Dinner Down to Size, Chapters 1-5

Author’s Note: This story is written by NiceGent42; you can find the original work on his DeviantArt. This is simply an edited version, commissioned by him, cross-posted to my website!

Chapter One

The lighting in the executive restroom was clinical and unforgiving, exactly how Sabrina Halloway preferred it. She stood on a custom wooden riser she had installed beneath the vanity, allowing her four foot eleven frame to meet the mirror at a commanding height.

She adjusted the lapels of her bespoke charcoal pinstripe blazer. It was a masterpiece of Italian tailoring, costing more than most of her employees earned in a quarter. The shoulder pads were reinforced with internal structured mesh to create a formidable, sharp silhouette that defied her natural daintiness. Beneath the blazer, her silk bold blue blouse draped over a high-end padded bra. It was a sophisticated piece of engineering designed to take her almost non-existent bust and transform it into a generous and firm C-cup. She leaned into the mirror, checking the cleavage. It provided the curves and presence of a fully developed, sexually appealing woman, a necessary distraction to hide the deep insecurities she felt regarding her diminutive frame.

Her makeup was a weapon of its own. She had spent an hour on the contouring, using deep bronzers to carve out high, predatory cheekbones and a jawline that looked like it could cut glass. A bold, Power Red lipstick defined her mouth, lending her an air of maturity. Between the makeup and the artificial curves, she looked every bit the twenty-five-year-old titan of industry others perceived her as.

She stepped off the riser and her feet landed with a sharp, lethal sound. She wore a pair of glossy black Christian Louboutin pumps, the iconic red-lacquered soles flashing with every movement. The five-inch stilettos were a strategic choice; they naturally caused her back to arch and her chest to push forward, dramatically enhancing the curve of her legs and the lift of her rear end at the same time.

"Perfect," she whispered to her reflection.

She exited the restroom and headed toward the executive wing. As she approached the boardroom, the massive glass sliding doors detected her presence. They hissed open with silent, pneumatic precision, retreating as if they were afraid to stand in her way.

Inside, Julian Vance, the CEO, sat at the head of the table. A broad shouldered man standing just over six foot two, who rounded it to the next inch to further boost his image of old-money stability. To his right stood Elena Thorne. Elena was naturally tall for a woman, at five foot ten, and stood as a statuesque contrast to her boss. Today she was dressed in a high-waisted, tight pencil skirt and a silk blouse that emphasized her long, elegant lines. She stood in three-inch heels that put her eye-to-eye with the CEO of Aegis Strategic Logistics.

"Good morning, Sabrina," Elena said, her voice smooth, "I've laid out the preliminary Singapore reports for you."

Sabrina stopped dead. The clicking of her red-soled heels ceased. She turned her head slowly, looking up at her assistant from beneath her blunt-cut bangs.

"It is Director Halloway, Elena. We have discussed this," Sabrina said, her voice dropping into a dangerous register, "The fact that you handle my scheduling does not grant you the privilege of using my given name. You are my assistant manager, not my sorority sister. Correct yourself."

Elena’s emerald eyes flickered before she bowed her head slightly. "Of course. My apologies, Director Halloway."

"See that it doesn't happen again," Sabrina snapped. She turned to the table. "The Singapore congestion is not a variable, Julian. It is an excuse for people who do not know how to lean on a port authority."

Sabrina said this referring to a specific logistics bottleneck the company’s leader had mentioned in an email before the meeting. She tossed a leather-bound folder onto the table in front of her assistant manager, expecting her to open it to take meeting minutes like she had been told to do so many times in the past. As she moved to the front of the room, she hit the first obstacle of her day.

The Jurong Terminal expansion maps were stored in heavy rolls on a shelf nearly seven feet off the ground. Sabrina stopped at the base of the shelving unit. She reached up as far as she could, her back arching and her five-inch heels straining, but her fingertips were still nearly two feet short of the shelf. Even on her tiptoes, she looked like a child reaching for a cookie jar.

She felt Julian’s eyes on her back. The silence in the room stretched. She hated this, the moment where her expensive tailoring and high heels were proven insufficient against the simple reality of a high shelf.

"Elena," Sabrina barked, her voice sharp to cover her embarrassment. She did not turn around. "The physical maps. Now. My arms are not six feet long and I am not paying you to stand there looking like a decorative pillar."

Elena Thorne stepped forward. Not saying a word, just moving to assist her height-challenged supervisor. She moved easily with the effortless grace she had learned from years learning ballet as a child. The dark haired young woman’s tall frame made it easy to reach up to what was needed. Her long, slender arm extended easily, her fingers closing around the heavy map rolls. Elena didn't even have to stand on her toes; she simply plucked the maps from the shelf as if they were feathers.

"Thank you, Elena," Julian murmured.

"She is a giraffe, Julian. She is tall, slow, and occupies too much oxygen," Sabrina dismissed, trying to reclaim the room's attention as she scurried to the map board, "She is here to reach the high shelves and stay out of the way of the actual thinking. The poor woman is of great help, but has several limitations."

As Elena reached up to clip the five-foot-wide map to the high molding of the boardroom wall, her tall presence boosted by her heels, she completely eclipsed the blonde Director of her department. Sabrina shoved her aside with a sharp elbow the moment the map was secure, or at least the shove with her elbow had her employee know it was time to move.

"Careful, Thorne. You are blocking the light. Why don't you go find that vintage scotch Mr. Vance likes? Consider it a warm-up for the Sterling Gala tomorrow."

Julian smiled at Elena with a look of genuine appreciation that Sabrina completely missed. "That would be great, Elena. Thank you." Julian’s smile lingered on Elena for a second longer than necessary before he turned his attention back to the table.

Sabrina, however, remained vibrating with a restless, sharp energy. She turned away from the Jurong maps, her Louboutins clicking with renewed dominance as she returned to her seat. "Moving on," Sabrina said, her voice cutting through the brief moment of professional warmth, "Accounting. I assume you are all listening."

The 360-degree camera in the center of the mahogany table hummed, its green light indicating the live conference feed to the remote offices. A crackling, disembodied voice responded from the ceiling speakers.

"We are clear, Director Halloway. We have the Singapore berth overheads pulled up, but we are concerned about the public relations side of the separate Sterling acquisition. The community outreach for the Sterling projects hasn't been this sensitive in years, and Mr. Sterling himself has been . . . difficult. He is very protective of his reputation, especially given his status as the owner and benefactor of Blackwood Academy."

Julian Vance leaned forward, his broad shoulders casting a shadow across the table. "Which brings us to the charity gala tomorrow night. The Singapore project is our operational priority, but the Sterling merger is our reputational one. This gala is a mandatory event. Mr. Sterling is old-school; he values corporate synergy and the kind of rigid discipline he enforces at Blackwood. He has set a specific theme for this event communicated via the memo sent to all executives this morning to ensure his partners are actually paying attention to his directives. If we show up looking like we didn't read his memo, it looks like we won't listen to his shipping mandates, either."

Julian looked directly at Sabrina. "Director, have you reviewed the memo's thematic requirements?"

Sabrina rolled her eyes, her blunt bangs swaying. "Julian, please. I have handled billionaires before. They want results, not a fashion show. I am sure whatever little theme Mr. Sterling has dreamed up is just a way for him to feel in control while we finalize the merger. I don't have time to read memos about dress codes and party favors while I'm fixing the Jurong bottleneck. Elena, for all her shortcomings, is more than capable of handling such details."

"This billionaire wants both," Julian countered, his voice firm, "The memo isn't a suggestion; it’s a test of compliance. Elena, you’ve been handling the gala correspondence. Are we set?"

Elena, who had just set the vintage scotch beside Julian, paused. She looked at Sabrina’s back, her expression a mask of perfect, icy compliance.

"The Director has entrusted the entire execution of the theme to me, Mr. Vance," Elena said, her voice smooth, "She felt that her time was better spent on the logistics papers than on reading Mr. Sterling's specific requirements. I have assured her that I will handle every detail of her wardrobe to match the theme perfectly."

Sabrina waved a dismissive hand, not even looking back at her assistant. "Exactly. That is what I have Thorne for. Elena knows I need to look like I'm in charge. Just make sure my car is ready by six tomorrow, Thorne. And make sure the outfit is pressed; I don't want to see a single wrinkle."

