Down to Size Dinner, Chapters 6-8

Read Chapter One

Chapter Six

Sabrina stared at Elena’s outstretched hand, but she didn't take it. Instead, she recoiled into the leather seat, looking from the manicured fingers up to her assistant’s face with a mix of confusion and outrage.

"Rina?" Sabrina spat, ignoring the hand to glare up at the taller woman. "Thorne, you know how I feel about you using my name without my proper title, let alone creating an absurd nickname. But what should I expect from a giraffe with half a brain?"

Elena didn't flinch at the insult. She didn't even bother to argue the logic. She simply reached past Sabrina’s defensive posture, her fingers closing around Sabrina’s thin wrist like a shackle. "We don't have time for this," Elena said, her voice dropping the professional facade for a moment of pure urgency. Then she yanked.

Sabrina gasped, flailing slightly as she was physically hauled out of the deep leather seat. The mountain of tulle rustled aggressively as she stumbled out, her sequined flats hitting the concrete hard.

"People are expecting me with my niece back at the gala," Elena said, not letting go of the wrist as she steadied the smaller woman, "That niece being you, for the plan to work."

Sabrina tried and failed to wrench her arm free, yanking a few more times before the grip on her loosened enough for her to find her freedom. Glaring up at the dark haired woman, she rubbed her wrist where Elena’s fingers had dug in. "Don't you dare manhandle me, Thorne! I am capable of exiting a vehicle on my own!"

"Then stand up straight," Elena countered immediately, her voice shifting into a tone that was terrifyingly nurturing as she automatically reached out to adjust the strap of Sabrina’s dress. "Shoulders back. We have a walk ahead of us."

Sabrina slapped the hand away that had assaulted her, her eyes flashing. "Watch your tone! I am not a child, and I am certainly not your child. You are pushing your luck with this today, and are walking on thin ice."

Elena blinked, pulling her hand back as if burned. A look of genuine realization crossed her face, followed by a sheepish, almost apologetic smile. "My apologies, Director. Honestly, it was just . . . muscle memory. I’ve spent so much time corralling my niece, that seeing someone in that dress . . . If you had darker hair, you could be her sister.. My babysitting practice had me acting on auto pilot.” She gestured pointedly to Sabrina’s spine. "And to be fair," Elena added, "you were slouching.”

Sabrina stiffened, instantly straightening her back to her full, albeit short, height. "I was not slouching," she lied, lifting her chin, "I was adjusting to the lack of arch support. Now let’s get moving."

Elena locked the Lexus, the beep echoing off the concrete walls, and they began the trek toward the elevator. The ride up to the street level was silent, the mirrored box reflecting a tall, elegant woman in black silk standing beside a sulking, brightly colored figure.

The moment the elevator doors opened onto the sidewalk, the humidity hit Sabrina like a wet towel. It was heavy and cloying. Beside her, Elena seemed immune to the weather, her stride long and cool.

"We need to finalize the backstory before we hit the door," Elena said, looking straight ahead, her pace forcing Sabrina to take two steps for every one of hers. "You are my niece, Rina. You are ten years old. You are starting fourth grade at a public school in the small city of Apopka."

"Ten-year-olds are usually in fifth grade," Sabrina muttered, breathless from the exertion of the walk.

"Rina, you struggle with a few subjects. You were held back," Elena improvised without skipping a beat, "It adds a layer of vulnerability. Sterling loves an underdog; he is just going to eat you up with how cute you are."

Sabrina grit her teeth. "Dont say that. I’m not telling the people I failed math, Thorne!"

"You don't have to volunteer anything," Elena said smoothly, "You will simply be answering questions, and it doesn’t have to be math; you could have failed English or Science. Now, remember. If someone says 'Sabrina' or 'Director,' you stay silent. You are Rina. Unless you want someone to recognize you?"

Sabrina scowled at the pavement. "Fine. Rina. I got it," she said out loud with a sullen voice before speaking to herself under her breath. “But I don't have to like it.

"And you need to call me something appropriate," Elena continued, "Ms. Thorne is too formal for my niece and my first name isn’t appropriate. Elena is too adult for you."

"I'll just not call you anything," Sabrina grumbled, kicking a loose pebble with her pink shoe.

"Don’t act like that. I promised Mr. Vance and Sterling you would be a good girl tonight. You will need to address me if you want something," Elena said, slowing down just as the glowing entrance of The Grand Meridian came into view. She turned to look down at the diminutive woman. A slow, shark-like smile spread over her lips. "You should call me Aunt Elly. Or better yet . . . Auntie."

Sabrina stopped dead on the sidewalk. The blood drained from her face. "Absolutely not."

"It sells the lie, Sabrina," Elena whispered, her tone hardening, "My actual niece calls me both Auntie and Aunt Elly, so you will too. It’s natural. If you call me 'Elena' in front of Sterling, the illusion breaks. Do you want to be the Director in a tutu, or do you want to be the invisible niece?"

Sabrina opened her mouth to argue. Acknowledging her assistant, her subordinate, as a familial superior was a pill she physically couldn't swallow. But the valet stand was twenty feet away. People were watching.

"Fine," Sabrina hissed, the word tasting like bile, "Auntie."

"Good girl," Elena cooed as they reached the entrance. The Grand Meridian’s revolving doors were spinning slowly. Elena stepped into a compartment effortlessly, moving with the rotation.

Sabrina stepped into the next pie-slice wedge behind her. As the door swept her into the interior, the blast of climate control hit her, cold, crisp, and scented with lilies. Through the glass, she saw the lobby. It was packed. It was bright..

Elena stepped out on the other side, turning to wait. Sabrina shook her head in a way that caused the silly pigtail hair style to wave about as she looked at the crowd, recognizing so many of the faces and not just wanting but needing them to not in turn recognize her. She couldn't do it. She couldn't step out onto that marble floor. The fear of being seen for who she was welded her feet to the mat. She missed her exit.

"Little Rina, get out," Elena hissed under her breath.

But the door kept turning. Sabrina was swept past the opening, her hands pressing against the glass, her eyes wide with anxiety. She traveled the full circle, back toward the humid street, then back around toward the lobby.

To a nearby couple in evening wear waiting to exit, it didn't look like a panic attack. It looked like a child playing.

"Where are her parents?" a woman in a silver gown muttered, looking annoyed.

The humiliation burned hotter than the shame. On the second rotation, just as Sabrina was about to be swept past the lobby again, a hand shot out.

Elena reached into the moving compartment, clamped her hand around Sabrina’s wrist, and yanked her out onto the marble floor.

"Quit playing, Rina," Elena said loudly enough for the nearby guests to hear, her voice a perfect mix of scolding and weary affection. "I told you, no running in the lobby."

"I wasn't . . . " Sabrina started, but Elena squeezed her hand. Hard.

"Hold my hand," Elena commanded, dropping her voice to a half whisper as she interlaced their fingers, "You're drawing attention."

Sabrina tried to pull away, instinctively recoiling from the physical contact, but Elena didn't let go. Her grip was firm and unyielding. It wasn't a comforting hold; it was a leash.

"Rina, there are a lot of people here. I don’t want you wandering off," Elena said simply. Leaning closer, she added, "Don't blow this."

Sabrina slumped, letting her hand go limp in Elena's warm, strong grip. She allowed herself to be towed further into the room, having to move at a rapid pace to keep up and not be pulled along.

As they moved passed a massive, gilded mirror near the concierge desk. Sabrina made the mistake of looking. The reflection stopped the breath in her throat. Elena looked magnificent, a tower of black silk and pale skin. Beside her, clutching her hand, was a child. The height difference was staggering. Without her heels, Sabrina barely came up to Elena’s ribcage. The dress looked criminally juvenile under the crystal chandeliers.

Sabrina looked away, a fresh wave of nausea rolling through her. She felt, for the first time in her life, truly vulnerable.

"Shoulders back, Rina," Elena murmured, towing her toward the ballroom entrance. "Here we go. Please smile; good girls smile."

They checked in at the podium. The staff barely glanced at Sabrina, directing all their deferential "Yes, Ma'ams" to Elena. Then, they stepped through the double doors and into the event proper.

Sabrina’s heart hammered against her ribs as she saw them immediately. Julian Vance and Edgar Sterling were standing near the entrance. Sabrina braced herself. ‘He’s going to know,’ she thought, terror gripping her.

Elena approached the two, tugging Sabrina forward into the light.

"Gentlemen," Elena said smoothly, "I’m back. And I found the runaway."

Julian Vance turned. He looked down. His steely blue eyes locked onto Sabrina’s face.

Sabrina held her breath, waiting for the sneer, the recognition. But it didn't come.

Julian looked at her with zero recognition. His eyes swept over her face, her hair, her dress, and found absolutely nothing of his bulldog of a director. To him, the powerful Director Halloway simply did not exist in this small, pink creature. Initially, there was a flicker of mild annoyance, the look a man gives when a child enters an adult space. But then, realizing this was the "niece" Elena had mentioned, his expression softened. The hard lines around his eyes relaxed. He offered her a genuine, warm smile, a smile Sabrina had never seen him direct at her.

"Well, hello there," Julian said, his voice slightly higher than usual, gentle and kind. "You must be Rina. Your aunt didn't prepare us for how adorable you are, a missed opportunity for her to brag about you."

What he was saying hurt. It hurt worse than being caught. Being recognized would have been a disaster, but this? This was erasure; he saw her almost every day, yet she was somehow believable as a girl while being a woman.

"Say hello to Mr. Vance, Rina," Elena prompted, giving Sabrina’s hand a sharp squeeze.

"H-hello," Sabrina squeaked, not wanting to talk to her boss at all or draw his attention to her; she was also nervous her voice would give her away.

Julian chuckled softly, then looked back up at Elena. His gaze lingered on her face, then drifted down to where she was protectively holding the "child's" hand. He wasn't looking at her like a member of his staff anymore. He was looking at her with a deepening appreciation, a sentimental warmth seeing her in a different light now that he got a glimpse of this side of her.

"You handle her very well, Ms. Thorne," Julian said, his tone appreciative, "It’s a good look on you. Maternal."

Elena blushed slightly, a modest smile on her face, with a demure tilt of her head. "Family is important, Mr. Vance. We do what we must."

"Indeed," Edgar Sterling chimed in, stepping forward. The shorter man peered down at Sabrina with intense interest. "And this is the little scholar! Starting fourth grade, I hear?"

Sabrina nodded mutely, afraid to speak and break the spell all while she ground her teeth at the absurdity of her being in elementary school.

"I have a strict rule about children at these events," Sterling said. He reached into his tuxedo pocket. "Usually, they are a distraction. But when Elena told me you were coming, I had one of the servers scour the kitchen."

He pulled out a single, snack-size Kit Kat bar.

"I asked for something simpler than those fancy canapés," Sterling said. He didn't hand it to Sabrina, though. He turned to Elena, respecting the hierarchy. "Is it alright if she has this, Elena? I know it's late."

Elena looked at the candy, then down at Sabrina, pursing her lips in mock thought. "Well . . . She has had a lot of sugar today, Mr. Sterling."

Sabrina stared at the chocolate, feeling a bizarre, childish desire for it just because it was being withheld.

"But," Elena continued, taking the Kit Kat from the man’s hand, "Since you went to such trouble, sir . . . " She slipped the candy into her own clutch, snapping it shut. "I'll hold onto it," Elena said, smiling down at Sabrina with terrifying benevolence. "She can have it later. If she behaves."

"Well, look who we have here," a familiar, matronly voice chimed in, cutting through the ambient chatter of the ballroom.

Sabrina froze. She knew that voice. It belonged to Martha Higgins, the Director of Accounting. Martha was sixty-one, pudgy, and possessed the kind of unshakeable confidence that came from being with the company from its inception and knowing exactly where every penny in the company was buried. She was also the only person at Aegis who consistently ignored Sabrina’s demands for speed, usually responding with a maddeningly patient smile.

Martha waddled over, a glass of Chardonnay that was half gone already in hand, her eyes lighting up as they landed on the tall woman in black and the small figure in pink standing beside her. "Elena, dear!" Martha cooed, beaming. "I didn't know you had a little one of your own! You’ve been keeping her a secret from us all this time? She is adorable!"

Sabrina felt her stomach drop through the floor. The idea of being mistaken for Elena’s daughter was physically revolting; she could admit the giraffe was physically superior, but mentally it was a demotion of biology as well as status. She opened her mouth to snap a correction, but Elena beat her to it.

Elena laughed, a light, tinkling sound that sounded painfully fake to Sabrina’s ears. She covered her mouth with a manicured hand, covering her own mild embarrassment. "Oh, Martha, you flatter me, really, but please do the math!" Elena said, smiling brightly. "I am far too young to have a ten-year-old. I haven't been in the workforce that long. I would have been a young teenager when I had her if that was the case "

Martha blinked, then let out a hearty, self-deprecating laugh as she gave a half shrug. "Oh, goodness, of course! My eyes aren't what they used to be, and with the way you two were holding hands, I just assumed. It’s the maternal energy, I suppose."

"This is my niece, Rina," Elena explained, resting a hand on the top of Sabrina’s head, her fingers sliding down through one of the pigtails. "I'm just the favorite auntie on duty tonight."

"Rude," Sabrina grunted, looking at her shoes to hide the burning humiliation on her face.

"Oh, aren't you precious!" Martha beamed, undeterred by the comment. She leaned down, getting uncomfortably close. "And look at that pout! My granddaughter, Sarah, twelve, just a bit older than Rina here, gives me that exact same look when I tell her to put the iPad away."

Before Sabrina could dodge, Martha reached out and pinched her cheek with a firm, grandmotherly grip. "She knows she’s cute, doesn't she?" Martha said, giving the cheek a little wobble.

Sabrina recoiled, slapping the hand away instinctively. "Don't touch me!"

