Page 1 of Swing and a Little Miss

1

ABBY

I burst through the office doors with my heart racing from all the espresso shots running through my veins. The clock above reception blinked 7:01 am with silent judgment, but I was on it today. One minute wasn’t the end of the world, and I would put in at least a few extra hours at the end of the day to relieve me of any actual guilt.

Armed with big girl panties (and a matching bra because I’d heard that was a power move) and a strut that meant business, I was ready.

Said panties were made from more than just silky lace. They were woven with determination and ambition. Not to mention a thread or two of “fake it till you make it.”

My new office looked like every other one I’d worked in. Boring cubicles, endless meetings, and the constant expectation tobe creative. Who knew climbing the corporate ladder in marketing was less about communications and more about theatrics?

But hey, I was pretty good at putting on a show.

Unfortunately, my role du jour was "adult." All day long, I had to play the part of a competent and organized professional who was wise beyond my years. And since I only had twenty-five of those under my belt, that wasn’t always easy. Being the baby of the team sucked when all I wanted was to earn the respect that seemed to come so easily to everyone else in the company. But I was the newbie and respect would take time. At least that was what my friends kept telling me.

Besides, the fat paycheck that was deposited into my account every other week got me closer to a place of my own. A place where I’d have the privacy to be myself without judgment.

But first, I had to check about a million emails, prep for the staff meeting, and then update the website with our latest press release. In other words, the usual. In my head, my day was a big chessboard with me as the queen, strategically gliding toward checkmate.

Every piece was in place and every move was calculated. Except for one unpredictable knight: Royce Elliot.

As the head of sales, Royce was the kind of man who could make you forget your own name with just a look. But he was also the kind of man who thought he knew everything about everything because he was one of the original founders of the company.

And did I mention he low-key hated me? Well, he did. Not just me but all marketers.

That gorgeous man had a smile for everyone in the company, as long as they weren’t part of the marketing department. It was an age-old rivalry that I was absolutely determined to break through.

"Abby." Royce clasped his hands behind his back in a way that dripped with both authority and dominance. "As per my latest email..." Ah, the dreaded preamble to a lecture. His tone was clipped and carried an underlying note of annoyance in every conversation.

We both knew “as per my latest email” was the professional equivalent of saying I hadn’t been paying attention. It was a classic Royce power play. He outlined his reasons for skipping the meetings I had painstakingly arranged, but I had already tuned out. It was a lot of “sales goalsthis,” and “quarterly targetsthat.”

I had to cross my ankles to keep from tapping my foot impatiently so I could get out of there. Without his team on board, I had to get creative on how I was going to present it to the higher-ups. This campaign was high-profile and being able to influence others was part of my job. Clearly, I still had some work to do on that front.

I wanted to say something snarky and stomp out of there with a fling of my hair, but I just nodded like a bobblehead doll, committing his words to memory for later scrutiny. His excuses didn’t matter anyway. I'd figure out a way to turn the situation around and save myself.

I learned how to do that when I was just a kid.

When Royce was finally done with his soliloquy, I watched him leave, unable to take my eyes off him. Damn, that man was fine. He was a pain in my ass, but his ass was fine, fine, fine.

Once he was out of my sight, I turned my attention back to my screen. I had so much work to do and more requests seemed to roll in by the second. It was a good thing I enjoyed mywork, or I would never have survived my first day. But I thrived under pressure and performed at my best when I was juggling a hundred things at once.

At least during the day. Once I got home, all bets were off. It was when I could collapse into my world of cute and comfy things.

My home was the only place where I didn't have to be cheery and overachieving. I could strip down to my matching lingerie sets and just be myself. Whether I was in mismatched socks and a onesie or in a custom babydoll dress and a ruffley diaper, I didn’t have to talk to a single person. At home, I took my microwave dinner into the privacy of my bedroom and rarely had to leave until morning.

Three slides into designing my presentation, I settled into a groove. My fingers were flying across the keyboard as I made diagrams and charts and animations that were works of art.

Survive and thrive was my mantra, until the sun dipped low and the office hummed with the sounds of people packing up for the day. It was a delicate balance to maintain the facade of being an independent professional while internally screaming for a timeout.

But that was the game. Smile wide, stand tall, and never let them see the comfy undies beneath the power suit. With a sigh, I gathered my things and began the transformation from marketing maven to queen of the couch.

"Good job, Kern," I whispered to myself as a private pat on the back in the elevator. “You survived another day.”

2

ROYCE

I leaned back in my office chair and groaned. The creak of the leather was like a sigh of commiseration for the day I was having. My fingers drummed on the desk in time with the throbbing headache building behind my temples. I was starting to hate this fucking building.

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