"Of course, Director," Elena replied, her emerald eyes catching the light with a glint of hidden intent, "I will ensure that every detail of your appearance tomorrow night is exactly what Mr. Sterling's memo calls for."

Julian nodded, satisfied. "Good. If the Director is confident in delegating the details, so am I. Meeting adjourned."

As the conference call disconnected with a digital chirp and the board members logged off, Sabrina felt a surge of triumph. She had dominated the meeting and Julian was clearly impressed by her maps. She had successfully offloaded the "minor" work of reading the client's memo to her assistant, never realizing she had just signed off on her own fall.

She did not notice the way Elena’s eyes lingered on the red soles of the Louboutins one last time before the glass doors hissed shut. Elena wasn't just coordinating a theme; she was coordinating the total erasure of the arrogant and abusive "Director Halloway."

Chapter Two

The sun dipped behind the skyscrapers of the city, casting long, needle-like shadows across the open-plan floor of Aegis Strategic Logistics. The glass sliding doors to the executive wing hissed shut as the last of the junior analysts headed for the elevators, leaving the floor in a heavy, expectant silence.

In her cubicle, Elena Thorne stared at her dual monitors. On the left was the original PDF from the Sterling Foundation.

Official Correspondence: The Sterling Foundation Re: Annual Charity Gala – "The Future of Our Youth"

Dress Code: Strict Black Tie. Mandate: Mr. Sterling expects all guests to reflect professional decorum. Any deviation from dignified formal wear will be viewed as a lack of respect for the children we serve.

Elena shifted her gaze to the right monitor. She had drafted a "Special Directorate Directive" that framed the "Child-to-CEO" theme as a secret, high-level test for the acquisition partners. She hit 'Print' just as the heavy oak door of the corner office swung open.

Sabrina Halloway marched out, her red-soled Louboutins snapping against the floor. She was already shrug-loading herself into a silk trench coat. "Thorne, I’m out. If Singapore calls, tell them I’m unavailable until I’ve had a martini."

"Director," Elena said, standing up and towering over her. "I’ve finalized the strategy for the Sterling Gala. Julian and the 'normal' guests, myself included, will be following the standard Black Tie memo. But for leadership, I’ve secured the 'Child-to-CEO' memo on the gala theme."

Sabrina stopped, snatching the paper. "Child-to-CEO? Speak clearly."

"Because you aren't a 'normal' guest, Director," Elena said, her voice a low purr, "The standard Black Tie is for the rank-and-file. But Mr. Sterling wants his potential merger partners to demonstrate the full cycle of growth of those who succeed, or some such nonsense."

Sabrina began to read the falsified brief, her blue eyes scanning the corporate jargon about "disruptive aesthetics" and "narrative evolution." She smirked. "Child-to-CEO. It’s a total power play to see if we will follow his insane directives. Julian was insistent on us following this man's insanity, I guess, but I can't imagine him following through himself." Sabrina still used her superior’s first name while she insisted others address her more professionally.

"Exactly," Elena said, "I know how busy you are, and you did ask me to handle things. So I used your measurements to prepare something for you back at my place. My house in the suburbs is actually much closer to the gala venue than your penthouse."

Sabrina paused, considering the commute.

"More importantly, Director," Elena added with a helpful smile, "I’ll be driving us both to the gala and back to my place afterward. You won't need to worry about driving or an Uber. You can fully participate in the charity's champagne toasts and celebrate the merger without having to keep a clear head for the logistics. I'll be your designated driver for the entire evening."

Sabrina felt the rush of being pampered while making a high-stakes move. To her, it sounded like the giraffe was finally earning her paycheck. Ultimate executive perk: a personal driver and a secret wardrobe. "Closer to the venue and I can actually enjoy the bar? That's efficient, Thorne. I like it."

"It’s about making sure you can focus entirely on 'our client' and the networking," Elena promised, her emerald eyes glinting.

Sabrina tapped the paper against her chin. "Fine. I’ll drive to your house at six tomorrow. But Thorne," she jabbed a finger toward Elena’s chest, "This pivot better be flawless. I don't want you screwing things up."

"Oh, ma’am, you always succeed at what you do. I have no doubt tomorrow will be the same," Elena promised.

Sabrina tucked the falsified memo into her designer bag, her mind already racing with images of Julian’s face when she unveiled herself actually following the eccentric millionaire request, showing she was a true team player. "Good. Have your guest room ready, I'm not going to change in your bathroom. I need my space if I have to slum it by getting ready at your place. I expect a high level of service if I’m venturing into the suburbs."

"Everything will be prepared, Sabrina," Elena replied, her voice a model of icy professional grace.

Sabrina turned a glare to the taller woman, “We talked about this. Just because I'm going to use our place to get changed doesn’t mean we are friends.” she said before moving toward the elevator, the sharp clack-clack-clack of her heels echoing through the empty executive wing. Elena watched her go, the green light of the computer monitors reflecting in her eyes like a predator in the tall grass. “My mistake, Director Halloway,” she said to herself. Reaching out and hitting 'Delete' on the file she had just printed. There was no "Child-to-CEO" on any server at Aegis. There was only the lie Sabrina was now carrying home in her purse.

"Tomorrow, the world will meet little Rina," Elena whispered to the empty office. "This giraffe stops reaching things for you."

Chapter Three

The drive to Elena’s home the following evening was a blur of irritation for Sabrina. Her GPS struggled with the winding, tree-lined roads of the suburbs, a far cry from the predictable grid of the city's financial district. When she finally pulled her sleek sedan into Elena’s driveway just past six o'clock, she felt like she had traveled to a different century.

She didn't knock. She simply pushed the door open, as if asking to enter or waiting for the door to be answered was beneath her, Sabrina’s five-inch heels clicking aggressively against the hardwood floor of the foyer. She looked frayed; her normally pristine blonde hair was slightly wind-blown, and her bold red lipstick had faded after a day of shouting at logistics managers. She was also a bit agitated after slamming back one espresso after another.

"Finally," Sabrina groaned, dropping her heavy designer handbag onto the kitchen island with a thud that echoed through the quiet house. "Thorne! Tell me that champagne is open or at least you have something stronger. If I have to look at another throughput chart before I get a drink, I’m going to fire someone."

Elena walked calmly into the kitchen from the hallway, still adjusting a heavy silver earring. She had a sour expression on her face at the fact that her boss had barged into her home, without so much as a single knock.The fact the shorter woman then was yelling about a drink, like she was her servant, didn't help her mood.

In the vaulted ceilinged suburban space, Elena’s tall frame, even currently without footwear, was eye-catching. She was dressed in a floor-length midnight-black silk slim cut fitted gown that pooled slightly at her bare feet. The fabric was heavy and matte, draped with a precision that emphasized the long, athletic line of her torso and the steady, dancer-trained poise of her shoulders. Her raven-black hair pulled back into a mirror-shine chignon updo at the nape of her neck, so tight and perfect it seemed sculpted from obsidian.

Elena had already done her makeup for the event, mostly, going with a shadowed dark look for eyeshadow with a silver highlight, her lashes elongated from mascara, her expression one of annoyance, but no open hospitality. "Sabrina, welcome to my home," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "Why don’t you come in and make yourself at home"

Sabrina’s blue eyes narrowed into a sharp glare. The use of her first name again, the lack of a ‘ma'am’ or ‘Director’ hit her from the complete lack of respect. "I don’t appreciate the snark, and you know the proper way to address me, Thorne," she snapped, her voice trembling with the irritation of being ignored and the fact that Elena hadn't even reached for the bottle yet.

Elena didn't flinch. She simply finished securing her earring and finally reached for a crystal flute of a vintage Krug that she had been actually saving for a special occasion; she figured the beginning of the fall of the vertically challenged witch was good as any, knowing her boss was terrible at holding her liquor. Sabrina often ended up getting tipsy off a single glass of wine, from Elena’s experience. "My mistake, Director Halloway. Here, drink. It seems like you’ve had a long day.” Internally, she continued, ‘And tonight’s plans require you to be a bit more . . . pliable.’

Sabrina snatched the glass, taking a long, desperate gulp. The alcohol hit her stomach like a warm wave, its only other contents for the day being coffee. For a moment, her eyes darted over Elena’s gown with a flicker of unbridled jealousy. The giraffe was barefoot, yet she easily towered over Sabrina and was dressed to catch everyone’s eye with the formfitting attire. Elena looked good, really good, and Sabrina hated her for it.