The outburst was sharp, but coming from a tiny figure in a pink tulle dress, it didn't land with the authority of a Director. It sounded petulant.

Martha didn’t act offended; she just laughed again, looking up at Elena with a knowing expression. "You have to be careful with the pretty ones, Elena. They try to use those big eyes and that attitude to get their way. Children need love, of course, but they need a firm hand, or they turn into spoiled little brats. Sarah is a terror if you let her be."

Sabrina seethed, she wanted to tell the old cow exactly where she could shove her "firm hand," but the smell of the Chardonnay wafted toward her, reminding her desperately of her thirst. The bite of the Kit Kat denial was still fresh, and her throat begged for something alcoholic to get her through this waking nightmare.

Just then, a waiter glided past with a silver tray laden with crystal flutes of champagne, desire took over. Sabrina didn't think; she just reacted. She reached out, her hand grasping for the slender stem of a glass, desperate for the bubbles, for the alcohol, for anything to numb the reality of being pinched by the head of the lowly accountants.

The waiter, a young man who looked like he feared for his job, pulled the tray up sharply, high out of her reach.

"Whoa there, sweetheart," he said, giving her a stern, reproving look, "That’s not for you."

Sabrina’s hand closed around empty air. She stood on her tiptoes, face flushing red. "I just want a drink!"

"I am so sorry," Elena said quickly, stepping in to smooth things over. She looked at the waiter with an apologetic smile, aware of the leadership at her company and the wealthy client seeing what happened or what almost happened. "She’s thirsty. Do you have any Sprite? And please . . . Could you put it in a plastic cup? Or a tumbler? I don't trust her with the crystal. She’s a bit clumsy."

"Of course, Ma'am," the waiter said, looking at Sabrina with pity, "I'll be right back with a kiddie cup."

"I am not clumsy!" Sabrina hissed as the waiter walked away.

"You almost knocked over a tray of champagne, Rina," Elena corrected her, her voice low, "Those are adult drinks. Hush now, please."

When the waiter returned, he wasn't carrying a flute. He handed Elena a short, thick plastic tumbler filled with ice and Sprite, a bright red straw sticking out of the top.

"Here you go," Elena said, handing the cup to Sabrina.

She stared at the plastic cup. It was cold and sweating in her hand. Sabrina took a sip from the straw, the sugary carbonation hitting her tongue. It wasn't champagne, but she drank it greedily, hating herself with every swallow.

“See? Martha said to Elena as she tilted her head in Sabrina’s direction

"Now," Edgar Sterling said, turning back to the group and clapping his hands together, clearly bored with the domestic interlude. "Enough about refreshments. Julian, I know you have your hands in a lot of pots. My merger is just the newest addition. Tell me about another project. I like to hear how my partners overcome hurdles. It shows character."

Julian nodded, swirling his scotch. "Well, we have the Singapore logistics project. It’s a massive undertaking. We’ve hit a significant bottleneck with the local distribution channels."

Ears perking up, Sabrina turned her attention to her boss, knowing she had already told him that wasn’t the root of the issue. "It’s not the distribution channels," Sabrina blurted out.

The circle went silent. Julian, Sterling, Martha, and Elena all looked down at her.

Sabrina felt a surge of adrenaline. This was her wheelhouse. This was what she was good at. She stepped forward, the tulle rustling. "The bottleneck isn't the distribution," Sabrina said, her voice gaining a momentary flash of its usual authority. "It’s the port authority. They’re holding the permits to artificially inflate the storage fees. You don't need to reroute; you need to lean on the trade commissioner. He folds if you threaten to move the hub to Malaysia." She looked up at them, expecting the nod of approval, the recognition of her brilliance.

Instead, Sterling threw his head back and laughed.

"My goodness!" Sterling chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. "What an imagination! 'Lean on the trade commissioner.' She sounds like she’s reciting a spy movie!"

"She must listen to your phone calls, Elena," Julian said, shaking his head with an amused smirk. "Parroting what she hears the adults say. It’s cute, in a way."

"It's not cute, it's the solution!" Sabrina insisted, stomping her foot. "I'm telling you . . . "

"Okay, Rina, that’s enough," Elena interrupted, placing a hand on Sabrina’s head to silence her. She looked at Julian. "She was playing in my home office earlier. Reading my files, pretending she was a business woman, the usual."

Julian sighed, looking from the pouting "child" to Elena. "You know, it’s funny. Hearing that kind of aggression from a child is almost charming. Hearing it from Director Halloway just gives me a migraine." He took a sip of his drink, his eyes warm on Elena. "It is so refreshing to stand here with someone who has . . . grace, Elena. Halloway is effective, I’ll give her that, but she’s a buzzsaw. She has no off switch. You have a much more . . . balanced energy. It makes me wonder if we've been looking at the wrong leadership dynamic for the client-facing side of things."

Sabrina felt like she had been punched in the gut all while the CEO threatened her job, practically offering up to someone so much less capable. He was praising Elena for her ideas while insulting her to her face, all because she was wearing ribbons in her hair.

Sterling nodded in agreement, then glanced down at Sabrina, who was fuming silently around her straw.

"Speaking of business," Sterling said, his voice lowering. "We need to discuss the financials of the Blackwood integration. It’s sensitive stuff. Little pitchers have big ears, as they say." He gestured vaguely with his glass toward the corner of the room. "Perhaps the child should go sit down? This isn't a conversation for children. I don't believe in the adage that children should be seen and not heard; bright children like little Rina here are our future, but there’s also a time and place for everything."

"Excellent idea," Elena said. She looked around the room and pointed to a corner near the heavy velvet drapes. There was a large, high-backed armchair upholstered in crushed red velvet, set apart from the main clusters of guests. "Rina, honey," Elena said, pointing, "Go sit in that chair. Drink your Sprite. I will come and get you when we are done talking business. You can come get me if you need to use the potty."

"But-" Sabrina started to argue, her eyes darting between the closed circle of executives and the distant chair. Panic flared in her chest. The velvet chair was too far away. If she sat there, she wouldn't be able to hear a word of the Blackwood financials. The entire point of this degrading charade, the only reason she had agreed to the pigtails and the bullshit Auntie shit was to gather intel to enhance her job. If she was exiled to the corner, she was just a clown in a costume for nothing.

She planted her feet, trying to hold her ground. "Auntie, please, I promise I'll be quiet. I want to listen. I can help!"

"Oh, nonsense, Elena," Martha interrupted, waving a hand dismissively before Sabrina could finish her plea. "Don't send the poor thing to sit alone in the corner like a punishment. She’ll be bored to tears by herself." Martha stepped forward, her smile wide and terrifyingly grandmotherly. "I’ll watch her," Martha offered, beaming at the executives. "My team has already run the numbers for Blackwood multiple times. You don't need me for the strategy talk, and frankly, my feet are killing me. I was looking for an excuse to sit down."

Sabrina’s blood ran cold. ‘No,’ she thought, her heart hammering. Anyone but her. And not away from the circle!

"Are you sure, Martha?" Elena asked, though she looked relieved to have the 'child' handled. "She can be a handful."

"Oh, pish-posh," Martha scoffed. She reached out and took Sabrina’s free hand, even as Sabrina tried to shift away. The hand not occupied with clutching the Sprite was in Martha’s grasp. Her grip was soft, doughy, but just firm enough to trap Sabrina’s fingers. "I raised three boys and I’m raising a granddaughter. I can handle one little spitfire. Besides, she and I need to have a little chat about manners, don't we, Rina?" Martha gave the girl’s hand a squeeze that sent the message ‘Try me.’

"That is very kind of you, Ms. Higgins," Julian said, nodding approvingly. "We shouldn't be long."

"Go with Ms. Higgins, Rina," Elena commanded, looking down at Sabrina with a mix of amusement and finality. "Behave yourself. I will come get you when we are done."

Sabrina watched in horror as Elena stepped seamlessly into the gap she had left in the circle, closing ranks with Julian and Sterling. The wall of black suits formed a barrier, shutting her out completely.

"Come along, sweetie," Martha said, pulling Sabrina away. "Let’s go find a nice spot to sit. I have some butterscotch in my purse if you finish that soda. Maybe we can play patty-cake."

Sabrina was towed away, her heels dragging slightly on the marble as she craned her neck, desperately trying to catch a snippet of what Sterling was saying. But the ambient noise of the party swallowed the conversation. She was losing it; she was losing the intel.

Martha led her to the crushed velvet armchair in the corner. She sat herself down on the adjacent sofa with a heavy sigh of relief, kicking off one of her pumps, and patted the cushion of the big chair. "Up you go," Martha ordered.

Sabrina glared at her, but the fight had drained out of her. Defeated, she clambered up into the massive chair. It was oversized, designed for a large man to smoke a cigar in, not for a petite woman in a tulle dress. When she sat all the way back, her knees didn't reach the edge of the cushion. Her legs stuck straight out, her pink sequined shoes dangling a good six inches off the floor. “What is patty-cake?” She had no idea what it was, but knew she didn’t want to do it. She slumped back against the velvet, the material scratching against her bare arms. She was trapped. She couldn't hear the merger details. She couldn't hear Julian. All she could hear was the heavy breathing of the Director of Accounting.

"You don't know patty-cake?" Martha blinked, her expression shifting from curiosity to genuine pity. She set her Chardonnay down on a coaster and leaned forward, invading Sabrina’s personal space. "Good heavens, child. What do they teach you in school? Just math and cursive? Do they still teach cursive? Every child knows patty-cake."

"I focused on cello and debate," Sabrina lied stiffly, clutching her plastic cup like a shield. "Games are a waste of productivity."

"Oh, listen to you," Martha chuckled, shaking her head. "You sound like a forty-year-old accountant with an ulcer. Put the cup down, honey. We need to loosen you up."

Martha gently but firmly pried the Sprite from Sabrina’s fingers and set it on the side table. Then, she held up her own pudgy, ring-adorned hands, palms facing out. "Come on," Martha commanded, "Hands up."

Sabrina stared at her crossing her arms and immediately felt uncomfortable doing so. "I am not doing that."

"Rina," Martha warned, her voice dropping into that "grandmother" tone again. "Don't be a sourpuss. Your aunt asked me to watch you, and I won't have you pouting in the corner. Hands up. Palms flat."

Sabrina ground her teeth. She looked over Martha’s shoulder. Across the room, she could see the back of Elena’s sleek black dress, her stupidly pert ass. Elena was nodding at Sterling, looking poised and professional, the woman playing her own part of the perfect executive. Meanwhile, Sabrina was being bullied into a nursery rhyme by the woman who usually filed her expense reports.

Defeated, Sabrina slowly lifted her hands, flattening her palms against Martha’s warm, soft ones.

"There. Now, it’s simple," Martha explained, speaking slowly as if to a toddler, "Clap your own hands, then clap mine. Then roll them like dough. Just follow me." Martha began to chant, her voice low but rhythmic. "Patty-cake, patty-cake, baker's man . . . " She clapped her hands, then reached out to slap Sabrina’s. Sabrina missed the beat, her coordination thrown off by the sheer absurdity of the situation. "Focus, Rina," Martha chided gently, resetting the rhythm, "Bake me a cake as fast as you can . . ."

Sabrina forced herself to comply. Clap. Slap. Clap. Slap. It was rhythmic, repetitive, and mind-numbingly stupid. She felt like a performing monkey.

"Pat it, and prick it, and mark it with a B," Martha sang, taking Sabrina’s small hand and using her finger to trace a 'B' on the palm.

Sabrina shivered at the touch.

"And put it in the oven for baby and me!" Martha finished with a flourish, clapping Sabrina’s hands together between her own.

"See?" Martha beamed, picking her wine back up. "That wasn't so hard, was it? It keeps the hands busy. You have a lot of nervous energy, dear."

Sabrina dropped her hands to her lap, her face burning hot. "It's inefficient," she muttered, "Why would you mark it with a B if the baby's name doesn't start with B?"

Martha laughed, popping a butterscotch candy into her mouth. She leaned back into the sofa, looking at Sabrina with a thoughtful, analytical gaze. "You know," Martha said, crunching on the candy, "You really do remind me of someone. Your aunt's boss. Have you ever met her or heard her talking to your sweet aunt on the phone?"

Sabrina’s head snapped up. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, yes," Martha nodded, looking toward the group of executives where Elena it appeared she was holding court. "You have the exact same scowl. And the impatience! Always rushing, always analyzing, never just enjoying the moment. But that is part of being young and immature."

Martha took a sip of wine, oblivious to the fact that she was speaking to the Director herself.

"I’ve worked with Sabrina Halloway for five years," Martha confided, lowering her voice to a gossip's whisper, "Brilliant woman in specific circumstances, but absolutely miserable to be around. She snaps at people, interrupts them, treats everyone like they're incompetent . . . Just be mindful of others' feelings and, when you get older, you will be a fine young woman one day."

Sabrina opened her mouth to defend herself, to shout 'I am efficient, not miserable!', but the words died in her throat.

"It’s unbecoming of a grown woman," Martha continued, shaking her head sadly, "And it is certainly not cute on a little girl. You don't want to grow up to be like her, do you, Rina? Alone, angry, and so high-strung she can't make any friends?"

Sabrina sat paralyzed in the massive velvet chair, her legs dangling uselessly in the air. She gripped the arms of the chair, her knuckles turning white. She had come here to save her job, to prove she was indispensable. Instead, she was trapped in a corner, wearing pink tulle, listening to the company grandmother explain exactly why nobody liked her. The worst part was, as she looked across the room at her assistant manager, who was currently laughing at something Julian whispered, Sabrina realized that for the first time in years, things were running perfectly smoothly without her.

