserved you a spot."

"This morning?" Craig echoed.

"Mm-hm. You've got about an hour to get there." Daniel reached into his desk drawer, pulling out a set of keys and tossing them lightly across the desk.

Reflex took over. Craig caught them. A familiar logo stared back at him. Volkswagen.

"That car will be yours for as long as you're with the company," Daniel said, almost casually. "Perk of the position. This afternoon, swing by accounting. They'll set you up with a gas card and an expense card."

Craig stared at the keys. Then back at Daniel.

"Now," Daniel added, pushing off the desk, "I'd suggest you get moving. Wouldn't want you to be late for your first lesson. I've emailed you the address."

Just like that. Dismissed. Craig stood on autopilot, murmured something that might've been "thank you," and stepped back out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him.

A daze didn't quite cover it.

Dance lessons.

Cookies. Laundry. Nail polish. And now dancing.

"What is this job?" he muttered under his breath, tightening his grip on the keys.

Back at his desk, his purse was waiting. He grabbed it, slinging the strap over his shoulder in one smooth motion, then headed for the elevator without giving himself time to think too hard about any of it. Because thinking led to questions. And questions led nowhere good.

The parking lot stretched out in front of the building, packed with cars in neat, orderly rows. Craig stepped out into the open air, squinting slightly as he looked down at the keys again. He'd never owned a car before, and had definitely never had a position where he was given a company car. This was all new. Even though he'd had to give so much up, he had to admit that he was a little excited over the prospect of not having to take the bus in the morning, not having to ask Frank if he could borrow the car to go shopping. A company car would open the world up for him in a way it hadn't been before, despite the fact that he'd have to see that world wearing stilettos.

"Alright," he muttered. "Let's find you."

A press of the lock button. A faint beep answered from somewhere in the distance. Craig turned toward the sound, pressing it again. Beep. A few steps. Another press. Another beep. It felt ridiculous, wandering through the lot like he was playing Marco Polo with a car, but eventually, the sound guided him to the source.

And then he saw it.

Craig stopped dead.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Hot pink.

Not subtle. Not muted. Bright, unapologetic, impossible-to-ignore pink.

A Volkswagen Beetle sat backed into the space, headlights facing outward like it was staring him down. Someone, as if making a point about the current state of Craig's life, had added eyelashes to the headlights. Long, curved, unmistakably feminine.

It had a vanity plate that read:

GIRLIE

Craig just stood there for a moment, processing.

"Damnit," he said finally, the word heavy with resignation.

Of course this was his car. Of course it was.

Another press of the button unlocked the doors with a cheerful chirp that felt entirely too pleased with itself. Sliding into the driver's seat required a careful adjustment of his dress, smoothing the hem beneath him before settling in.

The interior matched. Pink accents. Pink charging cable. Even the steering wheel had detailing that leaned a little too far in one direction.

Craig exhaled slowly, pulling out his phone. The email from Daniel was easy enough to find. Address copied. GPS loaded. The screen lit up with directions almost immediately.

The car started with a soft hum. Music followed, something upbeat, pop-heavy, entirely not his taste. Craig reached out and shut it off without hesitation. Silence was better.

Driving, at least, made sense. He pulled out of the lot, following the GPS instructions as they guided him through familiar streets that suddenly felt a little less restrictive. And strangely enough, the heels weren't a problem. If anything, they felt right. Natural against the pedals, like his foot fit the angles better than it ever had in flat shoes.

"Okay, that's weird," he muttered.

Another thing for the list.

The drive passed quickly after that. Turn here. Merge there. Stoplights and intersections blending into one another until the GPS chimed softly.

"You have arrived."

Craig slowed, eyes scanning the street. Then he saw it.

The sign.

Bold lettering, stylized, impossible to miss.

Velvet Vertigo Pole & Fitness

Below it, a silhouette: female, inverted, suspended from a pole in a pose that left very little to the imagination.

Craig didn't move. Didn't even blink.

"This has got to be a joke," he said flatly.

The engine idled quietly as he stared at the building, brain trying and failing to reconcile professional development with pole dancing. An erotic dance studio. His hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel.

"This is my job now," he muttered.

A minute passed.

Then another.

The engine shut off. Silence rushed in. Craig sat there for a second longer, staring at the door, the sign, the silhouette. Then he glanced back down at the keys in his hand.

Company car. Triple salary. Bonuses. A future that, somehow, had cracked wide open in front of him.

A long breath in. Slow exhale out.

"Remember the paycheque," he told himself quietly.

The door opened. He stepped out, heels clicking against the pavement, dress shifting with the movement as he straightened. The building loomed ahead. And as Craig started toward it, one thought pressed harder than the rest:

There has to be a limit to this madness. This has to be the last of it.

...Right?