"Good. It's about time I was the one being looked after," Sabrina snapped, though her voice lacked its usual bite as she took another gulp of her drink instead of sipping it. "Now, show me this guest room. I want to see the wardrobe. I'm not here to waste time."

"It is upstairs," Elena replied, a small, dark smile touching her lips, "I’ve laid everything out. But remember the strategy; you’re doing more than anyone else to prove that you’re the most dedicated team member.”

Elena turned and led the way up the stairs, her movement fluid and silent, her silk gown whispering against the wood. Sabrina followed, her heavy breathing more audible than her footsteps as they reached the carpeted landing.

They stopped at the door at the end of the hall. Elena paused for a second, her hand on the brass knob, before pushing it open.

"In here, Sabrina. Sorry about the state of it," Elena said, amusing her that simply using her first name could push her buttons. "The room is still set up from when my sister and her niece lived with me a few years ago. I just didn't have the heart to change it. And honestly, with the hours we’ve been working at Aegis, I haven't really had the time."

Sabrina stepped inside and stopped, her nose wrinkling as she took in the dusty rose walls and the white-spindled furniture. The room felt like a claustrophobic explosion of childhood nostalgia. White eyelet lace curtains hung at the windows, but the most jarring detail was directly above the bed's headboard: a series of crayon drawings rendered directly onto the rose-colored paint. A house, a yellow sun, and lopsided stick figures were forever etched into the wall in waxy blue and red, a child's permanent mark on the space.

Sabrina’s gaze lingered on the scribbles over the bed, then shifted to the center of the room, where Elena had placed a triptych of full-length mirrors. They looked sharp and cold against the floral rug. On the white quilted bedspread, right next to the crayon drawings, sat the simple, heavy box containing the strategy wardrobe.

"It’s fine, Thorne; I’m not here for the decor. I’m sure your family enjoyed it," Sabrina said. The alcohol and the coffee were making her pulse jump a little. She took a long, desperate gulp of the Krug, finishing the glass off, as her eyes darted back to the stick figures on the wall.

"Of course," Elena replied, her dark smile not reaching her eyes. She moved behind Sabrina, her tall, barefoot frame looming over the smaller woman in the amber light.

"Whatever. Let’s just get on with it," Sabrina muttered, not really catching what the dark haired woman said.

"Shoes off first," Elena commanded.

Sabrina hesitated, then kicked off the glossy black Louboutins, her bare feet settling onto the plush cream rug. Not only did the five-inch boost make her appear more mature and intimidating, she had heard the sharp footwear described as ‘come-fuck-me-pumps’ before. They made her feel sexy and confident, which was not the case when her eyes barely reached the silver highlight on Elena’s chest.

Elena stepped into the room, coming up right behind her. “Here, let me help. Arms up," Elena said sweetly.

Turning in place, Sabrina craned her neck to look up at the pillar of a girl standing all too close to her. “I’m perfectly able to do this on my own. Back off!” Sabrina snapped, though the bravado was undercut by a slight sway. The Krug was a heavy hitter on an empty stomach, and the plushness of the rug made her feel like she was standing on a cloud rather than solid ground.

Elena did as she was told and backed off, giving the smaller woman space.

Sabrina didn’t so much as start to remove her blazer before reaching into the box and pulling out the dress. It was a floor-length A-line gown with a bodice of smooth, light coral matte silk and a rounded neckline. The skirt was a massive, airy cloud of ombre tulle, starting at a soft coral at the waist and fading into a warm, deep pink toward the floor-length hem. A thick pink satin sash was draped across the middle, designed to be tied into a generous bow.

Sabrina held the layers of tulle up, her face twisting in a sneer. “I am not wearing this,” she stated firmly.

Elena didn't argue. On her way out of the room, she shook her head. reaching down and picking up her boss's shoes, carrying them with her. "I was told to take care of the clothing for the night," Elena said over her shoulder, "If you were more involved, then getting something you didn’t like could have been avoided."

Sabrina narrowed her eyes, sinking onto the edge of the bed as a wave of dizziness hit her. She gripped the white quilt, her head spinning from the champagne. "It also could have been avoided if you were competent, Thorne!"

Elena stopped and straightened her back, standing at her full height. She turned slightly to look at the woman huddled on the child's bed. "I will call Julian Vance right now and let him know that you will be ignoring the memo," she said, her voice flat. She paused, letting the threat hang in the air. "Unless you have decided to not go?"

"Wait," Sabrina bit out, her voice sharp enough to cut through the heavy silence of the room. The mention of Julian Vance was the only thing capable of piercing her champagne haze. If Elena made that call, Sabrina’s career at Aegis would be over before the gala even started. She had an inkling of an idea that her incompetent giraffe might have selected the dress that looked more like something a child would wear to be a flower girl on purpose to get her to back down and not go at all.

Elena stopped at the open doorway, her hand still holding the Louboutins by their stiletto heels, her tall frame nearly filling the entryway. She didn't turn back yet. "Yes, Director?"

"I’m on to you, Thorne. You aren’t going to sabotage my career; I’m not backing out of the charity gala at the last minute. I didn't say I wasn't going," Sabrina sternly said, her fingers clutching the tulle dress a little too tightly. She looked at the coral bodice, hating the softness of the fabric. However, the thought of Julian smugly taking her place was worse. "I just said I don't like it. But if that's what the memo says, I'm not giving Julian the satisfaction of taking my lead."

Elena turned then, her expression unreadable in the soft amber light of the nursery. She didn't return the shoes; she simply stood her ground, watching with a clinical detachment. "Then we're wasting time. Put the dress on the bed and get out of the suit. We still have to do your hair and remove your make up." She let out a short, tired breath and glanced at her own reflection in the triptych mirror. The tall woman felt like she was on the cusp of triumph, but it could be blown away by a stray gust of wind. "I still need to finish getting ready myself. I'll leave you to change." She stepped further into the room, but only to pick up the discarded crystal flute from the dresser. "I'll get you another drink while you get started."

She moved toward the door, leaving it wide open, a subtle reminder this was her house and her bitch of a boss only got true privacy if she allowed it.

"And Thorne?" Sabrina called out, her voice ringing with a fresh wave of irritation at the lack of hospitality. "Bring my purse up. I left it on the kitchen island. I need my phone."

Not answering at first, having just stepped into the hallway, Elena with her back still to the room finally answered. "Of course," she said smoothly, her voice trailing off as she descended the stairs.

Downstairs, Elena moved with a small rush, wanting to take care of things . . . The next stage of her plan that had kept evolving over the last few hours. She found the designer handbag exactly where her bitch of a boss had slammed it down. Not bothering to bring it to the stairs, she put down the glass before taking the expensive purse with her to her living room. Opening her coat closet, she tucked it deep inside, sliding it behind a heavy winter coat where it was completely out of sight, adding the expensive footwear from her boss in the same place.

After a quick dash back to the kitchen, she refilled the flute with the vintage Krug. Resisting the urge to down it herself, instead Elena made her way back up the stairs.

When the homeowner re-entered the nursery, she found Sabrina had only managed to remove her pinstripe blazer. The Director was sitting on the edge of the bed, the coral and pink tulle dress pooled beside her. In her hand, Sabrina held one of the pink sequined ballet flats that had been selected for what Elena thought was pure cuteness. The blonde woman was staring at the small, flat shoe, her eyes glazed and mesmerized as she traced the line of the thin fake jeweled strap to its buckle with her thumb.

Not sure what her boss was doing, Elena stood there in the doorway for a few heart beats, observing the scene. "Here," she said, stepping forward to offer the glass. "We have some time before we need to leave for the gala, but not all night."

Sabrina snapped her head up, the trance breaking as she snatched the glass. Her eyes darted around Elena's empty hands. "Where is my purse? I told you it was on the counter."

Elena tilted her head slightly, her expression one of mild, helpful confusion. "Your purse? I didn't see it, Sabrina.” She once more used her first name to irate and distract her from thinking too much about the excuse. “The counter was empty when I went down."

"Don't be a moron, Thorne, I put it right there when I came in," Sabrina said, her voice rising as she took a deep, thirsty gulp of the fresh champagne.

"I'm sure you thought you did," Elena replied calmly, her voice like silk, "But it wasn't there. Are you sure you didn't leave it in the car? Or perhaps you're just feeling the effects of the day. I'm sure we can both look for it before we go, Sabrina.” With a final, lingering look at the blonde woman perched on the edge of the child-sized bed, she stepped into the hallway and pulled the door shut. The silence was necessary; there was no desire to hear the inevitable screech of outrage when the bottom of that wardrobe box was finally reached.