Sabrina sat paralyzed in the massive velvet chair, the words “alone” and “angry” burrowing under her skin. She wanted to scoff. She wanted to tell this pudgy bean-counter that she didn't need "friends" in the way Martha meant. She had her sorority sisters from college, didn't she? Sure, they were frenemies at best, conniving, mean bitches who only met up to compare engagement ring carats and see whose BMI had dropped, putting one another down just to feel better about themselves. But that was the game. That was how strong women sharpened each other.

And men? She wasn't lonely. She had plenty of men. She had a roster of fuck buddies, strictly transactional relationships that provided the necessary physical release without the mess. They never lasted long, and they never got overly emotional, exactly how she liked it. She had always viewed her isolation as a sign of superiority. She was lean, mean, and efficient, not needing others to be happy.

But hearing Martha say it, hearing her describe her life not as a triumph of focus, but as the sad, lonely existence of a woman who couldn't connect with a single soul, made the defense die in her throat.

Before she could spiral further, the wall of black suits across the room broke apart. Elena emerged from the group, walking alongside Julian Vance rather than a step behind him. She didn't look like some lowly, poor assistant manager; she looked like the glue holding the trio together.

"There they are," Elena said, her voice warm as she stopped in front of the velvet chair. She looked from Martha to Sabrina, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips. "I hope she wasn't too much trouble, Ms. Higgins. Rina can be a bit . . intense."

"Oh, not at all!" Martha pushed herself up from the sofa. "We played patty-cake and had a lovely chat about manners. She’s a sweet thing, really. Just needs a little direction." Martha looked down at the girl. "Remember what I said, Rina. Don't be a sourpuss. You don't want to end up bitter."

"I appreciate it," Elena said, extending a hand toward the chair. "Smile, you know good girls smile, come on, Rina. Hop down. It’s dinner time."

Sabrina glared at the hand, then at the floor. It was too high to step down gracefully. She had to scoot forward and slide off, or hop off. Deciding to slide she felt her tulle skirt bunching up around her waist for a second before her sequined flats hit the carpet with a clumsy thud. She straightened her dress, desperate to regain a shred of dignity, but Julian Vance spoke up, ignoring her entirely to address Elena.

"Elena," Julian said. "I just want to say . . . Your input on the Blackwood integration was insightful. I’m sure Sterling and I would agree that it’s rare to find someone who understands both the logistics and the people involved." He sighed. "Usually, when I bring this up with your current supervisor, for as long as that lasts . . . she starts quoting efficiency percentages until my eyes glaze over. You brought a human element to it. I think we’re going to be seeing a lot more of you, Ms. Thorne."

Sabrina felt sick. They were erasing her legacy in real-time.

"Thank you, Mr. Vance," Elena said modestly, "I just want what’s best for the team."

"Well, let's get some food in the little one," Julian said, checking his watch, "She looks exhausted, and I for one am famished."

Elena put a hand on Sabrina’s shoulder, her fingers digging in. "Say thank you to Ms. Higgins for watching you, Rina. And say goodbye."

Sabrina stood frozen. Every fiber of her being rebelled.

Elena squeezed harder. "Rina."

Sabrina looked at Martha, who was waiting with an expectant, benevolent smile, the woman who pitied her "sad" life. "Thank you," Sabrina forced out, the words sounding strangled, "Ms. Higgins."

"You're very welcome, dear," Martha beamed. "Such a cute kid," she told the CEO as the group began to move, "A little odd, but cute. I bet she would have fun with my Sarah. Elena, I don’t want to presume, but what do you think of us setting up a play date?"

Sabrina choked on her own breath. A playdate? The sheer horror of the suggestion froze her blood. Being trapped in this ballroom was one thing; being dragged to a suburban house to play dolls with Martha Higgins’s tween granddaughter was a circle of hell she hadn't even known existed.

"I’m very busy with umm- ahh . . . Studies " Sabrina blurted out quickly, her voice pitching high in panic, “You know, school stuff like homework and reading."

"Nonsense," Elena cut in, her eyes lighting up with a sadistic delight. She looked at the older woman with a beaming smile. "Oh, that is such a generous offer! I think that is exactly what Rina needs. She spends far too much time alone with her coloring books. She needs to socialize with girls her own age."

"It’s settled, then!" Martha clapped her hands together softly. "Sarah has a lovely collection of American Girl dolls. They can have a tea party. I’ll text you the details on Monday, Elena."

"We look forward to it," Elena cooed.

Sabrina looked up at her assistant, her eyes wide with betrayal. “You wouldn't dare,” she mouthed silently.

Elena just winked at her, a quick, imperceptible flutter of her lashes, before turning back to the men.

"Socializing is key to development," Julian Vance agreed, nodding sagely as if they weren't discussing the Director of Operations playing with dolls. "Good for the character. Builds the 'human element,' right?"

Reaching out, Elena gave a light squeeze to the broad shouldered man's forearm, her touch lingering. "Exactly," Elena said. Her other hand placed a firm touch on the small of Sabrina’s back, propelling her forward. "Now, let’s eat. Rina gets cranky when her blood sugar drops."

Sabrina walked toward the dining area, her legs feeling like lead. She wasn't just losing her job; she was losing her adulthood. Monday wasn't going to be a board meeting; it was going to be a tea party. She resolved herself to fire her subordinate the moment she could speak to HR.

"Here we are," Elena announced as they reached the set tables. She took charge of the seating arrangements immediately. "Mr. Sterling, why don't you sit there? Julian, you take the center.” Her addressing him less formally for the first time, hoping it didn’t come across as rude like her boss often said it was when she did it with her all while the women continued to call the CEO by his own given name with little warmth. “Martha, you can take the end on the left, next to my niece since she seems so taken by you."

That left the center seat on the opposite side for Sabrina, directly across from Julian Vance. Martha sat to her left, and Elena sat to her right.

Elena pulled out the chair for her. It was a standard banquet chair, perfectly accessible. Sabrina stepped forward, ready to sit with as much dignity as she could muster after the playdate ambush. But before she could bend her knees, she felt Elena’s hands clamp firmly around her waist.

"What do you think you're-" Sabrina started to snap. Before she could finish, Elena hoisted her into the air. Sabrina gasped, her feet kicking uselessly for a split second as she was physically lifted and deposited onto the cushioned seat. The sensation of being manhandled, of being so light that her assistant could lift her without breaking a sweat, made her skin crawl. She hated being touched, and the casual ease of the lift reminded her painfully of her physical vulnerability. "Put me down!" Sabrina hissed, her face flaming as she scrambled to adjust her dress which had bunched up during the flight. "I can sit my own fucking self!"

"Watch your language, Rina," Elena admonished smoothly, sliding the chair in until Sabrina’s stomach pressed against the linen tablecloth. She patted Sabrina’s shoulder. "I’m just helping. I know how tired you get after a long walk. Those little legs aren't used to keeping up with adults. If you keep speaking like that we are going to the bathroom to wash your mouth out with soap. That is an adult word you shouldn’t be using.”

Sabrina froze, her mouth snapping shut with an audible click. The threat was so archaic, so humiliatingly juvenile, that her brain momentarily short-circuited. She looked at Elena’s face and saw zero hesitation. ‘She would do it,’ Sabrina realized with horror. ‘She would drag me into the Grand Meridian restroom and scrub my tongue like an unruly toddler.’

"Quite right," Martha agreed from the left, nodding sagely as she unfolded her napkin. "My Sarah learned that lesson the hard way. Ivory soap tastes terrible, but she stopped swearing, didn't she? You have to nip that behavior in the bud, Elena."

"Good for you, Ms. Thorne," Edgar Sterling added, looking over his spectacles with approval. "Too many guardians let that slide these days. Discipline is love, I always say. A clean mouth makes for a clean mind."

Sabrina looked around the table. She was surrounded by three adults who all agreed that she, a twenty-six-year-old executive, deserved to have her mouth washed out for cursing. She slumped in her chair, defeated by the sheer insanity of the consensus.

A waiter appeared instantly, holding the heavy, leather-bound menus. He handed one to Martha, one to Elena, and then turned to the men.

"And for the young lady?" Edgar Sterling asked, looking over his spectacles. He didn't even glance at the leather menu the waiter was offering Sabrina. "Bring her a kid's menu. Do you have the ones with the crayons?"

"We do, sir," the waiter nodded.

"I don't need crayons," Sabrina muttered, her voice significantly quieter than before, the threat of the soap still lingering in her mind, "I can read a menu."

"I’ll take one," Julian Vance interrupted, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. He leaned across the table, winking at Sabrina as if she couldn't hear him, though he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. "I find the puzzles relaxing. I’ll happily color with the girl. It keeps the mind sharp, doesn't it, Sterling?"

Sterling chuckled, clearly pleased by the family-friendly atmosphere Julian was fostering. "Indeed it does. Shows a good balance."

The waiter returned a moment later, bypassing Sabrina with the leather menu and sliding a single sheet of paper and a small box of crayons in front of her. He did the same for Julian, putting it on top of his leather bound menu.

Sabrina stared down at the paper. It featured a maze shaped like a lobster, a word search, and a Tic-Tac-Toe grid.

"Now," the waiter said, taking out his pad. "Tonight’s special selections for the charity are the Jumbo Shrimp with Scallops served over a saffron risotto, or the Personal Beef Wellington with honey-glazed rosemary carrots."

Sabrina’s stomach growled. The Wellington sounded divine. She opened her mouth to order.

"I'll take the Wellington, rare," Julian said.

"Same for me," Sterling added.

"And the lady?" the waiter asked, looking at Sabrina.

"I'll have the Wel-"

"She’ll have the chicken fingers," Elena cut in effortlessly, not even looking up from her own menu, her index finger pressing into the kids menu in front of her fake niece, pointing to the kiddie options. "With the mac and cheese. And keep the Sprite coming, please."

"But, I want the steak," Sabrina protested, looking at Elena with genuine outrage.

"The Wellington is too rich for you, Rina," Elena said, closing her menu and handing it to the waiter. "And after that language? You're lucky you're getting dessert later. Chicken fingers are a safe bet; you can be so picky."

"Excellent choice," the waiter said, snatching the opportunity away before Sabrina could cause a scene. He disappeared toward the kitchen, not wanting to be involved in a conversation evolving an upset child.

Sabrina sat fuming, gripping a blue crayon so hard it threatened to snap. Across the table, Julian Vance picked up a red crayon. He reached across, drawing a large X in the center of Sabrina’s Tic-Tac-Toe grid.

"Your move, Rina," Julian said with a benevolent smile, before turning his head slightly to address Elena. "So, Elena, regarding the staffing for the Blackwood account... I was thinking we might need to restructure the oversight committee."

Sabrina’s ears perked up. Restructure the oversight committee? That was her committee. She needed to hear this. She leaned in, trying to catch the details.

"I think that's wise," Elena replied, her voice calm and professional. "Current leadership is . . . stretched thin."

Sabrina angrily drew an O in the corner of the grid, straining to listen.

"And what about you, young lady?" Edgar Sterling’s voice boomed, cutting through the intel Sabrina was trying to gather. "Starting fourth grade, I heard? That’s the year they start the multiplication tables in earnest, if I recall what they do in public school."

Sabrina blinked, her focus fracturing. "Um. Yes," she said, having no idea.

"Let’s see what you’ve got," Sterling challenged, looking amused. "What is seven times eight?"

"Fifty-six," Sabrina answered automatically, her eyes darting back to Julian, who was saying something about 'redundancies in middle management.'

"Good," Sterling nodded, "Nine times six?"

"Fifty-four," she muttered. Julian was drawing another X on her paper. He was blocking her win.

"Twelve times twelve?" Sterling pressed.

"One forty-four," Sabrina said, distracted. Julian was saying, “Halloway is brilliant, but perhaps too rigid for the transition phase . . .”

"What is eight times seven?" Sterling asked again, testing her focus.

"Forty-eight," Sabrina said, watching Julian’s lips move as he spoke to Elena.

There was a pause at the table.

Sabrina snapped her attention back to Sterling. "Wait. No. Fifty-six. I meant fifty-six."

Sterling smiled, a condescending, pitying expression settling on his face. He reached over and patted her hand, which was resting near the crayon box.

"Don't worry, my dear," Sterling said kindly, "It’s a lot of pressure with everyone watching. And frankly . . ." He glanced at Julian and then at Elena. "This is the trouble with the public school system in general. They just don't drill the fundamentals like they used to. At my Blackwood Academy, where my grandsons go, the fourth graders are doing pre-algebra."

"She’s a bright girl, Mr. Sterling," Elena said, coming to her defense with a tone that suggested she was covering for a slow child. "She just gets easily distracted. Don't you, Rina?"

"Your move," Julian said softly, tapping the paper where he had just placed his third X, winning the game while Sabrina was trying to do math and save her career at the same time. "Tic-Tac-Toe."

Sabrina looked down at the paper. She had lost. She looked at Sterling, who now seemed to think she was bad at math. She looked at Elena, who was eating a breadstick with the serenity of a saint.

The waiter arrived and placed a plastic bowl of bright orange macaroni and cheese in front of her.

"Enjoy," the waiter said.

Sabrina stared at the plastic bowl of neon-orange macaroni. It was the final insult. The smell of the saffron risotto wafting from the waiter’s tray was intoxicating, rich and buttery, calling to her refined tastes. She did not eat pasta meant for toddlers. "I am not eating this," Sabrina announced, her voice trembling with rage. She shoved the bowl away with enough force that it skidded across the linen tablecloth, stopping inches from the edge in front of Julian, threatening to fall off into his lap.

She looked at Elena, her eyes burning with defiance. "I'm not a child, and I demand to be treated with respect! I want the scallops and risotto!" Her mouth watered just saying it, the craving for a real meal overpowering her common sense, it hitting her extra hard when she hadn't eaten all day leaving her hangry for a number of reasons.

The table went silent. Julian raised an eyebrow, looking amused by the "little gourmand." Sterling, however, looked disappointed by the lack of gratitude.

"That is quite enough," Elena said, her voice dropping to a terrifyingly low register when she saw their client's expression. She stood up abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "Excuse us, gentlemen. Rina needs a reset."

Elena moved with lightning speed, grabbing Sabrina by the upper arm. Her grip was iron. She hauled her work superior and current pretend niece out of the chair, not waiting for her to find her footing.

"I’ll come with you," Martha said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin and standing up. "Sometimes it takes two with a tantrum this size. Demanding scallops like a little princess . . . Honestly."

"I am not having a tantrum!" Sabrina screamed as she was dragged away from the table, her feet skidding on the carpet, enough that one of the little ballet flats came loose "I just want dinner! Let go of me!"

Elena didn't answer. She marched Sabrina across the ballroom, as Martha stopped to pick up the lost footwear as they moved through the lobby, and into the ladies' room. It was an opulent space with marble floors and gold fixtures, currently empty.

Elena spun Sabrina around and backed her against the sink counter. "Soap," Elena muttered, reaching for the dispenser, "I warned you about that mouth."

"Now, Elena," Martha tutted, closing the heavy restroom door and locking it. She looked at Sabrina with a critical, grandmotherly eye. "Soap is for bad words, certainly. But throwing food? Screaming at the table? Demanding adult food you probably won't even finish? That requires a firmer hand. If that were my Sarah, she’d be over my knee before the door clicked shut. It worked on my sons and I know it will work on your little one. She isn’t a bad girl; she’s just having a bad moment."

Elena paused, the soap dispenser in her hand. She looked from Martha to Sabrina, a slow smile spreading across her face. "You’re right. She needs to learn her place."

"No!" Sabrina panicked, backing up until the marble dug into her spine. "You can't touch me! I am your boss! I’m in charge!!"

Martha shook her head, clicking her tongue against her teeth. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such a bad attitude. She wasn’t acting so spoiled earlier. You have to break that delusion."

"I intend to," Elena said.

Before Sabrina could dart for the stall, Elena grabbed her wrist and spun her around. With a strength that Sabrina in her diminished, petite state could not match, Elena sat on a velvet vanity bench and yanked Sabrina down across her lap.

"Let me go!" Sabrina shrieked, kicking her legs. But she was too light, too small. Elena’s arm clamped across her back like a steel bar, pinning her in place.

The first smack landed hard against the tulle and silk of her dress.

"Ow!" Sabrina gasped, the shock of it more painful than the sting.

"Who are you?" Elena demanded, her voice calm and authoritative.

"What!?!" Sabrina yelled, and immediately received two sharp swats in rapid succession.

"Not listening only makes things worse, Rina," Martha advised from the sinks, putting the girl's shoe on the floor next to her before checking her lipstick in the mirror as if this were a normal occurrence. "Tell your Auntie the truth."

"I am telling the truth! I'm a director." Sabrina sobbed.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

The pain was real, sharp, and humiliating. Sabrina realized with terrifying clarity that she couldn't overpower Elena. She was trapped in a child’s body, being disciplined by her subordinate, and the only way to make it stop was to surrender.

“Hmmm . . .” Martha started thinking about the girl's claim. “You know I’m a director of a whole division; it is cute that you want to be like me, but right now we need the truth.”

"Who are you?" Elena asked again, her hand raised.

"I-" Sabrina choked, her resolve crumbling under the physical reality of her helplessness. "I'm Rina."

"And how old are you?"

"Twenty-six!"

Smack!

"Try again," Elena warned, "Martha, how old does she act?"

"She’s ten but right now, she isn't acting like a big girl, I'd say," Martha chimed in.

"I'm ten!" Sabrina cried out, desperate to stop the stinging. "I'm ten years old!"

"And what grade are you in?" Elena pressed.

"I have a Master's degree!"

Smack. Smack.

"Fourth grade!" Sabrina wailed, tears streaming down her face. "I'm starting fourth grade!"

"And who is in charge?" Elena asked, her hand resting on Sabrina’s back, heavy and dominant.

"You are," Sabrina whispered into her own lap.

"And who am I?"

Smack. Smack.

Sniffling, Sabrina shook her head rapidly ready to say whatever her attacker wanted to stop the assault. “My Auntie . . . ”

“Good, now will you be a good girl!?”

Smack.

Squirming, trying to get free but finding no means of freedom, Sabrina tried to reach behind her to cover her sore rear end. "I will be a good girl," Sabrina recited, the words tasting like bile, "I'll be a good girl."

Elena smoothed down Sabrina’s skirt to cover the little girl's panties and lifted her upright. Sabrina stood there, face red, eyes wet, trembling with residual shock. She felt stripped of everything: Her title, her age, her dignity.

"Much better," Martha said, nodding approvingly, "Now, wash your face. We have a dinner to finish."

Ten minutes later, a subdued, red-eyed Sabrina was placed back into her chair at the table. She didn't argue when Elena tucked a napkin into her collar. She didn't speak when the waiter refilled her Sprite. She just picked up a chicken finger with a trembling hand and ate it, staring at the tablecloth.

"Everything alright?" Julian asked, looking at the silent girl.

"Much better," Elena said brightly, cutting into her beef wellington. "We just needed to get on the same page."

Edgar Sterling wiped his mouth, looking at Sabrina with a contemplative expression.

"You know," Sterling said, leaning back. "It’s hard to find that kind of discipline these days. Most parents let the children run the asylum. But, you . . . You have control, Elena. And the girl, despite her outbursts, has a spark. She’s bright."

He took a sip of wine. "Blackwood Academy prides itself on two things: academic rigor and character development. We take bright, spirited girls like little Rina here, and we mold them. We give them the structure they crave."

Sabrina chewed her macaroni, keeping her eyes down.

"I think she would be a perfect fit," Sterling continued. "In fact, I’d like to invite you both to tour the campus, as early as tomorrow if you like. I’m sure we have an opening in the fourth-grade. I think seeing the facility might help you decide if it’s the right environment for her to succeed."

Sabrina’s head snapped up. Elementary school? He wanted to send her to an elementary school?

"That is a very generous offer, Mr. Sterling," Elena said, feigning surprise, "We wouldn't want to impose."

"Nonsense," Sterling insisted, "I want to help. Bring her by. Julian can come along, and we can talk about the merger while the headmistress assesses Rina."

Sabrina looked at Elena, waiting for her to say no. But Elena was smiling.

"We would be honored," Elena said.

Sabrina’s mind raced. She should scream. She should flip the table. But then she looked at Julian Vance. He was nodding, looking impressed by Elena’s ability to secure such a personal invitation from the client.

If Sabrina refused . . . if she threw another fit here, things could end badly for her. If she agreed, and then she didn’t show . . . Sterling would be insulted. The merger talks would stall. Elena would be to blame, looking incompetent, but the department, Sabrina’s department, would suffer. She was sure when she was looking back like herself and having the time to formulate a plan, she could save herself and the department. Just not the vile, dark haired woman that dared to treat her like this.

‘I have to go.’ Sabrina reasoned, clutching her fork. ‘If I don't go, things only get better for me and worse for the giraffe. Once the papers are signed, I’ll fire Elena and get my life back.’ It was a desperate, delusional rationalization, but it was the only thing keeping her from screaming.

"What do you say, Rina?" Sterling asked, smiling at her, "Would you like to come see my school?"

Sabrina looked at the man who held her company’s future in his hands. She looked at Elena, who was daring her to play along.

"Yes, sir," Sabrina whispered, defeated. "I would like that."

Chapter Seven

The gala didn’t just fade away as the evening went on; it was dismissed by Edgar Sterling himself. He rose from the table, moving closer to the entrance doors for the reserved room, a hotel employee coming over to hand him a microphone, his voice booming comfortably over the remnants of dessert and the low murmur of tired conversation. "I want to thank everyone for coming out tonight," the spectacled man said, his gaze sweeping over the room, him taking the time to nod and smile at each table in turn, him beaming at the crowd as he unbuttoned his suit jacket. "Thank you for purchasing a plate, or in some cases, a whole table. Every dollar raised tonight is going straight to the foundation, and that is something you should all be proud of."

He raised his glass, catching the light of the chandeliers. "For those of you heading home, drive safe. For the wise ones who booked a room upstairs . . . I’ll see you at the hotel bar in ten minutes."

Applause rippled through the room. For Sabrina, it was the sound of salvation. It meant the night was over. It meant she could finally drop the act, get back to her car, and forget this nightmare ever happened. She started to push her chair back, eager to bolt for the exit, but the humiliation, it seemed, was just getting its second wind.

Vance was there before she could even stand.

"Allow me," he said, pulling Elena's chair out first, ignoring Sabrina entirely.

Sabrina froze, hovering awkwardly halfway out of her seat, forced to push her own chair back with the backs of her legs while Vance offered Elena a hand up like she was royalty.

"Thank you, Mr. Vance," Elena said softly, smoothing her dress.

"Please, call me Julian," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Mr. Vance is for the office. I would like to think we can move past that formality when at a social event. And I insist on walking you to your car. The lot can be chaotic."

"We don't need-" Sabrina started to say, ready to snap that they knew the way.

"We would appreciate that," Elena interrupted, placing a warning hand on Sabrina’s head before running her fingers through one of the pigtails, sliding along the ribbon in her hair.

They moved toward the exit, the cool night air hitting them as they stepped out of the venue. The warning of the oncoming rain was present now. The moment they cleared the doors, Julian made his move. He didn't just walk beside them; he captured Elena’s hand, his fingers interlacing with hers in a way that was far too intimate for a business acquaintance.

Sabrina watched the contact, her stomach churning with rage and jealousy. She didn't even fully understand the reason, she was positive she didn’t have any attraction to the judgmental rich prick, but seeing him treat her assistant like a prize while ignoring the woman who signed the contracts that brought in the money made her blood boil.

To maintain the charade, Elena reached out with her free hand and gripped Sabrina’s. "Come along, sweetie," Elena cooed, tightening her grip.

The result was a grotesque human chain: Julian, the charming suitor; Elena, the demure guardian; and Sabrina, dragged along like a toddler with a sticky face. Her not resisting the hand holding after the encounter in the ladies room and being so worn out from the stress of the night and long day at the office.

"So," Julian said, swinging Elena’s hand slightly as they walked down the paved path. "When you aren't chaperoning spirited nieces or managing events, what does a beautiful lady like yourself do?"

Sabrina squeezed Elena’s hand hard, trying to convey her fury through bone compression. ‘She works for me,’ Sabrina thought venomously. ‘She organizes my calendar. She doesn't have a life. Or need a life.’

Julian didn't look at Sabrina. He was entirely focused on the woman in the middle. "Are you a wine and jazz kind of woman? Or more of a hiking boots and trails type?"

Elena glanced down at her heeled feet not even flinching at Sabrina's weak attempt at a death grip. She just squeezed back, her hold like a vice, while smiling up at Julian. "Oh, I keep things simple. I like quiet nights, a good book or movie. But when the opportunity presents itself, I'm like most women, enjoying a chance to get dolled up. Though I admit, I don't get out as much as I should. Work keeps me rather busy."

"We'll have to change that," Julian said, his voice dropping an octave. "You need someone to show you there's more to life than work."

Sabrina gagged internally. They reached the car–her car–her beautiful, customized luxury sedan that Elena had driven earlier. Instinct took over. The moment they stopped, Sabrina dropped Elena’s hand and reached for the front passenger door handle.

Elena was faster.

Before Sabrina’s fingers could graze the chrome, Elena stepped in front of her, blocking the path with her hip, and popped open the rear door. "Backseat, sweetie," Elena said, her voice sugary but her eyes hard.

Sabrina opened her mouth to snap, but Julian spoke up, his brow furrowing as he looked from Sabrina to the cavernous leather interior of the back seat.

"Wait," he said, pausing with his hand on the roof, "Do you have a booster for her? Or a car seat?"

Sabrina froze. She stared at him, waiting for the punchline to the mean spirited joke. "She looks a little small for just the belt," Julian continued, his tone genuinely concerned, "The shoulder strap is going to cut right across her neck."

"We usually have one," Elena lied, not nearly as smoothly or as quickly as she would have liked. "But her mother, my sister . . . She has it in her SUV right now. "

Julian looked uneasy. "You really need to be careful, Elena. You have to keep your little niece safe. The highway can be dangerous at this hour."

"I know," Elena said, sounding suitably chastised, "I'll pick a new one up first thing in the morning."

She ushered Sabrina in. Sabrina climbed into the backseat, her cheeks burning, her frilly skirt bunching up around her legs. She scowled, crossing her arms, but the humiliation wasn't over.

Elena leaned into the backseat, reaching right over the fake child.

"What are you doing?" Sabrina hissed.

"Safety first," Elena muttered. She grabbed the seatbelt, pulled it across Sabrina’s chest, and clicked it into the buckle herself. She gave the strap a firm tug to tighten it, effectively pinning Sabrina against the leather.

Elena pulled back, hand on the door but not closing it yet. Through the open door, Sabrina watched them say a lingering goodbye, a soft touch on the arm.

“You know . . .” Julian rubbed the back of his neck, feeling uneasy about the confession he was about to say. “I was tempted to invite you back up to my room.”

Tapping her index finger to her lipsticked lips, Elena leaned closer to her company's leader. “Were tempted, as in past tense?”

Julian chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “Yeah, I'm now tempted to go home with you, but I think that would be crossing a line. Not just professionally, but with your niece with you . . . Even if it would be nice.”

Placing her palm on the tall man’s chest, thanks to her footwear she was eye level with the man.”Julian, are you flirting with me?” she smiled coyly. He took a half step back, but his demeanor didn’t show he was fully closed off. ”For at least one of us, it is sad you won't give in to that temptation, though I can see the appeal of sleeping my way to the top.”

“An interesting strategy. Think it will work?”

Elena shook her head laughing, her smile easily reaching her eyes. “No, you have too much–or is it… the right amount of–integrity.”