Tucked beneath the layers of pink tulle was a pair of white girls panties fit for a ten year old, complete with a pink elastic band. To go with it, a white cotton camisole, intended to be used instead of the bust-enhancing bra that normally changed the appearance of the flat-chested woman into a solid B cup. The thought of that garment brought back the memory of how she learned that little truth: a personal errand to a high-end boutique, a task Sabrina had been "too busy" to handle herself. The clerk had laid out the order for inspection: a collection of “magic bras” molded foam inserts and industrial-strength, padded architecture. Standing in that shop, the truth had become clear: the diminutive woman didn't actually have a feminine silhouette; she simply bought one and buckled it on every morning.

A heavy silver necklace was fastened around a throat that needed no help projecting elegance, the cold metal a perfect anchor for the night ahead. Elena stepped into four-inch stiletto sandals, which provided the familiar increase of height at a towering six-foot-two. It made it harder to find a romantic partner, with how so many men preferred to be taller than their partners. And yet, wearing heels always drew their eye, and the world always looked better to her from a height her boss could never achieve. After a final sweep of blush across the cheekbones, and just the right amount of lip gloss, she was ready.

Twenty minutes of absolute silence from the nursery eventually prompted her return. The door swung open to a scene of total, drunken surrender. Instead of a transformed executive ready for a gala, the figure on the bed was sprawled out in a deep sleep, seemingly trying to take up as much space as her diminutive form could, all while passed out. One hand was still curled around the now emptied glass. No more progress had been made; only the pinstripe blazer had been removed, leaving Sabrina half-armored and vulnerable against the backdrop of watercolor bunnies and waxy crayon drawings. The tiny witch was out cold, her head resting right next to the very dress she had sworn she wouldn't wear.

Chapter Four

Elena stood in the doorway of the nursery, her tall, silken silhouette framed by the hallway light. Watching Sabrina sprawled across the child’s bed, she felt a surge of cold inspiration. The "Director" was gone, replaced by a vulnerable, drunken woman who had handed over all her leverage the moment she closed her eyes. Elena turned, moving silently back to her own bathroom to retrieve a pack of heavy-duty makeup remover wipes.

Returning to the room, she loomed over the bed like a predator over a sleeping bird. She didn't use a gentle touch; she reached down and gripped Sabrina’s shoulder, giving her a firm, punishing shake that sent the empty champagne glass tumbling onto the rug. "Wake up, Sabrina!" Elena’s voice was sharp.

Sabrina’s eyes flew open, blinking rapidly against the amber light of the nursery. For a moment, she looked utterly lost, her head leaden and the room tilting. Then she saw the silhouette of black silk and cold silver hanging over her.

Seeing her boss’s mascara-covered eyes flutter as she awoke, Elena tried to restrain her inclination to smirk. "I can't believe you’re taking a nap instead of getting ready, acting like a child just because you’re throwing a tantrum over a dress," Elena snapped. "You’ve put us twenty minutes behind schedule with this little stunt."

"I . . . I wasn't . . . " Sabrina tried to scramble up, but a mix of things–the champagne, being woken up from a nap that wasn’t long enough to scrub her mind of the weariness of the long work day, along with the lack of a real meal–turned her limbs to jelly. The realization that she had actually passed out when she had only intended to close her eyes for a moment as she thought about how she would say ‘Fuck it!’ to the memo, and what the giraffe got her to wear because of it, sent a wave of hot shame through her. “I only closed my eyes for a minute, Thorne. Back off." Being in Elena’s house didn’t help things, and Sabrina knew there was no getting out of the immature dress code for the evening. Not when doing so could cost her a well paying job, and ruin the efforts she had been making to be seen as the one responsible for the company’s recent success.

"You had your chance to do this yourself," Elena countered. She sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. Before Sabrina could find her footing, a cold, wet cloth was pressed hard against her face.

"Stop!" Sabrina tried to jerk away, but Elena’s hand clamped onto her jaw with a strength that was impossible to fight in her current state.

Elena didn't just wipe; she scrubbed. She acknowledged the sheer effort Sabrina put into her mask, starting with the heavy contouring, the dark bronzer and light highlights Sabrina used to artificially sharpen her jawline and create the illusion of high cheekbones. The wipe came away thick with beige and brown streaks of foundation, revealing the soft, pale skin beneath. Next, with a second disposable cloth like the first, went the brow filler that gave Sabrina her permanent look of stern authority, followed by the layers of eyeshadow and heavy mascara that made her eyes look larger and more attractive. The Power Red lipstick was erased entirely. In minutes, the mask Sabrina spent hours constructing was gone, leaving her heart shaped face appearing much softer and more juvenile.

"Look at you," Elena remarked, her voice dropping into a clinical, terrifyingly calm tone.

Sabrina’s pale face turned a shade closer to red as she felt shame from having her makeup forcibly removed. She had always hated how young she looked, and spent a great amount of effort and money to look what she thought of as appealing to men and to the world. It gave her more respect when those she met didn't assume she wasn't even in her twenties yet. Her own mother told her when she gets older she will be thankful for the youthful visage; right now, however, she was a director for a multi million dollar company and she needed every advantage she could.

The thing was, her assistant manager didn't stop at the face. Elena stood up and hauled Sabrina to her feet. Sabrina stumbled, her bare toes sinking into the plush rug. Without her five-inch heels, and from what she saw of the woman in her own heels now, the height difference was devastating; her head barely reached the silver necklace resting against Elena’s chest. Elena loomed over her like a pillar of obsidian.

"I can do it myself! Let go!" Sabrina kicked her feet, her movements clumsy and weak as Elena began unbuttoning her blouse, each of the mother of pearl buttons coming undone in short order.

"You’ve proven you can't be trusted," Elena said, her voice dripping with a fake, motherly concern. She peeled the silk blouse that she didn't even want to think about the cost of off Sabrina's shoulders, and tossed it onto the quilt. Then, with a speed that made Sabrina’s head swim, she reached for the clasp of the pinstripe trousers, sliding them down until the Director stood shivering in her heavy, industrial-strength shapewear.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Sabrina shrieked.

Circling the disoriented woman, Elena moved behind her. “Something I wouldn't need to do if you did what you were supposed to. Maybe I have overstepped.”

”DAMN RIGHT YOU HAVE, THORNE!” Sabrina shook from both anger and shame, trying to cover the cups of her bra; she had no notion the woman already knew the truth of her true shame. She felt the taller woman's breath on her neck as Elena’s fingers found the hooks of the bra. Sabrina didn’t even turn; she just glanced over her shoulder, the indignity being too much to bear.

“I'm truly sorry, Miss Halloway, I’m just doing my best to help. Tonight is important; your success is, by extension, my success.”

Still holding herself, Sabrina nodded; the woman had been a good right hand to her for years. She just liked to cut her down to size from her own jealousy and did not want her to get any big ideas, but it was good to hear that she had resolved to hitch their careers together. ”You have put in a lot of work, Thorne. That is appreciated. I’m just out of sorts. If tonight goes well, with any accolades that come my way, I will make sure others know of your contributions. Now, what's next?” She still didn’t want to turn around, when doing so would risk Elena catching a glimpse of her shame.

“This is next.” Elena was surprised at the offer to give her credit, minor as it was. Her fingers moved to the clasp of the bra. Click.

The tension of the garment snapped. The heavy, foam-filled architecture fell away, slipping through the shocked twenty-something young woman’s fingers. Sabrina instinctively crossed her arms over her actual chest, her face burning with a deep, agonizing humiliation. It was her greatest secret. Without the padding, she was flat; almost non-existent. It always made her feel like less of a woman, and now the girl who won the genetic lottery with her model good looks and height that she saw how others looked at her for, that normally only enraged her, became an even greater case of shame as she felt exposed.

Elena didn't look away. Instead, she reached into the wardrobe box and pulled out the thin white cotton camisole, the tiny pink satin bow catching the light. She thrust it forward, tucking it into the smaller woman’s fingers. As Sabrina clutched her chest, it was clear how much of nothing was being covered.

"Children this age don't need bras," Elena said, her eyes locking onto Sabrina's with a cold, superior glint. "And neither do you."