Julian shook his head in tandem. “You have your niece for the week, right?

Elena nodded her head not sure where the question was leading to.

“I understand Rina is going on a playdate with Ms. Higgins' granddaughter for a tea party. Perhaps you could use a plus one?

The interaction was making Sabrina sick. ‘If Thorne wants to slut it up, why is she pussy footing around it?’ she thought, the topic of the infuriating playdate catching her attention.”I’m not going to that!” she yelled so both those outside the car could hear. Instead of verbal response, the dark haired woman shut the car door, sealing her inside buckled tightly in.

“Sorry about her, she is tired after such an eventful evening.”

Inside the car Sabrina, seethed watching the two continue to talk before seemingly agreeing to something before Elena got into the driver's seat.

"You," Sabrina seethed as the engine purred to life, "are fired. Re-hired, just so I can fire you again. And fucking the CEO isn’t going to save you."

"Buckle up," Elena said calmly, checking her mirrors, "Oh, wait. I already did that for you."

They pulled out of the lot, leaving Julian waving in the rearview mirror. Sabrina was just beginning to construct a lecture on insubordination that would peel the paint off the walls when blue and red lights exploded in the cabin.

A siren chirped behind them.

"Unbelievable," Sabrina groaned. "You're speeding? In my car?"

"I was doing thirty," Elena said, frowning. She pulled over to the curb.

The officer who approached the window looked bored. He shined his flashlight into the front, then immediately into the back, the beam landing square on Sabrina’s face.

"License and registration," the officer said. "Are you aware the tint on your car is too dark? As in, illegal? It's way too dark."

"It's factory custom!" Sabrina shouted from the back.

The officer ignored her. He took Elena’s license and the registration Sabrina had to direct Elena to find in the glove box. He walked away, ran the numbers, and returned with a clipboard.

"I'm writing you a citation for the tint," the officer said to Elena. "And a second citation for you not properly securing your little one."

Elena blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Unrestrained child," the officer said, tapping his pen against the clipboard. "She's not in a booster seat."

Something inside Sabrina snapped. The wire holding her sanity together frayed and parted. She lunged forward against the seatbelt.

"Are you blind?" she shrieked. "I am twenty-six years old! I am a grown woman! I own this car, and I make millions at my job. The company that probably pays your precinct's taxes! I don't need a damn booster seat!"

The officer looked at her. He looked at the pigtails. He looked at the oversized bow on her dress. He looked at how her feet barely touched the floor mats, he mostly looked bored.

His expression didn't change.

"Ma'am," he deadpanned, "The law is based on height and weight, not age. You don't meet the requirements. Sit back against the seat." he said, not believing the girl or caring.

He ripped the ticket off the pad and handed it to Elena. "Drive safe. And get a booster carseat for the kid." He walked away.

Silence filled the car. It was heavy, thick, and suffocating. Elena placed the tickets on the dashboard. She didn't say a word. She didn't have to. The officer of the State had just legally notified Sabrina that she needed to sit in a booster or carseat, like a child. She merged back onto the road. To break the silence, she reached out and turned on the radio. A bubbly, vapid pop song blasted through the high-end speakers, something about teenage heartbreak and glitter.

"Turn this garbage off," Sabrina snapped, her voice trembling with rage. "Put on The Market Watch podcast. I need to check the Asian markets."

Elena did reach for the dial, but only to turn the volume up a notch."No," Elena replied.

"Excuse me?"

"I said no." Elena caught Sabrina’s eye in the rearview mirror. "Driver picks the music. The passenger shuts their cakehole."

Sabrina gasped, too shocked to retort. She turned to stare out the window, plotting her revenge, when she realized the skyline was wrong. The skyscrapers were fading behind them. They were passing strip malls and gas stations.

"Where are you going?" Sabrina demanded. "My penthouse is to the north. You're heading west."

"We aren't going to your penthouse," Elena said.

"Turn around. Take me home. That is a direct order."

"I can't," Elena said reasonably, "Think about it, Sabrina. You have no ID. You have no keys. You have no purse. And your clothes are back at my place. Right now, you're dressed like a doll at a tea party." Elena signaled a turn into a neighborhood of older, modest homes. "Your building has a doorman and security," Elena continued. "Do you really think they're going to let you waltz in looking like that, screaming that you're renting the penthouse? They'll call the police. And frankly, after that last ticket, I don't think you want to talk to the police again tonight."

Sabrina slumped back. The logic was right, she didn’t personally know the door man or the security despite seeing the same faces for years, and that meant they wouldn't know her. Not when her own boss didn't bat an eye, and the old bat had taken one look at her and was convinced she was just a child; it made her want to scream.

Elena led her up the walkway and unlocked the front door. The air inside smelled of vanilla and fresh linens, a stark contrast to the stale anger radiating off Sabrina, thanks to the aggressive air fresheners plugged into every outlet.

"Once more, welcome to my humble abode," Elena said, tossing her keys, complete with Sabrina’s luxury car fob attached, into a ceramic bowl near the door. The clatter sounded far too aggressive for the eventful evening.

Elena pointed to the stairs. "Up and first door on the left. You can sleep in there; it is where you got changed. My niece's room before they moved out of state, if you recall."

Sabrina walked to the stairs and craned her neck to look up, but her movement was awkward. After years of strictly wearing high heeled stilettos, her achilles tendons had shortened significantly. Being forced into flat shoes for hours was agonizing; her calves seized up if she stood flat-footed.

To compensate, she found herself walking on the balls of her feet, bouncing slightly with her knees pressed together to keep the frilly dress from swishing too much.

Elena watched her tip-toe toward the landing, a small smirk touching her lips. "Half-bath is under the stairs, Sabrina. Full bathroom is across the hall from where you're sleeping. You don't have to hold it. You look like you're doing the potty dance."

Sabrina whipped around, her face flaming. "I do not need to use the potty! I mean restroom . . . My legs hurt because these hideous shoes offer no arch support!"

"Right," Elena said, clearly not believing her, "Well, you know where things are."

Sabrina hobbled up the steps, wincing, and peered into the room on the left. It was exactly as she remembered from earlier: a nightmare in pastel pink. There were stuffed animals on the bed, glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, and a rug shaped like a cloud.

"I am not," Sabrina said, enunciating every word, "sleeping in a nursery."

"It's the only other bed I have," Elena said from the bottom of the stairs, kicking off her heels and rubbing her own aching feet. "Besides, you already took a nap there, unless you prefer sleeping on the floor."

Sabrina turned away from the pink room. Her eyes drifted down the hall to the open door at the end, the master bedroom. She could see the edge of a queen-sized bed with a normal, grey duvet.

"I'll take that one," Sabrina said, pointing to the Master Bedroom. "You can sleep on the couch."

Elena stopped, rubbing her foot. She looked at the stairs, at the woman at the top of the stairs. The woman who had been disciplined, humiliated, ticketed, and legally classified as a child, bouncing on her toes like a toddler needing a toilet, yet still had the audacity to demand the homeowner’s bed.

"Is that so?" Elena asked softly, her voice devoid of the subservience Sabrina was used to at the office. She wasn't going to move to vacate her own room. She didn't even look angry. She just looked like a parent waiting for a tantrum to run its course. "We can discuss your delusions of grandeur after you’ve washed up. The bathroom is right there. And Rina? Don't forget to wash your hands."

Sabrina opened her mouth to argue, to fire her again, to scream that she was the Director of Operations at Aegis Strategic Logistics, a woman who commanded entire fleets and negotiated international shipping contracts, but a sharp cramp in her calf and the undeniable pressure in her bladder kept her from exploding on her assistant. “My name is Sabrina . . . ” She said, dragging out her name, even annoyed at herself for saying her own first name instead of her family name like her subordinate was supposed to use. With a huff that blew a stray hair out of her face, she spun around, wincing as her heels didn't touch the floor, and stomped on her tiptoes into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

The moment the lock clicked, Elena moved. She didn't go to the master bedroom to pack her things. Instead, she walked briskly into the nursery.

On the floor, in a discarded heap where Sabrina had frantically changed hours ago, lay Sabrina's expensive padded bra and matching lace thong. Elena scooped them up with a shake of her head. They wouldn’t do for progressing things. She tossed them into the hamper in the hallway, burying them under a pile of towels.

She checked the closet. Sabrina’s power suit was hanging there, looking like a shell of the authority Sabrina thought she still held. Elena left it. It was a taunt, really. Close enough to see, but useless for sleeping. The heels and the purse, however, were safely stowed in the living room closet downstairs, behind some jackets.

The bathroom door creaked open. Sabrina emerged, her face freshly scrubbed; her makeup had been removed long ago. She was still doing the awkward, bouncing walk, her hands smoothing down the front of the frilly dress.

"I feel disgusting," Sabrina muttered, entering the pink room and kicking the door stop so the door drifted shut, though not all the way. "I need my silk pajamas at home. Where is my purse? We can still get there before midnight."

"You misplaced it. Honestly, if you had paid attention rather than storming into a house that isn’t yours, this whole Rina situation would have been avoided," Elena said, leaning against the dresser, "And you aren't getting it tonight unless you suddenly remember where you misplaced it. I have something for you; you can sleep in this."

Elena tossed a garment onto the bed. It was a nightgown, a light lilac purple cotton with small, faded white ducks printed on the hem. It belonged to her niece during her 'awkward growth spurt' phase, meaning it would fit Sabrina, but it was hardly high fashion.

Sabrina stared at it with genuine horror. "I am not wearing that. I sleep in silk or I sleep in nothing. I’ll just sleep nude."

She reached for the zipper of her dress, struggling to reach it past the oversized bow.

"Absolutely not," Elena said, her tone sharp enough to make Sabrina pause. "You are not sleeping naked in my niece's bed. That is unsanitary and disrespectful. You will wear the nightgown."

"It has ducks on it, Elena!"

"And so what? It's cute and you know it. Put it on, or I’ll put it on for you. And considering how tired you look, I don't think you want to wrestle me for it. Not after your negligence got me a ticket for the tint on your car."

Sabrina glared, her hands trembling from exhaustion, her memory plenty sharp to remember how she had been manhandled in the bathroom; her rear was still a bit sore from the encounter. The fight had drained out of her with adrenaline. She was in a stranger's house and technically she had no car, no money, and her feet felt like they were on fire.

"Fine," she spat.

She unzipped the dress and let it pool around her ankles, stepping out of it with her strange, tiptoed gait. She was left standing in the white camisole and the plain, full-coverage cotton panties Elena had forced her into earlier. She snatched the nightgown from the bed and pulled it over her head. It was soft, smelling of lavender detergent, but she refused to admit it was comfortable.

"Happy?" Sabrina asked, the nightgown falling to her knees, making her look even smaller.

"Ecstatic," Elena deadpanned.

Sabrina hobbled over to the corner of the room where a child-sized white vanity table sat. It was the only place to sit other than the bed. She collapsed onto the small, cushioned stool. Tonight, she had sat in some chairs that left her feet dangling and now, here in the child's bedroom, she found a chair the right height for someone vertically challenged like her.

"My feet are ruined," Sabrina moaned, looking at her reflection in the oval mirror bordered by painted flowers, "I'm going to need physical therapy. And this hair . . . I look ridiculous." She reached up to tug at the ribbons, but her fingers were clumsy with fatigue. She fumbled with the knot, pulling it tighter by mistake. "Ow! Damnit!"

"Stop before you rip it out," Elena said. Before Sabrina could protest, Elena moved behind her. "Hands down."

Sabrina hesitated, watching Elena’s reflection in the mirror, then dropped her hands to her lap. Elena’s fingers were deft and gentle. She untied the ribbons, sliding the silk out of the hair, and carefully unwound the elastic bands.

You have far too many knots in your hair," Elena murmured, not unkindly. She picked up a paddle brush from the vanity, a pink one, naturally. "Hold still."

Sabrina braced herself for pain, but it didn't come. Elena started at the ends, gently working through the tangles created by the teasing and her hair bouncing annoyingly as she walked in the child-like hair style. The rhythm was slow and methodical. Brush, smooth, brush, smooth.

Sabrina’s eyes fluttered. The tension in her shoulders, which she had been carrying like a weight since the first moment she saw the tulle dress she was to wear began to melt. The sensation of the bristles scratching lightly against her scalp sent a shiver down her spine, not of fear, but of comfort.

The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of the brush moving through her hair. Sabrina stared at her own reflection, her vision blurring slightly. For a second, it wasn't Elena standing behind her. It was a memory, warm and golden. She was seven years old, sitting on the floor of her childhood bedroom. Her mother was behind her, brushing her hair before bed, humming a song Sabrina couldn't quite remember anymore. It was a feeling of being safe. Of being small, but protected. Of being cared for without a contract or an agenda.

"There," Elena whispered, the word pulling Sabrina back from the edge of sleep, "All done."

Sabrina blinked, the memory fading but the feeling lingering in her chest, a strange ache she hadn't felt in years. She looked in the mirror. Her hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, framing her face which, stripped of so much of herself, even her regular scowl, she found herself looking and feeling surprisingly younger but for the first time it wasn’t wholly negative to her overly tired exhausted mind.

"I-" Sabrina started, her voice lacking its usual venom. She cleared her throat, trying to find her inner, in-control self again, but nothing came other than more weariness.

"Come on," Elena said, placing the brush back on the vanity with a soft clatter. She tapped the mattress behind her. "Up."

Sabrina didn't have the energy to argue about being ordered around. Her feet were throbbing in time with her heartbeat, and the adrenaline crash had left her limbs feeling like lead. She stood up, doing her awkward, tiptoe shuffle over to the bed, and climbed in.

The mattress was softer than she preferred; she liked her beds firm enough to bounce a quarter off. The sheets were jersey cotton, not the high-thread-count Egyptian she purchased for her own bed at home. But as she sank into the pillows, a groan of pure, unadulterated relief escaped her lips.

Elena moved instinctively. It was muscle memory from years of watching her niece. She reached down, grabbed the edge of the duvet, and pulled it up to Sabrina’s chin, smoothing out the wrinkles over her shoulders. She even tucked the corners in tight around Sabrina’s sides, creating a warm, restrictive cocoon.

Sabrina blinked up at her, feeling oddly comfortable. It was a sensation she usually associated with the third glass of Pinot Noir, not a child’s bedroom in the suburbs.

"I need a drink," Sabrina mumbled, her eyes heavy, "I should have had more wine at the gala. Then maybe none of this would have happened."

"You had none and that was plenty," Elena said, her voice quiet in the small room. She rested her hand on the bedpost, looking down at the woman who usually terrified the interns. "But I have to know . . . Why in the world did you agree to visit Sterling's school? You hate PR stunts, and you hate wasting time. I expected you to shut him down the moment he asked."

Sabrina shifted in the covers, the duck-print nightgown twisting around her legs. She stared at a glow-in-the-dark star stuck to the ceiling, her defenses too lowered by exhaustion to lie. "I was mad," Sabrina admitted, her voice slurring slightly into the pillow. Everyone kept going on and on . . . acting like you were amazing. Giving you all the praise I deserved. It pissed me off."

"So you agreed to a tour?" Elena questioned.

"I agreed," Sabrina mumbled, her eyes finally closing, "because I knew I would never show up. I made the promise in your name. So when the day comes and there is a no-show . . . you're the one who looks like a flake who disappointed the rich man. The offer gets dismissed after agreeing . . . and you look bad."

Elena stared at her. "You agreed to a tour just to sabotage my reputation with a client? To make me look unreliable?"

"It seemed like a good strategy at the time," Sabrina whispered, her breathing already evening out into the rhythmic puff of sleep. "Checkmate . . . "

Elena shook her head, a mixture of disbelief and amusement on her face. Even half-asleep and dressed like a toddler, Sabrina was still playing corporate warfare.

"Goodnight, Rina," Elena whispered.

She reached over and clicked off the bedside lamp. The room plunged into darkness, save for the soft, amber glow of a nightlight plugged into the wall near the door, a plastic sleeping bear that Elena had completely forgotten to unplug and the little stars on the ceiling. The nightlight casting long, soft shadows across the room, illuminating Sabrina’s sleeping face in a warm, golden hue.

Stepping out into the hall and pulling the door shut, Elena left it cracked just an inch–another habit she hadn't quite shaken. Elena walked down the stairs, the silence of the house finally settling around her. Her own feet were aching as she crossed the living room into the small kitchen. Not turning on the overhead lights; the streetlamp outside provided enough illumination. She opened the cabinet above the fridge and pulled out a bottle of red wine. It wasn't the vintage stuff Sabrina kept in her penthouse; it was a fifteen-dollar bottle from the grocery store. She didn't bother with a glass. Popping the cork, she took a long, slow pull straight from the bottle, and leaned back against the counter.

The tall slim built woman stared at the ceiling, listening to the silence of her home.

No sound of footsteps, or of doors, she let out a tired sigh. Sabrina Halloway, the Director of Operations, the terror of the boardroom, was asleep in her niece’s duck nightgown. Tucked into a twin bed, waiting for morning.

Elena took another drink, a slow smile spreading across her face just as the sound in her home changed as the skies that had been threatening rain made good on their promise as a downpour began.

"You say checkmate, but you don’t know the game we are playing," Elena whispered to the empty room.

Chapter Eight

Morning came quietly, the pale light filtering in through the bedroom curtains as Elena’s alarm went off. She silenced it immediately, more out of habit than necessity, already awake enough that the sound felt unnecessary. Weekdays always started this way: Too early. Yet her body moved anyhow through her waking routine, slightly on autopilot before her thoughts fully caught up, the discipline of routine carrying her out of bed without hesitation.

She rose without lingering, swinging her legs over the side of the bed reaching for the robe draped across the chair, tying it loosely as she crossed the room. The mirror caught her in passing, hair still loose from sleep, face bare but alert, eyes already clear in a way they rarely were first thing in the morning. Whatever remained of the night before sat neatly filed away, not forgotten, but no longer demanding attention. Not that her scheme was without flaws and ways for it to blow up in her face, but she no longer felt like she was walking on thin ice ready to fall out from underneath her. The shower was brief and functional, heat loosening the last of the stiffness from her shoulders as steam fogged the glass. The lithe woman let her thoughts move ahead of her hands, needing to not dwell on everything and move ahead with the day to come. This morning carried weight, and she acknowledged it without indulging it.

Dressing with care, she moved piece by piece through the familiar ritual. Boyshort lace panties, shelf bra, sheer pantyhose smoothed into place before the fitted satin blouse; the soft plum fabric caught the light as she fastened the buttons and tied the pussybow at her throat. The cream-colored pencil skirt followed, tight enough to demand awareness with every step, falling neatly just below the knee. Her hair went up into a clean bun, restrained and controlled enough, leaving strategically few tendrils loose to soften the line of her face. Makeup came next, precise to enhance what she had been blessed with without looking like she was ready for a date, shadow and liner chosen to draw attention to her eyes without theatrics, lip liner and lipstick applied to shape rather than exaggerate. The glossy nude heels completed the look, three inches of stiletto elevation that aligned posture and intent.

By the time she adjusted her slim watch and smoothed the skirt one last time, she looked exactly as she needed to. Composed and unmistakably professional, without sacrificing her femininity. The faint difference in herself registering not as excitement, but as steadiness.

The house remained quiet as she stepped into the hallway. Her memories of having a guest were contrasted by the absence of movement, telling her no one was up and about. Sabrina was not careless with time, alarm or not, and the lack of footsteps or doors opening made Elena slow slightly as she passed the guest room. The door still closed, as she had left it, and after a moment’s pause she rested her hand against the knob and listened, hearing only the soft, even rhythm of breathing on the other side.

She opened the door carefully. The room was unchanged, frozen in the soft disarray of sleep, the small figure beneath the covers barely shifted, the nightgown twisted slightly at the knees where restlessness had tugged at it hours earlier. Without the tension of resistance or performance, without sharpness or command, the woman in the bed looked almost unreal, softened by sleep and framed by a room that should have mocked her but instead seemed to fit her disturbingly well.

Elena let herself observe for a moment longer than necessary, noting the steady rise and fall of Sabrina’s chest, the absence of lines from her brow, the way exhaustion had stripped her down to something deceptively gentle. Someone else might have mistaken it for innocence. Elena knew better.

Her attention lingered on the bed for a moment longer than it should have. The steady breathing, the way sleep had softened everything sharp about the woman tangled in pastel sheets. There was something almost disarming about it, enough that Elena felt the faint tug of hesitation again, quickly recognized and set aside. Sympathy was a poor guide for what needed to happen next.

Turning away, her focus shifted to the closet, the place where choices waited to be made whether Sabrina was ready to face them or not. Inside, the power suit hung exactly where it had been left the night before, expensive, made to be fitted perfectly to her diminutive boss’s frame and add a level of authority to her. It didn’t belong in the room the way the nightgown and stuffed animals did, even when simply hanging in the closet.

Rather than taking it away entirely, or leaving it partially hidden where it was, Elena decided the opposite would be more effective. She lifted it from the hanger and crossed the room, silently as she could, moving to the triptych of full-length mirrors in the center of the room, the one she’d installed after her niece moved out so she could check lines and proportions from every angle when getting ready for work. She hung the suit over the left-most mirror, blocking the reflection from one of the angles.

From the bed, once waking eyes adjusted, it would be impossible to miss. If things went right, it wouldn’t be worn, but it would give her boss something to focus on. The familiar object would give her something that made her feel more at ease, yet would remain just out of reach.

Satisfied, Elena stepped back, giving the room one last glance before leaving and closing the door behind her. ‘Breakfast first. Let the tiny witch sleep for now. She will need the energy,’ Elena thought.

Descending the stairs, the quiet followed her into the kitchen. With it came a memory, the image of Sabrina Halloway across a polished desk, smiling as she praised Elena’s capability while gently explaining why she couldn’t recommend her for the promotion she applied for outside of Sabrina’s direct control. ‘Too soft,’ she’d said, framed as concern. ‘Better to stay where you belong. You’re valuable there. Useful. Protected.’

Elena set a pan on the stove, the motion grounding as the memory faded back into its proper place, no longer sharp enough to sting. It wasn’t rage that remained, but resolution.

She opened the refrigerator to gather what she needed to start cooking, reaching automatically for eggs before pausing. There were only a few left. Not enough for two people for a meal. The realization came with a brief, sharp flicker of annoyance at herself for letting things run low, followed by a slower, more deliberate consideration. She had planned to make breakfast for both of them. For a moment she stood there, the cool air spilling out around her, weighing a choice on how to proceed. Then she pulled the sausage from the drawer and set it on the counter. Her movements stayed steady as she sliced it down, cracked the remaining eggs into the pan, and began scrambling them. She folded everything together with measured care, adding a small dash of salt and a sprinkle of shredded cheese before it was ready to be pulled off the heat.

Standing there a moment longer than necessary, watching the eggs set in the pan, the faintest pinch of unease tightening in her chest. Not regret exactly, and not second thoughts, but the awareness that this was a line being crossed deliberately. Part of her did feel bad. That much was honest. Sabrina looked smaller asleep than she ever did awake, and there was a lingering echo of last night that made this feel uncomfortably intimate.

The feeling that gave her pause didn’t last; the guilt gave way to something more firm, more settled. This wasn’t about payback for sharp words and a bruised pride. It was about stopping a pattern of abuse that had been allowed to run unchecked for too long. The tiny tyrant didn’t just cut people down; she cultivated dependence, kept those beneath her exhausted and second-guessing themselves, convinced they deserved it. Elena had watched it happen to others after it happened to her.

If this slowed Sabrina down, if it forced her out of her usual momentum even briefly, then so be it. She could afford to start the day off balance. She could afford to be uncomfortable. Elena finished cooking, plated the food neatly, and poured orange juice into a glass. She wiped the counter, arranging everything neatly on a lap tray, before lifting it and turning back toward the stairs. Feeling a little bad didn’t mean she was wrong; it just meant she was human. And ultimately, Elena felt confident in her decision.

Carrying the tray carefully, Elena moved back up the stairs, each step measured to keep the contents steady, the faint warmth of the plate seeping into her palms. The guest room door yielded silently beneath her hand, opening just enough to slip inside without disturbing the stillness she’d left behind earlier.

She crossed to the bed and sat along the edge, the mattress dipping slightly beneath her weight. Up close, sleep had softened everything. Lashes resting dark against pale skin, breath slow and even, the nightgown bunched loosely where one knee had drawn up beneath the covers. It was an image that tugged again at something inconvenient, the quiet reminder of how easily appearances misled, how serene Sabrina could look when stripped of authority and sharpened intent.

Reaching out, Elena brushed a few strands of hair away from Sabrina’s temple, the gesture more tender than she expected herself to act, clearing space before leaning down to press a brief kiss to her forehead. It was the type of thing she would do to wake up her niece and she found the act feeling natural despite knowing the truth.

The reaction from the sleeping figure was subtle but unmistakable. Breathing shifted first, the slow rhythm faltering before settling again, lashes fluttering faintly as awareness began to surface. A small movement followed, shoulders adjusting beneath the covers, the beginnings of a frown pulling at her brow as sleep loosened its hold.

Only then did Elena shift the tray, lifting it from her own lap and settling it carefully across Sabrina’s thighs, adjusting it until it rested securely. The scent followed naturally, eggs and sausage warming the air between them, close enough now to register even through the fog of waking. A faint inhale came first, deeper than the last, followed by another, confusion threading through the motion. Eyes opened partway, unfocused at first, landing on Elena’s face before drifting downward, registering the unfamiliar weight across her lap. The tray, the plate, the glass of orange juice catching the light.

Disorientation came quickly after that. The wrong ceiling. The pastel walls. The mirrors. Her suit draped deliberately within her line of sight. Memory rushed in uneven fragments, the previous night collapsing into the present with a violent sharpness that pulled her fully awake.

Only when seeing her boss come to did Elena speak, her voice low and even, timed to the moment of Sabrina's awareness coming around.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” she said calmly.

For a moment, Sabrina didn’t answer. Her eyes fluttered a few more times as she glanced down at herself and what she was wearing and the god damned duck on it. The phrase ‘sleepy head’ sat wrong in her ears; it was like it should be followed by a term of endearment like ‘honey’ or ‘sweetie’. Considering who it came from, it was all very wrong. The tone was worse, sweet and calm and at the same time sounding like Elena was talking down to her. Sabrina stared at the tray as if it had appeared there by mistake, her hands hovering uselessly at her sides, fingers flexing once before curling into the blanket that had kept her warm and comfortable all night.

“What . . . ” Her voice came out softer than she meant, like that part of her was still just waking up, the word trailing off as she cleared her throat and tried again. “What is this?!”

The question was small but, like the young women it came from, there was a great deal of force behind it; she was used to speaking with authority and it showed. She shifted as she took in the weight and warmth of the tray from the breakfast in bed. Her stomach betrayed her with a quiet, unmistakable response, audibly gurgling.

“I didn’t ask for breakfast,” she said, ignoring what her stomach announced with a frown coming to her face, lifting her chin slightly as if posture alone could reassert order. “I don’t eat in the mornings. You know that.”

Her gaze flicked back to Elena, irritation sharpening as memory finished slotting itself into place. The gala. The drive. The night that hadn’t ended when or where it should have. Being here at all. She pushed the tray a fraction of an inch away from her body, as if distance might undo its presence. “I’ll have coffee,” she added, the words delivered with practiced certainty, “Tall. One extra shot of espresso. Cream and sugar.” It sounded like an order because that was how she’d meant it; the cadence was automatic, like she was speaking to a service worker she had no intention of tipping. For a split second, she might as well have been seated at a café counter instead of tangled in a child’s bed, dressed in cotton and ducks.