The words felt like a physical blow, hurting Sabrina's feelings more than any corporate insult ever could. She clutched the cheap cotton to her chest, her bottom lip trembling as her vulnerability was laid bare.

"How... how old am I supposed to look for this?" Sabrina asked tentatively, her voice a defeated whisper, taking the garment as a lifeline to try and cover herself.

Elena stepped back, tapping her chin as she surveyed the bare-faced woman. "I was thinking of a childish tween. Maybe thirteen," she mused. She leaned in closer, studying the flat chest and the pale, unpainted skin. "But looking at you now . . . Without the make-up and the padding? Honestly, Sabrina, you are cute. I’m thinking ten fits much better."

Elena didn't wait for a response to her assessment of Sabrina's "age." She reached back into the wardrobe box and pulled out the final piece of the undergarment set, a pair of white cotton panties with a pale pink elastic waistband. They were tiny and unadorned, the kind of thing sold in a multi-pack for a grade schooler. She tossed them onto the white quilt, where they landed starkly against the dark wool of the discarded blazer.

"The waist cincher goes too," Elena commanded, turning her back on the humiliated woman to walk toward the dresser, "I expect the base layer to be done by the time I have the hair ties ready."

Sabrina stood frozen in the center of the room, clutching the loose camisole to her chest. She looked down at the tiny white garment on the bed and her face twisted in a sneer. The bra was one thing; her flat chest was a strategic problem to be solved, but this felt invasive.

"Absolutely not," Sabrina said, her voice regaining a flicker of its usual fire, "I am not wearing those. No one is going to be looking at my underwear! The waist cincher, fine. But an outfit shouldn't change who I am, Thorne. My underwear is personal, and nobody is going to see it. It doesn't affect the 'silhouette.’ Or whatever nonsense that has popped into your odd mind."

Elena stopped. She let out a long, heavy sigh. Her perfect plan was so close to working, yet Sabrina wasn’t actually a child. Elena could only snap at her so much for being difficult or incompetent for the time being, when she didn’t want to upset the delicate balance of the situation.

She turned around, rubbing her temples with one hand, half feigning exhaustion. "And what if you bend over to pick up a dropped fork?" Elena asked, her voice strained, "What if you lean down to greet a child for a photo op? Mr. Sterling is eccentric, Sabrina. He is obsessed with this image of innocence. Are you willing to risk not triggering the man because he catches a flash of black lace or sees the line of a thong? Because I prepared for our . . . for your success, despite his demands."

Elena turned away again, leaning heavily against the dresser. She stared into the mirror, shaking her head and mumbling something low and dejected under her breath.

Sabrina narrowed her eyes, the guilt and the fear of blowing the deal warring with her pride. "Speak up, Thorne! Stop muttering."

Elena turned her head slightly, looking over her shoulder with wide, wounded eyes. "Nothing. Sorry, Miss Halloway," she said softly. "I just really didn't want to fail after you promised to let others know I contributed. I put so much work into the details . . . I just thought we were on the same page about doing whatever it takes."

The guilt trip landed perfectly. Sabrina felt a pang of annoyance, but also a trap. She had vaguely promised credit, though it was mostly to shut Elena up and keep her from being an annoyance; she couldn't afford to have her assistant sulking or, worse, sabotaging the night because she felt unappreciated.

"Fine," Sabrina huffed, rolling her eyes, "If it means that much to you, I'll wear the damn cotton. Just stop moping."

She didn't reach for the waist cincher immediately. Instead, she clutched the white cotton camisole tight against her chest, her arms crossed to hold the flimsy fabric in place. The air in the room felt biting against her exposed skin, and standing there half-naked was agonizing, especially when she made the mistake of glancing at Elena.

The slightly older, and much more mature appearing woman stood tall against the dresser, her arms crossed. The heavy midnight-black silk of Elena's gown plunged at the neckline, showcasing the swell of full, heavy breasts and a deep shadow of cleavage that Sabrina could never achieve without foam and wire. Elena looked like a real and beautiful woman and Sabrina hated her for it no matter how much she consoled herself with her career's success compared to her.

Sabrina looked down at what she was hiding behind the bundle of cotton in her hands. There was no swell. There was barely a mound. Her skin was pale and her nipples were puffy at best, sitting on a flat plane of skin that hardly saw the light of the sun, like a girl who had only just started puberty. The industrial-strength bra had been the only thing keeping that secret, and now the secret was out.

Burning with a mix of envy and deep, physical shame, she jerked the white cotton camisole over her head. It slid down, shapeless and loose, hiding the pathetic reality of her chest but doing nothing to enhance it. It was a relief to be covered, but the fabric felt like a surrender.

With her chest hidden, she turned her back on Elena, her fingers fumbling with the heavy hooks of the cincher. It wasn’t there to make her look like she was skinnier; the whole point was to give her petite frame more of an hourglass shape.

As the compression released, she felt herself expand slightly, losing the artificial curves she had curated for years. She stepped out of the waist trainer, then hooked her thumbs into the sides of her own silk thong, a scrap of expensive Italian lace that she wore for herself that made her feel sexy, telling herself it made her more desirable. She slid it down, kicking it aside.

Elena turned back around just as the lace hit the floor, her eyes sweeping over Sabrina’s naked lower half. She paused, her eyebrows lifting in genuine surprise.

"Well," Elena said, a slow, unreadable smile spreading across her lips, "You really did prepare for tonight! You’re completely hairless down there. It’s perfect."

Sabrina felt a flush of defensive heat crawl up her neck. She hated the way she was being looked at, all clinical and amused, but the implication that she had done this for a child's outfit stung her pride. "It’s laser, Thorne," Sabrina informed her, trying to reclaim some shred of adult superiority as she stood there exposed, "It costs two thousand dollars a session. I don't do 'maintenance;' I do permanence. It’s cleaner and, let’s be honest, men prefer it."

Elena nodded slowly, her expression shifting to a mock-impressed approval. "No, I'm . . . impressed. It shows a level of dedication to your image I hadn't accounted for. I'm a bit jealous."

Sabrina relaxed her shoulders slightly, preening under the compliment despite her nakedness. She clung to the idea that her body was an expensive luxury item, not a child's blank slate. "Of course you are," Sabrina muttered, "It feels better."

"It certainly helps us tonight," Elena continued smoothly, picking up the white cotton panties from the bed and handing them to her. “These cotton panties will sit perfectly flat against your skin. No risk of hair being pulled with the cotton underwear instead of what you normally wear."

Sabrina took the underwear. The logic made sense to her vanity; she wasn't putting on children's underwear because she was a child, but because her body was perfect even if she was still struggling with her self image at times. She stepped into them. The soft cotton slid effortlessly over her smooth skin, hugging her narrow hips without a single wrinkle.

Elena turned back to the bed and lifted the dress. It was a massive, airy cloud of ombre tulle, shifting from soft coral at the bodice to a deep, warm pink at the hem. In Elena’s hands, it looked like a costume; on the bed, it had looked like a threat.

Elena stepped closer, holding the bodice open. She looked down at Sabrina, who was standing there in the white cotton camisole and the matching panties, clutching her bare arms against the chill of the room.

"Arms up, little one. Let's get your pretty dress settled. Oops! Sorry, Sabrina," Elena said quickly, shaking her head with a self-deprecating laugh, "I’m just so used to helping my niece get dressed when I babysit. The muscle memory just kicked in."

The apology was worse than the insult. It implied that the visual of Sabrina, standing there hairless, flat-chested, and wearing plain cotton underwear was indistinguishable from a child in Elena’s mind.

Sabrina felt her face burn with a heat that had nothing to do with the champagne. A retort died in her throat. ‘Don't call me that.’ But standing there, stripped of her heels and her shapewear, she felt too small to enforce protocol. The shame of her physical reality silenced her. She simply bit her lip, looked at the floor, and obediently lifted her arms.

"Right. Let's get you in," Elena said, stepping back into her efficient role.

Sabrina stepped into the pool of tulle. The fabric rustled loudly, sounding absurdly childish compared to the sleek whisper of her usual wool and silk power suits. Elena pulled the dress into place, guiding Sabrina’s thin arms through the armholes.

The bodice was made of smooth, matte silk. It slid over Sabrina’s camisole-covered torso with insulting ease.

Elena moved to the back to finish this step in her plan doing her best to hold in her excitement for what she had been able to manipulate the bitch of a woman into. Zzzzzzip.