Only then did the absurdity catch up to her. The room pressed in again, the mirrors reflecting angles she didn’t recognize, her suit hanging just out of reach like a promise she could see but not quite touch. She swallowed, irritation bleeding into unease, as she tried to ignore the way the food still smelled . . . good.

Her eyes dropped again, unwillingly this time, tracing the plate, the glass, the care with which everything had been arranged. “Take it away,” she said, quieter now but no less firm. “I don’t have time for this. I need to get dressed and get to the office.”

The words sounded weaker than her normal familiar authority, ringing hollow in the child's space she found herself partially assimilated into, the sentence undercut by the simple fact that she hadn’t moved yet, hadn’t pushed the tray off her lap, hadn’t stood. She remained where she was, half-awake and entirely out of place, waiting for the world to snap back into alignment and do as she demanded.

Elena didn’t move to take the tray. She stayed seated on the edge of the bed, posture composed, hands resting loosely in her lap as she looked down at the woman who normally never looked up at anyone. Part of her wished she was quick-witted enough to say her pause wasn't accidental, like it was there to give Sabrina just enough time to feel the contradiction between her words and her stillness, between command and circumstance. The truth was, she was just scrambling to come up with what to do or say next. “You don’t eat in the mornings,” Elena agreed mildly, her tone matter-of-fact rather than deferential, as if she were confirming a calendar entry, “Most days you live on caffeine until noon and pretend it counts as fuel.”

She reached out then, not to reclaim the tray, but to nudge it back the fraction of an inch Sabrina had pushed it away, steadying it where she had put it initially. “And I don’t have an espresso machine,” she continued, as if this were simply the next logical point in the conversation, “No coffee pot, either. Just the pod brewer, and I ran out.” A brief pause, long enough to register. “I used the last one while I was cooking.” Her gaze lifted to meet Sabrina’s fully now, calm and direct. “So, this is what’s available.”

The room seemed to tighten around the two of them, the mirrors holding their reflections in place, the suit hovering in Sabrina’s peripheral vision like a reminder of what she expected the day to look like and how little control she currently had over it. Elena tilted her head slightly, studying her, trying to prepare for the little blonde’s tirade of a rebuttal. “You have a full day,” she added, not unkindly, “You always do. Meetings, calls, people waiting on you to be sharp. Skipping food doesn’t make you efficient, it just makes you irritable.” A faint, knowing look crossed her face. “And you don’t need any help with that.”

She let the silence settle again, the smell of eggs and sausage still present, still tempting despite the refusal. “Please eat. I gave you the last of my eggs before I can go grocery shopping.”

Elena didn’t wait for an answer. Waiting would have turned the moment into a standoff, and that was the last thing she wanted. Not yet. She rose instead, smoothing her skirt as she stood, leaving the tray where it was, warmth still seeping through thin cotton and the scent lingering with a stubbornness that refusal alone wouldn’t dispel. The door closed softly behind her, the latch catching with a muted click.

Downstairs, the house felt as it always did. This early in the morning, however, it was odd she had so much energy to tackle the day. Moving through the living room toward the closet without hesitation, she pushed aside a coat to retrieve the purse and the heels tucked behind it. They were easily the most expensive things in the living room; Elena thought the extravagance was silly, as she wouldn’t buy such items even if she had the money. Setting the purse on the coffee table, she opened it and navigated the contents with ease.

The screen of Sabrina’s phone lit immediately as Elena took it out and rested it in her palm. No trouble with the passcode. It was like there was no resistance for her to gain such intimate access, as the code was just as she had been told to set it after an upgrade earlier in the year. A personal errand that Sabrina had sent her on, saying she had much more important things to do than go to a retail store. ‘Of course she didn’t change the code,’’ Elena thought.

On the phone, missed calls crowded the display, time-stamped in clusters that told a story of negligence of the phone. Normally her boss lived on the device, and how it had less than ten percent power left. Wanting to go through things, she started with the missed call log. Julian Vance’s name appeared more than once from the night before, the first logged shortly after the gala was meant to begin, followed by another nearer to its end. HR sat between them, then again this morning, the pattern unmistakable. Martha Higgins’ name followed, cheerful even in text form, and beneath it several missed calls from a contractor in Singapore, the timing off only because of time zones, the lack of voicemail more concerning than reassuring considering the repeated calls from the worker across the sea working on the project.

Opening the first voicemail, she held the phone away from her ear just enough to keep the volume contained. Vance’s voice filled the space, clipped and displeased, asking where Sabrina was, reminding her with thinly veiled concern that events like this were remembered, that visibility mattered, that opportunities didn’t wait. The message ended without pleasantries, the implication clear enough to sting even secondhand. ‘So that’s how the night started,’ she thought, not fully positive if the call was made before or after she had told him the tiny terror wouldn't be making it.

The next message came from HR, professional but edged, noting the CEO’s inquiry and requesting confirmation of Sabrina’s status, the timestamp aligning neatly with the opening remarks of the gala. Elena exhaled slowly, thumb hovering before tapping the next. Vance again, this time later, his tone altered, smoother, almost magnanimous, mentioning he’d heard she was ill, expressing hope for a quick recovery, gently suggesting better communication in the future. The shift was so abrupt it bordered on insulting. ‘Damage control,’ Elena thought.

Morning messages followed. HR again, requesting a doctor’s note when feasible for her to be allowed to return to work if she misses more than a day, considering the fast pace of the current work load, outlining procedure in careful language that still managed to sound haughty. Then Martha Higgins. The sweetness in her voice was unmistakable, false concern layered thickly over reassurance, promises to cover anything needed while Sabrina was ill, reminders of teamwork and family, every word a velvet-wrapped warning. Elena didn’t need to hear the subtext explained to recognize the power play unfolding. ‘She’s already circling,’ she thought.

Missed calls from Singapore. Elena noted the repetition, the persistence, the absence of follow-up in writing. ‘Something important enough to call at four in the morning, urgent enough to try again, but still no text message or voice mail,’ Elena noted. That observation alone made her uneasy. The potential for this to unravel more quickly than she’d planned crept in, unwelcome but undeniable, the realization that holding Sabrina here had consequences that reached well beyond just taking her down a peg.

For a moment, doubt pressed in insistently. This was bigger than humiliation, bigger than rebalancing a single dynamic. There were contracts, timelines, people who didn’t care about personal power struggles and wouldn’t hesitate to exploit a lapse. Elena closed her eyes briefly, steadying herself against the back of the couch. ‘You might have overplayed this,’ she admitted silently. ‘And if it blows back, it won’t be gentle. Fuck . . . fuck . . . no, fuck it all. I need this.’

The thought didn’t stop her. Resolve settled in where uncertainty had tried to take hold. She straightened, clicking on the icon for the email notifications. She looked at what came in, skimming over the subject lines before deciding there was nothing there she had to address through the dying phone. Slipping the device back into Sabrina’s purse, she set everything exactly where she’d found it. ‘If this is going to explode . . . ’ she thought, already moving toward the closet again to put it back in the hiding spot, ‘it won’t be because I flinched.’

When the bedroom door closed, Sabrina knew her assistant wouldn’t be far. For the moment, she had a much-needed pocket of space to herself, even if it was in a space she didn’t want to be in.

She stayed still at first, chin tucked, eyes fixed on the far wall where a stuffed bunny sat on a shelf too low to be hung for an adult. Part of her felt as if movement might summon Elena back prematurely; the sound of the tall, dark haired woman’s heeled feet could be heard trailing off what she presumed was down the stairs. The tray of food remained balanced across her thighs, its presence undesired, but more tempting now that she no longer had an audience to perform refusal for. Heat bled through the thin cotton of the nightgown and into her skin, the smell impossible to ignore no matter how tightly she pressed her lips together. Eggs. Sausage. Real food. Her stomach made its opinion known again, louder this time, a traitorous sound that made her wince and glance toward the door as if it might tattle on her.

‘This is ridiculous,’ she thought, irritation flaring, the reflexive anger easier than examining why she hadn’t already pushed the tray off or stood up to reassert control. Breakfast in bed was indulgent, unnecessary; it was something other people did when they had time to waste or someone to serve them, not something she allowed herself on a workday. It wasn’t like she never ate breakfast, but in general she was not much of an eater. Perhaps it contributed to her height, growing but not eating too often or too much just felt like a way to get fat when she already had to use shape wear to look how she wanted. Coffee was efficient. Caffeine was always the right call, but it seemed Elena’s negligence had that option removed. Her gaze dropped despite herself, taking in the plate. The careful portions, the way the sausage had been cut into manageable pieces instead of slapped down carelessly, the glass of orange juice placed just so, not full enough to spill if she shifted. That detail stuck with her longer than she liked. It seemed like such a nice thing to do and she hated it.

A faint movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Looking over, her eyes snagged immediately on the dark shape hanging over the leftmost standing folding mirror. Her suit . . . Her clothes draped deliberately for her to see and use. Yet, despite it being a welcome sight, the garment didn’t look like it belonged in the room much like how she felt about herself. Frowning, she looked around, taking notice of a few things. Like how she didn't see her shoes or underwear, for starters. Turning slightly in bed, she looked at the crayon drawing on the wall above the head board and groaned.

She shifted, half expecting the tray to slide or wobble, but it held. The simple fact of that steadiness seemed to decide the matter for her. With a muttered curse under her breath, she picked up the fork, telling herself it was purely practical, that she needed the energy Elena had insisted on, that eating a few bites didn’t mean conceding anything beyond basic physiology. “Fucking fine . . .” The first mouthful silenced her internal argument almost immediately, warmth and salt and fat cutting through the fog that still clung to her thoughts, grounding in a way she hadn’t realized she’d been craving.

‘Damn it,’ she thought, annoyed all over again. Chewing slowly now, her eyes flicked back to the door as if Elena might somehow sense her giving in from downstairs. She took another bite anyway, then another, the resistance draining away with each one until the food was gone far more quickly than she intended. Only then did she pause, fork resting on the empty plate, a hollow settling in her chest that had nothing to do with hunger.

The room pressed in again once the tray was lighter, the mirrors reflecting angles she didn’t want to see, the suit watching her like an accusation. Memory finished catching up in full, last night snapping back into place with uncomfortable clarity. The gala, the spanking, the drive and the tickets, the way control had slipped through her fingers one small humiliation at a time. She swallowed hard, setting the fork down carefully, smoothing the blanket over her legs as if tidiness might help her think.

‘I don’t have time for this,’ she told herself firmly, her own voice sounding even condescending to her own shortcomings, wanting to push forward to make things better even if it felt daunting to do so in the child's bedroom. ‘I need to get dressed . . . I needed to get my phone last night. The longer it takes, the worse things will get. Fuck, I need to get ahead of whatever damage had already been done.’ The fact that she’d eaten breakfast in a child’s bed, alone and unseen, was something she could live with so long as she put things back in the proper order.

For now, she shifted the tray aside, planted her feet on the floor, and drew a steadying breath. Her eyes lifted once more to her pants suit in the mirror as if it was mocking her and the duck nightie she currently wore. Her clothing, of course, couldn't do anything. It was an object, but it represented who she actually was and how low she let herself fall all for the sake of a deal and her CEOs insistence on following a memo to keep a client happy. All of it had been pointless, as she was the only one to follow through.

The day had to move on. Sabrina happily peeled the stupid duck nightie over her head, leaving it crumpled on the floor. She stood there in plain white cotton underwear with a pink band designed for a child, much like the baby blue camisole that did nothing to help her less than endowed chest; clenching her jaw, she looked around on the floor for the bra and thong she wore when arriving, neither of which were in sight.

Grimacing, she scanned the floor again, slower this time, eyes tracking the space beside the bed, then the area near the dresser; irritation rose with every empty patch of carpet. She knew where she’d left them. She hadn’t been neat and orderly about it, but they had discarded to the floor. The absence of them was yet another obstacle in her path, this one enough that she wanted to throw back her head and scream so she could get into something not designed for a little girl.

Stepping closer to the bed, she crouched, bracing one hand against the frame as she leaned down to check beneath it. Not seeing what she needed, Sabrina decided to go deeper in case they got kicked under the bed. Getting to her knees, her cotton pantied covered ass rose in the air as the front of her crawled slightly under the frame. Dust, a stray sock that clearly didn’t belong to her, the shadowed underside of furniture that hadn’t been moved in years, but no sign of the bra or thong she remembered dropping without a second thought the night before.

‘This is not happening,’ she thought, annoyance edging toward something greater as she straightened again, hands pressing briefly to her thighs as if grounding herself. ‘I don’t misplace things like this.’ Her own comment made Sabrina shake her head vigorously enough for her blonde hair to spill about. No, she was neat and organized, but yesterday she had misplaced her purse containing her life. It had to be something intentional, considering she brought her key fob inside. Why else would it have been on the counter?

Dropping back down, this time fully onto her knees, reaching farther under the bed, her fingers swept along the floor with more insistence than care, hair falling forward to obscure her view. Still nothing. The room felt smaller now, not that it had been large to begin with. The mirrors caught her at angles she didn’t want to acknowledge, the suit hanging in plain sight like a reminder of what she should have been able to put on by now without interference.

Picking up the pink sock with a picture of a blue duck on it, she rolled her eyes; the random sock had to have been there for years. “Oh, look . . . What a surprise, a duck.” She threw it to the floor in the middle of the room as the door opened behind her. With Elena stepping into the room, Sabrina's shoulders stiffened. Pushing herself upright quickly, brushing hair back from her face with a sharp motion, she bristled at being seen on her knees with her ass up in the air.

Elena stepped inside without comment, closing the door behind her with quiet care, her gaze taking in the scene in a single, assessing sweep. The discarded nightgown on the floor, the tray still on the bed, the plate clean of food with the orange juice left untouched.

“They’re gone,” Sabrina said flatly, irritation bleeding into her voice despite her effort to contain it. “I left them here last night. I didn’t move them.”

Elena nodded once, as if that aligned neatly with expectations, and crossed the room at an unhurried pace, crouching just enough to glance beneath the bed herself before straightening again. “What is gone? What didn’t you move?” she asked, seeing one of her niece’s old socks in the middle of the carpet.

Sabrina exhaled sharply through her nose, the question only increasing her irritation. Here she was, still standing in the underwear fit for a ten year old girl, and the idiot giraffe couldn't put the context clues together. “My bra. And my underwear,” she said, clipped, precise, “The ones I wore last night. They were right here.”

Elena’s eyes moved again, slower this time, not under the bed now but over the room itself. The open floor, the dresser, the discarded nightgown, the mirror where she had left the all too expensive pants suit hanging. She didn’t rush to fill the silence, knowing exactly where Sabrina’s adult belongings were. “You’re wearing your underwear,” she stated, matter of factly.

Sabrina’s head snapped like she had been slapped, disbelief flashing across her face before true anger took its place. “Mine?! You truly are a twit sometimes," she said sharply, “What else would I be wearing?!” Her hand lifted in a short, frustrated gesture toward herself, as if the answer should have been obvious. “They’re not appropriate, and you know that. I need my bra. I need my thong. I cannot put my tailored suit on over . . . this.”

Elena didn’t contradict her boss, Her expression staying neutral, attentive in a way that felt uncomfortably parental rather than subordinate. “You can’t,” she agreed evenly, “Not like that.”

Sabrina seized on the agreement immediately. “Then help me find them,” she snapped, “I left them here. I did not lose them!”

Reaching down, Elena picked up the discarded nightgown, lifting it from the floor and folding it once without thinking, setting it aside on the dresser. “You took them off last night,” she said, accusatorially, “You were tired. You weren’t exactly tracking where things landed.”

“I don’t misplace my clothes,” Sabrina shot back, in the same way she spoke in meetings when she felt challenged, “Especially not when I’m supposed to be at work.”

Elena met her gaze then, steady and unflinching. “Yesterday, you misplaced your purse,” she said quietly, “with your phone, your keys, and everything you need to function.” She let that sit for a moment before continuing, tone unchanged. “So, it’s not impossible.”

The comparison was an accusation and it hit home hard. Sabrina’s mouth tightened, breath drawing in through her nose as she looked away, eyes flicking back to the mirror where the suit hung waiting, so close but so far. “This is not the same thing,” she said, but even her own certainty wavered.

“No,” Elena agreed, “It isn’t.” She turned slightly toward the dresser again, fingers resting briefly on the edge as if grounding herself. “But it does mean we deal with what’s in front of us, not what should be.”

Sabrina laughed once, short and humorless. “And what’s in front of me,” she said, gesturing down at herself again, “is completely unacceptable.”

Elena nodded, conceding that point without hesitation. “Which is why you aren’t staying in those.” She opened the drawer this time, withdrawing a folded pair of panties from the already opened package and setting them neatly on the bed, followed by a soft camisole in white that had a childish lace on the hem line. “These are clean,” she said, “And will work for what you’re wearing today.”

Staring at what had been placed on the bed, it was more of a provocation rather than clothing. Her jaw tightened, shoulders squaring instinctively as though posture alone could reject it. “That,” she said flatly, “is not what I’m wearing.”

“You said you can’t wear what you have on now under your suit and . . . ” she replied, voice level, unbothered by the edge in Sabrina’s tone, “I agree.”

Sabrina’s scoffed. “Those don’t fix the problem,” she snapped, “That is the same thing I’m wearing now!”

“They’re clean,” Elena repeated calmly, as if that were the only metric that mattered, “And you aren’t wearing the same underwear two days in a row.”

Sabrina’s eyes flicked up, incredulous. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. That’s not happening.”

“I am not a child,” Sabrina shot back immediately, heat flaring as she stepped closer to the bed. “And you do not get to decide anything for me unless I say so.”

Elena nodded as if she was in agreement. “I’m not your enemy. Let me help you,” she said evenly, finishing the sentence in her mind, ‘Or at least I wasn’t till you decided to screw me so many times.’ “Because standing here arguing isn’t getting you dressed, and we have places to be.”

The reminder stung. Sabrina glanced again at the mirror, at the suit hanging there, frustration tightening her chest. “You are obstructing me,” she said, “again.”

“No,” Elena corrected quietly. “I’m making sure you are hygienic and I'm not going to argue with you about putting on clean clothes.”

That earned her a sharp look. “The wrong-” Sabrina cut herself off, breath tight, clearly choosing which argument to pursue. “I need my things. The ones I wore last night.”

“And if they were available,” Elena said without hesitation, “we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” She gestured toward the bed instead, where she put the offered camisole and panties. “But they aren’t. So we deal with what’s in front of us.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable. Sabrina’s fingers curled, then released, irritation warring with the practical awareness that time was moving whether she liked it or not. “Fine,” she said at last, clipped. “But you can't talk to anyone about this.” Her voice was full of regret.

Elena inclined her head slightly, accepting the concession. “Of course.” She stepped aside, clearing space rather than pressing closer. “Once you’re dressed,” she added, “we’ll talk about the rest of your morning.”

"Turn around," Sabrina demanded, as she looked at what she was about to put on her prid., Every fiber of her being protested at what she was about to do, her fingers hovering over the hem of the slightly rumpled camisole she had slept in.

"Sabrina, we don't have time for modesty," Elena replied, checking her watch, "You changed in front of me last night. There is nothing I haven't seen."

Sabrina hesitated, her grip tightening on the fabric. The idea of stripping down in front of her subordinate again made her skin crawl, but she forced herself to be practical. ‘She’s just the help,’ Sabrina told herself, the thought dripping with a comforting layer of disdain. ‘One does not feel shame changing in front of a doctor or a maid. Thorne is basically office furniture that learned to walk. She doesn't count.’ With a huff of resignation, she pulled the camisole over her head and tossed it on the floor, wanting to pretend she had never worn it all while knowing she was about to put on one similar. She shoved the cotton panties down next, stepping out of them with a quick, jerky movement, eager to get the transition over with.

Standing there naked in the morning light, she tried to carry herself with the haughty posture of an executive, chin up and shoulders back, but she was never really proud of her body. The only reason she had chosen to avoid surgical enhancement was due to hearing too many tales of bad doctors and botched jobs.

Elena watched her with a detached, cynical eye. Without her clothing, her veil to hide how she really looked, the padded bras, and the waist cinchers, the "Director of Operations" simply vanished. In her place was a slight, stick-straight figure. Elena’s gaze drifted over the completely hairless skin; what Sabrina claimed was a five-thousand-dollar investment the night before. But in the dimmer light of the night or the light of day, the laser hair removal wasn't doing her any favors. Instead of making her look sleek and high-maintenance, it just made her look undeveloped. Combined with the flat plane of her chest, she looked less like a woman who commanded boardrooms and more like the child whose room she was currently occupying.

"Well?" Sabrina snapped, feeling the weight of the silence, "Hand me the damn things."

Elena reached out and passed her the fresh white cotton panties.

Sabrina snatched them, her nose wrinkling as she stepped into them. They were soft, sure, but they lacked the cool, slippery caress of her usual Italian silk. They felt thick and utilitarian, clinging to her hips in a way that felt deeply unattractive. She pulled on the white camisole next, the cheap lace scratching slightly against her skin. It was degrading. It was the kind of underwear bought in a three-pack at a discount store, not something worn by a woman of her prestige. She tugged at the hem with its cheap lace, glaring at Elena through the mirror.

"Listen to me, Thorne," Sabrina hissed, stepping closer and jabbing a finger toward Elena’s face. "If you breathe a word of this to anyone, if I hear a single whisper about 'child's panties' or 'ducks' by the water cooler, I will make your life a living hell. I will bury you in so much paperwork you won't see the sun until you retire. Do you understand me?"

Elena smiled, a soft, patient expression that didn't reach her eyes. It was the look a mother gives a toddler threatening to run away from home. "We've already been over this, Sabrina," Elena said, her voice infuriatingly calm as she reached out to smooth the twisted strap on the camisole. "I told you, your secrets are safe with me. Now, let's focus on the rest of the outfit."

Turning back to the mirror, her hands smoothing the cheap cotton camisole over her hips, Sabrina felt a fresh wave of despair. She looked past her reflection to the pinstripe pants suit hanging on the mirror frame. It was a masterpiece of tailoring, designed to exaggerate her padded form to project power and competence, but as she looked from the suit back to her own unenhanced, cotton-clad reflection, the reality sank in.

Without the foundation, the padded bra to fill the blouse, the waist cincher to create the hourglass silhouette, the heels to give her stature, the suit wouldn't fit. The blazer would hang off her narrow shoulders like a blanket; the trousers would drag on the floor. "I can't wear it," Sabrina muttered, her voice tight with misery, "Not with this underneath. I’ll look like a child playing dress-up in her mother’s closet."

She spun around, glaring at Elena. "This is ridiculous, Thorne! I need my things. Find my goddamn bra and my thong! Or better yet, find my purse! If I have my ID and my keys, I can go home and get properly dressed. Stop standing there looking at me and look for them!"

Elena didn't move. She didn't look flustered by the outburst; she looked disappointed, talking to Sabrina with the slow, deliberate cadence one uses for a child who is struggling to understand simple instructions. "Sabrina, you know the truth," Elena said gently. "I didn't lose your things. You did. You were the one stumbling around last night. You were the one who threw her purse supposedly on the counter or thought you did. It isn't my fault you can't keep track of your belongings."

"I didn't lose them!" Sabrina said, raising her voice in a flustered scream.

"And yet, here we are," Elena interrupted, turning away from the argument. "But since you can't wear the suit, and we are burning daylight, we have to use what is available."

Elena took the two steps needed to reach the white dresser in the small bedroom, the one painted with small flowers, and pulled open the second drawer. It smelled of lavender sachets and old memories. Elena’s expression softened as she reached inside it and a few more of the drawers. These weren't just clothes; they were artifacts from a time when she was the sole support for her sister and her niece, Crystal. Times had been hard then, money tight, but she had loved them fiercely. She missed the noise they brought to this house, a silence that had only grown louder after they left, leaving her alone in the inherited property her sister and herself gained when her parents passed. She pulled out a neat stack of clothing and turned back to Sabrina. "Here," Elena said, laying the items out on the bed, "These will fit. Crystal loved this outfit."

Sabrina stared at the pile in horror. First, there was a pair of thick, opaque white tights. Next, a light pink denim skirt with attached overall straps, a pinafore designed for durability and play. But the pièce de résistance was the t-shirt. It was a bright yellow tee featuring a cartoon graphic of two ducks having an argument. The angry duck was quacking a speech bubble that read: "Oh! Duck you, too!"

Elena smiled down at the shirt, a genuine warmth reaching her eyes. She remembered buying it at a discount rack, chuckling at the pun. "Crystal thought this was hilarious," Elena said softly, tracing the graphic. "She was my crystal ball . . . I used to tell her that with her, I could see a happy future. She wore this shirt until the print started to crack."

To Sabrina, the sentimental journey was nauseating, and the shirt was a declaration of war. "Are you insane?" Sabrina whispered, pointing a shaking finger at the shirt. "I am the Director of Operations. I am not wearing a shirt that makes a barnyard pun! And I don't care about your 'Crystal ball!’”

"It's cute," Elena said defensively. "And it fits the vibe."

"I don't care what fits the vibe! I have to go to work! I have a department to run!"

Elena sighed, the nostalgia fading as the shark-like efficiency returned to her eyes. She picked up the white tights and tossed them to the shorter woman. "That's the thing, Sabrina," Elena said coolly, "We aren't going to work."

Sabrina froze, the tights hitting her chest and falling to the floor. "Excuse me?"

"You seem to have forgotten our dinner conversation," Elena said, crossing her arms, "Mr. Sterling invited us to tour Blackwood Academy. He wants to see if 'Rina,' your new persona, is a good fit for the fourth grade. We have an appointment to make; even Mr. Vance will be there."

"I never planned to go to that!" Sabrina shouted. "I told you last night. I only agreed to make you look bad when 'Rina' didn't show up. It was a strategy!"

"I'm well aware of how you tried to hurt my career," Elena replied, her voice hardening, "You confessed that quite clearly. You wanted to sabotage the client relationship to hurt me. But here is the reality, Sabrina. I am not going to let you tank my career, or yours for that matter, all because you wanted to play games."

"I am not going," Sabrina declared, crossing her arms over her flat chest, "I am walking out that door, I am calling an Uber, and I am going to the office."

Elena raised an eyebrow. "In your new underwear? With what phone?"

Sabrina opened her mouth, then snapped it shut.

"And you will pay with what money?" Elena pressed, taking a step closer. "Your wallet is in your missing purse. Your ID is in your missing purse. You can't call a car for a pick up. Even if you used my phone, you can't pay for a cab. You can't even get past the security turnstiles at Aegis without your badge."

She gestured to the window, to the driveway where Sabrina’s Lexus sat locked and useless without its fob.

"You are stranded, Sabrina. You have no resources, but I am giving you help to get through this, as bitter of a pill as that is to swallow. The only person with a car, keys, and a plan is me." Elena picked up the pink overall skirt and held it out, her expression brooking no argument. "Now, we can stand here until we're late, which will insult Mr. Sterling, upsetting the head of our company, or you can get dressed. But make no mistake: I am going to that school. And since you are my 'niece' Rina, you are going to school. I'm not going to have them believe I'm so irresponsible to leave a ten year old girl all on her own, unsupervised."