The sound was quick and seamless. There was no need for Sabrina to suck in her breath; there was no resistance from a curve of a hip or the swell of a breast. The dress simply swallowed her.

Sabrina looked down at herself. The sensation was wrong, terrifyingly wrong. She was used to the reassuring, heavy pressure of her "armor." The wire of the bra digging in, the cincher’s comforting compression. Now, she felt a phantom weightlessness. Her chest was a flat plane of coral silk. She felt hollow.

"It’s . . . it's too flat, Thorne," Sabrina muttered, her voice tight with panic as she touched the front of the bodice. "I look like a board. I have no shape in this. I need my bra. Grab it off the floor for me."

Elena moved around to face her, shaking her head firmly. She reached out and tied the thick pink satin sash into a bow around Sabrina’s waist, pulling it snug to emphasize just how narrow the Director truly was.

"No, absolutely no inserts. You are supposed to look young, not a young girl pretending to be older," Elena corrected her, smoothing the silk over Sabrina's flat chest. "This is a waif silhouette, Sabrina. It’s very European. Very couture. If you had breasts, it would look just wrong. This fits you perfectly. But because you’re so . . . petite . . . you look elegant. Like a porcelain doll."

Sabrina swallowed hard, desperate to believe the lie. She turned slightly toward the mirror, trying to see anything positive instead of "child." The dress flared out from her waist, making her legs disappear entirely, leaving only the flat, boyish torso visible.

"I suppose, it is a bit more . . . " Sabrina murmured, not able to come up with anything except more embarrassment on top of embarrassment

"You could say you look cute, but I would rather say precious or just perfect," Elena said, placing her hands on Sabrina's shoulders and steering her toward the low white stool in front of the triptych mirror. "You aren't forcing the room to look at you; you're inviting them. Now, sit down. We need to fix that hair. It's a mess from your nap, and it's ruining the look."

Sabrina sat, her knees pressing together instinctively under the mountain of tulle. She looked at her reflection, waiting for the hairbrush, but Elena turned away.

Elena reached down and picked up the pink sequined ballet flats from the rug.

"Oops, almost got ahead of ourselves," Elena chimed, holding up the tiny, flat shoes, "Can't have you walking around barefoot. What would people think?"

She dropped the shoes in front of Sabrina’s feet. There was no offering of a heel, no arch support, just a flat sole that would keep Sabrina firmly grounded at her natural, diminutive height. Sabrina slipped her feet into them. They fit snugly, the pink sequins catching the light, and for a moment, looking down at the pink front of the childish shoes peeking out from the tulle, she felt a wave of vertigo. She looked more like a flower girl than a woman that earned over a hundred thousand dollars a year..

"There," Elena said, straightening up, "Now for the finish." She picked up the hairbrush.

"You're flattening it!" Sabrina protested as Elena aggressively brushed out the expensive, volumized blowout she paid a fortune for. "I need the height, Thorne. I look like a drowned rat without the volume."

"Volume is for women trying to hide thinning hair or a sagging jawline, Sabrina," Elena said, her voice smooth and convincing as she gathered the blonde hair high on one side of her head. "You don't need that. We are going to pull it tight. It acts like a natural face-lift. It shows off that two-thousand-dollar laser skin you were just bragging about. Honestly, I would love to know your skin care routine. I swear, I'm already starting to see the beginning of wrinkles and your skin is just perfect." Elena pulled the hair tight, securing it with a pink bobble. Then she picked up a length of pink satin ribbon.

"Ribbons?" Sabrina asked weakly, watching in the mirror as one side of her head was transformed into a playground style. She was too absorbed by her very wrong reflection to appreciate the compliment.

"It's about cohesion, Director," Elena said, tying the ribbon into a large, floppy bow, "The dress has a satin sash; the hair needs to match. If we used a clip, it would look metallic and harsh. The ribbon softens you. It makes you look . . . well, to repeat a descriptor, it makes things look perfect." Elena finished the second twintail, pulling it just as tight. Sabrina stared at her reflection. Her face without her make up looked cherubic,it wasn’t like she didn’t know that about her appearance but the dress, the hair style compiled things to make her not look like a youthful young woman but all she saw was a child in the mirror. The bows flopped slightly against her head. She looked ridiculous. She looked just like the giraffe said . . . She looked to be ten.

"There," Elena said, resting her hands on Sabrina's shoulders and smiling at the reflection of the little girl in the mirror. "Fresh-faced and approachable. The Board won't know what hit them."

Chapter Five

"We need to leave, Director," Elena said, checking the time on her phone, "The Gala starts in twenty minutes, and traffic will be heavy."

Sabrina stood in the center of the foyer, it taking more than a little coaxing to get her to leave the bedroom where her removed clothes now remained hung up in the closet. She was looking down at her sequined flats, fidgeting uncomfortably, having no idea how child-like her body language appeared. The reflection in the mirror was still burned into her mind. Her heart shaped face, devoid of make-up, looking far too youthful. The pigtails, her real . . . her flat chest under the coral and pink monstrosity of a tulle and silk dress. She felt ridiculous, but more than that, she was ashamed of herself.

"My purse," Sabrina said suddenly, her head snapping up, "I’m not leaving without my phone, Thorne. I need to check emails on the way."

Elena paused at the front door, her hand on the handle. She looked back at Sabrina with a small, indulgent smile, the kind one might give a child stalling before school. "You said you left it on the kitchen island, remember? Go ahead. Go look for my boss's purse."

The permission felt patronizing, but Sabrina didn't have the leverage to snap back. She turned and hurried into the kitchen, the sequins of her flats sliding silently on the hardwood where her heels usually clicked with authority. She reached the island and stopped. The marble countertop was close to empty. There was the empty bottle of Krug, catching the evening light, and beside it, the key fob to her own Lexus sedan, but the heavy designer handbag she knew she had slammed down earlier was gone.

Sabrina blinked, her brow furrowing. She looked around the floor, checked the bar stools, even peered into the sink. Nothing. "I . . . I put it right here," she muttered, panic rising in her chest. She looked at the champagne bottle. ‘Did I?’ The memory was fuzzy, blurred by the alcohol and the abrupt nap. ‘Maybe I left it in the car? Did I just bring my car fob in?’ she thought. The casual gaslighting worked all too well with her feeling so out of sorts.

"Find it?" Elena called, walking into the kitchen behind her boss after waiting a few minutes.

"No," Sabrina admitted, grabbing her keys and walking over to her, looking defeated. "I must have left it in the car. Or the office. God, my head is a mess. I think your cheap champagne went right to my head."

"Don't worry," Elena said soothingly, placing her hand on the middle of Sabrina’s back to guide her to the front door. "I have my phone. I'll handle any communications. You just focus on the strategy.”

They stepped out onto the porch. Sabrina instinctively braced herself for a chill, reaching for a coat that wasn't there, something else she hadn’t brought with her. She was pretty sure she left it in her office closet, since the evening had started out surprisingly warm. A refreshing breeze rolled in, carrying the scent of impending rain, but for now, the air was light. It meant no jacket was needed, no layer to hide the explosion of tulle she was wearing.

In the driveway, Sabrina’s Lexus sat gleaming under the porch lights, a top-of-the-line luxury sedan with tinted windows and a pristine leather interior. It was a far cry from Elena’s practical, dented compact.

Elena held out her hand. "Keys, please. The plan was for me to drive and now that you have pre-partied it would be for the best, Sabrina. You aren't driving."

Sabrina hesitated, looking at the keys in her hand, then at Elena. It was safer this way, of course. She couldn't drive drunk, but handing over the keys to her own car felt like handing over something she had earned to someone so undeserving. She dropped the fob into Elena’s palm.

Elena walked to the driver’s side, moving with an elegant grace in her black gown. Sabrina went to the passenger side, but then stopped. Old habits, or perhaps an unconscious desire to distance herself from the ‘help,’ took over. She opened the back door. She climbed in. It was a mistake she didn’t even know she was making.

The back seat of the sedan was spacious for a normal person. For Sabrina, with the way she looked, it was spacious enough to be her playpen. The massive ombre tulle skirt seemed to expand instantly, filling the leather bench and puffing up around her waist like a cloud. She sat in the middle, sinking slightly into the plush seat. Without her heels, her feet barely touched the floor mats.

Elena slid into the driver's seat, adjusting the rearview mirror. Sabrina looked up and caught Elena’s eyes in the glass. From this angle, sitting low in the back surrounded by pink fabric, Elena was amused at what the scene behind her looked like, a child being chauffeured by her mother. "Comfortable back there?" Elena asked, her eyes crinkling slightly in the mirror.

"Just drive, Thorne," Sabrina snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. She turned to look out the window, watching the suburban trees blur past, trying to rehearse her pitch for Mr. Sterling. But every time she shifted, the tulle rustled loudly, a constant reminder that tonight, she wasn't the shark; she felt more like the bait.

The drive was mercifully short, though for Sabrina, every red light felt like an hour spent trapped in a pink cloud. When the Lexus finally turned off the main boulevard and approached the sweeping entrance of The Grand Meridian, the reality of the night hit her.

The hotel was a fortress of limestone and glass, glowing against the night sky. Ahead, the semi-circular porte-cochère was jammed with black limousines and town cars. A red carpet had been rolled out, flanked by velvet ropes and photographers whose flashes popped like strobe lights as men in tuxedos and women in floor-length gowns stepped out.

A cold panic ran through Sabrina, she knew others were going to see her but the scale of the entrance way with photographers had her petrified."Pull over!" Sabrina commanded, leaning forward as much as the seatbelt and the tulle would allow. "Do not go to the valet. I am not getting out on that red carpet like this."

Elena glanced in the rearview mirror, her expression calm. "Director, the self-parking garage is around the corner. It’s a long walk, and some of us are wearing heels made more for looking pretty while sitting then a hike"

"I don't care! Park in the garage, Thorne!" Sabrina insisted, her voice cracking with stress. "I need a minute. I need to check the temperature of the room before I make my entrance."

Elena sighed, but she bypassed the glittering chaos of the main entrance, steering the luxury sedan down the ramp into the dim, concrete quiet of the parking garage. She found a spot in a secluded corner, close to the elevators, and killed the engine. The silence that filled the car was heavy, broken only by the distant hum of ventilation fans in the concrete structure.

"Give me your phone," Sabrina said immediately, holding out her hand over the center console. "I need to call Julian. If I give him a heads-up that I’m here and participating in this insanity for the sake of Edgar Sterling's ego at the cost of my own, he can smooth the way with our eccentric client. I need to know if he is already inside." Sabrina said, having a passing thought, wondering how rich one needed to be to be eccentric instead of crazy.

Elena froze. ‘If Sabrina calls Mr. Vance now, the entire game is over.’ He would tell her there was no memo on Child-to-CEO. It only said this was a black tie event, not wanting people to disrespect the cause by dressing casually and that he had no idea why his Director was dressed like a child.

"I . . . I don't think that's a good idea, Sabrina," Elena said, her voice careful. She didn't reach for her clutch purse.

"I didn't ask for your opinion, I asked for your phone," Sabrina hissed. She unbuckled her seatbelt, the mechanism clicking loudly in the quiet car. "My purse is missing, my head is spinning, and I am dressed like a . . . like a festive lampshade. I am taking control of this situation. Now give me the phone."

Elena turned in her seat to face the back, masking her panic with a look of professional concern. "Miss Halloway, listen to me. You’ve had a lot to drink. You’re flustered. If you call Julian right now, slurring your words and sounding upset, you’re going to look weak. He’s looking for any one even giving a hint of stepping out of line. Do you really want to give him a hysterical phone call from the parking lot?"

Sabrina’s hand wavered. She knew she was tipsy; she could feel the edges of her words softening, and she thought of Julian Vance, with his old-money arrogance and judgmental stare. Oh, she hated it when he just stared at her. Not checking her out, like a healthy man should, but silently judging her like she wasn't enough, him acting like just hearing her was unbearable. "I am not slurring," Sabrina argued, already sounding less certain of herself, "I just need to know if it's safe to go in."

"Let me do it," Elena pressed, leaning into the manipulation. "This is what you pay me for, isn't it? To handle the logistics? I’ll go up to the ballroom. I’ll find Mr Vance. I’ll tell him you’re here, but that you’re taking a moment to compose yourself. I’ll get the lay of the land, see who is wearing what, and I’ll bring you a drink."

Lowering her hand, Sabrina’s eyes narrowed as she weighed the options. She hated relying on Elena, but the thought of calling her boss while sitting in the back seat of a car in a parking garage, looking like a toddler, was terrifying.

"Fine. Get me a glass of wine, something sweet," Sabrina harrumphed, the fight draining out of her. "But be quick. And find out what Sterling is wearing. If the client is wearing something stupid like a school boy’s uniform, I want to know before I walk in."

"Understood," Elena said, "Stay here. Stay out of sight. I’ll be back in ten minutes."

Elena stepped out, the click of her heels echoing on the concrete. She locked the car, leaving Sabrina trapped in the dark, a prisoner of her own vehicle, and headed toward the elevator bank.

The elevator doors closed with a soft chime, and the echo of Elena’s heels faded, leaving Sabrina not just alone in the back seat of her own car, but in the dark with the doors locked. The silence pressed in on her immediately, only the sound of fans echoing around.

Without the engine running, the garage felt cavernous, the concrete walls swallowing sound and reflecting it back in dull waves. Sabrina shifted, the tulle rustling loudly in the enclosed space, making her freeze again, suddenly hyperaware of how much room the fabric took up. The skirt had pooled around her hips, puffed up against the leather seats, climbed into her lap like it had a mind of its own. She swallowed and forced herself to sit still, not wanting to hear it rustle about.

‘Ten minutes,’ she thought to herself. ‘It’s just ten minutes.’ She checked the time on the dash display, then frowned; with the car off, it wasn’t showing a thing. Without her phone, she felt oddly amputated, cut off from the steady stream of reassurance that usually tethered her to the world. No emails to skim. No calendar alerts. No messages she could send to remind people she was still in control.

She crossed her arms over her chest again, then immediately uncrossed them when she didn't feel her enhanced bust, the silk of the top of the dress brushing her bare shoulders. The fabric was light, almost insubstantial, but it felt loud, conspicuous, like it was announcing her presence even here, hidden in the dark.

Her eyes drifted to the rearview mirror. From this angle, and in the dark, she barely recognized herself. The lack of make-up made her features softer than she liked to see, her cheeks fuller without contouring, her eyes larger, more open. ‘Like a freaking doe eyed little girl…’ The twintails framed her face in a way that made her look far too young. She knew, intellectually, that she was a twenty-something executive sitting in a luxury sedan in a private garage, but the image in the glass told a different story, one that made her stomach tighten.

She looked away sharply. ‘This is ridiculous,’ she thought. ‘I am letting this get to me.’ But her reassurance rang hollow. She tried to rehearse her pitch again, the talking points she had gone over a dozen times in her head over the past week, but the words slid around instead of locking into place. Every time she adjusted her posture, the dress reminded her of itself. Every time she took a breath, she felt the tightness of the bodice, the way it flattened her chest instead of shaping it.

Her gaze drifted to the front seat. The driver’s seat was still adjusted to Elena’s height, pulled back enough that Sabrina’s knees, when she leaned, bumped the back of it. She frowned at that, irritation flaring briefly. It was such a small thing, but it underscored the larger one she was trying not to think about.

She was not in control of this moment.

Her purse was missing. Her phone was gone. Her assistant had physically removed her from her home while taking her keys, driven her here, and now left her alone in a parking garage dressed in something she would never choose. It felt like she was waiting for permission to enter an event she was supposed to be steering.

She reached down, smoothing the tulle automatically, the motion slow and almost absentminded. The fabric obeyed for a second, then sprang back, stubborn and buoyant. She let out a quiet huff of breath, half laugh, half frustration. ‘Get a grip, Sabrina,’ she scolded herself. ‘You’ve handled worse than this.’

Had she?

Sabrina thought of Julian Vance’s eyes, the way he looked at people like he was measuring their worth against some invisible standard. She thought of Edgar Sterling, of his money, his expectations, his ego. She thought of walking into that ballroom alone, of cameras and flashes and whispers.

She imagined stepping out of the elevator like this. The image made her stomach flip. Her fingers curled into the skirt, gripping the tulle tighter than she meant to. She forced herself to relax her hand, flattening the fabric again, breathing slowly like she’d been taught during media training. “Elena will fix it,” she told herself out loud, the thought both comforting and deeply unsettling. ‘She always does; the stupid giraffe is good at her job.’ The realization settled heavier than the dress.

Meanwhile, Elena made her journey. The walk to the garage elevator from the car was short, though it was only the first leg of the trek ahead of her. Elena pressed the elevator button, adjusting the strap of her clutch as she waited in the damp, echoey chamber of the garage, not looking back at the car. She was sure she wouldn’t be able to see her boss through the tinted window in a lightless car. When the doors slid open, she stepped into the scuffed metal box and pressed the button for the ground floor.

The doors opened to the humid night air of the street level. As she had warned Sabrina, it was not a direct connection. Elena stepped out onto the sidewalk, the garage looming behind her as a separate concrete block. The Grand Meridian was a block away, glowing like a beacon.

Hoping for the best, Elena began the walk. Her four-inch stilettos clicked a rhythmic, confident cadence against the pavement. She didn't hurry, despite the distance. She treated the sidewalk like a runway, ignoring the humidity that threatened to frizz her hair. By the time she reached the massive revolving doors of the hotel, she hadn't broken a sweat, thanks to her regular work outs and dance classes. She pushed through the glass, and the world transformed. The humid street air was instantly cut off, replaced by the blast of climate control scented with fresh lilies and expensive perfume.

Elena stepped into the Grand Foyer. It was a sensory overload of crystal chandeliers, polished marble, and high-society chatter. She moved through the periphery of the crowd, her height giving her a vantage point over the sea of tuxedos and gowns. She wasn't intimidated by the wealth in the room; she was hunting.

She spotted who she needed near the center of the room, standing by a massive ice sculpture. Julian Vance looked imposing, not to mention handsome in a classic tuxedo, his posture rigid and his expression one of bored superiority. Beside him stood Edgar Sterling, the man she blamed for her plan, so it even had a chance of working. Sterling was shorter, wiry, and possessed the intense, unblinking stare of a man who ran his life like a military drill, his steel-gray crew cut severe under the chandeliers.

Elena took a breath, softened her eyes, and approached. "Mr. Sterling, Mr. Vance," Elena said, her voice pitching perfectly to cut through the din without sounding shrill. She offered a hand to each, nodding respectfully to her boss. "I’m Elena Thorne. Director Halloway’s assistant manager."

"Ah, yes, Ms. Thorne," Julian said, his voice deep and dripping with authority. They had worked together enough for him to know the introduction wasn't for him. He barely shook her hand, his steely blue eyes immediately scanning the space behind her. "Where is Sabrina? I expected her to be leading the charge tonight. Punctuality is not a suggestion, and we are already behind schedule." Not seeing his fierce director, his gaze returned to the young woman in front of him. He was tempted to invite her up to his room at the hotel for a night cap after the event, but he wasn't going to abuse his position of power over his employee. With how she looked, however, it was difficult to not think about such a fantasy.

Elena let her shoulders slump slightly. It was no masterpiece of micro-acting; she wasn’t some master manipulator, though it occurred to her how much a skill like that would come in handy tonight. And in general. She looked genuinely pained. "I’m afraid I have some bad news. Director Halloway has come down with a sudden, terrible flu. She tried to power through it earlier today, but by this evening, she was in no condition to be seen publicly. She sends her deepest regrets and will be out until she recovers."

Julian’s jaw tightened, a flash of irritation crossing his face. "That is unfortunate," he murmured, swirling his scotch. "At least it is not typical; I don’t think she’s ever used a sick day. I hope she feels better soon, but we were counting on her input with things tonight."

"I am here to take notes and represent the department in her stead," Elena assured him, keeping her tone deferential. Then, she shifted her weight, biting her lip and looking awkwardly toward the main entrance. "However . . . I do have a small personal complication I hope you both can overlook."

"Oh?" Sterling asked, his voice sharp with interest as things seemed to be escalating in the wrong direction for his planned charity event. He turned his full, obsessive attention to her. "We overcome complications, Ms. Thorne."

"Since I had to step in at the last minute for the Director, I was caught in a bind with childcare," Elena explained, lowering her voice as if sharing a shameful secret. "My sister had an emergency, and I got saddled with babysitting my niece for the week. I couldn't say no to family, and I couldn't miss the gala . . ." She gestured vaguely back toward the entrance she had just walked through. "I brought her with me. She’s waiting in the car in the parking garage down the block. I promise she won't be a bother, but if you see a child wandering near me . . . that’s little Rina. She’s ten, about to start fourth grade. And she can be a bit . . . precocious."

Sterling’s severe expression vanished, replaced by a nod of approval. The eccentric benefactor had always preached about traditional family values and the importance of discipline in youth. "Nonsense, Elena! You shouldn't leave a child in a parking garage. Bring her inside! It’s a celebration, after all. I’m sure we can find some non-alcoholic punch for her."

Julian sighed, clearly annoyed but unwilling to contradict the client. "If Mr. Sterling insists. Just keep her out from underfoot, please. And thank you for your dedication amidst everything tonight."

"You’re very kind, sir," Elena said, smiling with relief, "I’ll go get her. She’s an awkward little thing; bright as can be, but has a habit of telling tall tales. I think she believes she is ready to be an adult despite her age and lack of maturity."

She excused herself, turning away to hide the triumph in her eyes. She headed for the bar, ordering an apple juice with three cherries and a festive straw, along with a glass of champagne for herself.

With the drinks in hand, she navigated the lobby, pushed back through the revolving doors, and began the long walk back to the garage. The humid air hit her again, but she didn't care. The trap was now fully set.

Taking the elevator back down to the gloom of the parking deck and walking to the Lexus in the corner, she unlocked the car and opened the back door. Sabrina was huddled in the middle of the seat, her knees drawn up slightly under the tulle, looking like she was trying to take up as little space as possible.

"Here," Elena said, handing her the sugar drink with the bright red fruit floating inside.

Sabrina took the offered drink, looking at the maraschino cherries with a frown. "A Shirley Temple? Really, Thorne?"

"It’s apple juice. I thought it appropriate. It will help hydrate you, and you should really sober up before having another adult beverage," Elena said casually. She leaned against the open door frame, taking a sip of her champagne.

"Well?" Sabrina demanded, taking a sip. "What’s the verdict? Are Julian or Mr Sterling wearing a costume?"

Elena looked down at her boss, savoring the moment. "Bad news, Sabrina. The memo is dead. Sterling caved. Everyone is in tuxedos and gowns. No one else was willing to play along and it looks like only you were brave enough."

Sabrina choked on her drink, coughing as the sugary liquid hit the back of her throat. "What? Are you kidding me?" She looked down at her dress, horror dawning on her face. "You mean I’m the only one dressed like . . . like this?"

"Afraid so," Elena said, "Mr Vance is inside wearing a tuxedo, talking with Sterling. They look immaculate."

"Then take me home," Sabrina demanded, scrambling to unbuckle her seatbelt, "I am not going in there. I’ll look insane! Drive me home right now, Elena!"

"I can't," Elena said calmly, "I just spoke to Julian and Sterling. They know I’m here. I have to network for the department, or we lose our standing. And you can't drive."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Sabrina cried, tears of frustration pricking her eyes, "Sit in the car all night?"

"No," Elena said, setting her glass down on the roof of the car, "I fixed it. I told Julian that Director Halloway is sick and couldn't make it."

Sabrina blinked. "You . . . you covered for me?"

"I did. I would hate it if you got in trouble because you were the only one willing to follow directions when our CEO himself stressed how important it was," Elena lied smoothly, "But I had to explain why I was walking back out to the car. So I told them I brought my niece."

Sabrina stared at her. "Your niece?"

"Think about it," Elena said, gesturing to Sabrina’s whole look. Her twintails, the tulle dress, the sequined flats. "Without your heels, your makeup, or your bra . . . you don't look like you, Sabrina. You look like a child. If you come in as 'Little Rina, my niece' you can be a fly on the wall. You can hear what Mr Vance and Sterling say about you when they think you aren't there."

Sabrina hesitated.

It was insane. It was humiliating. But the idea of disappearing into a role of being invisible rather than being the "idiot in the costume" was strangely tempting. And the paranoia about Julian was eating her alive. She looked at the elevator doors across the dark garage, then back at her reflection in the window.

"I . . . I don't know, Thorne," Sabrina muttered.

"It's the only way to save the night," Elena said, extending a hand to help her out of the car, "Come on, Rina. Let's get you to the party. We can get your story straight on the way."