Megan Hart - Switch

smeled as always of Apple Pectin Shampoo.

She nodded. When she stepped away her eyes were

bright but she smiled. "Sure, honey. Good night."

She stood silhouetted in the doorway until I drove away.

By the time I reached the railroad tracks the light on the

front porch had gone out. My car bump-bumped over the

rails, taking me away from the house that hadn't ever been

home.

My phone buzzed again as I puled into the parking lot of

the Manor. I flipped it open to read al three messages. Al

from Austin.

How was the movie?

Say hi to your mom for me.

I had to laugh at that. Oh, that bastard. He knew my mom

had always loved him. More than his had ever cared for

me.

And finaly, Cal me when you get home.

Chapter 14

Ididn't cal Austin when I got home. I didn't cal him the

next day, or the day after that, and though I tensed every

time my phone rang, eventualy I stopped worrying. He

didn't cal me, either.

The notes arrived every few days but never on a day when

I might expect one. Only on the days I was convinced I'd

be left without instructions, a list, a command. I read each

and every one, committing them to memory before tucking

them into the slot of 114, a mailbox that had become so

familiar to me it was like stroking a lover.

You've done wel. Treat yourself to your favorite dessert.

That had been a piece of key lime pie so decadent and

rich I'd made sex noises while eating it.

You didn't return your essay in time. Clearly, discipline

means nothing to you. Don't waste my time again.

A fit body deserves appropriate clothes. Purchase yourself

an appropriate new outfit. Don't skimp on it.

A simple suit, navy blue to match my eyes but with a crisp

stripe of summer green at the hem and on the buttons of

the jacket. It was the first outfit I'd ever bought I also had

altered to fit just right. Wearing it, I felt more than

professional, I felt appropriate.

Go to the bookstore. Look at the aisle you don't normaly

browse. Find a book that looks good and buy it. Read it.

Enjoy it.

I'd picked a book on the history of movies, trivia mostly,

but also photos of stars from days past. I'd savored the

glamour and taken to wearing my hair parted and over one

eye like Lana Turner.

For days the notes had arrived in my mailbox, teling me

what to eat, what to wear, what time to go to bed and

what time to rise. I was a rat folowing a piper unseen,

maybe to the cheese nirvana, maybe to a watery grave in a

river. I couldn't tel.

I only knew that I didn't want it to stop.

I want you to be bare for me today, beneath those clothes

you bought. I want you to feel the coarseness of denim,

the roughness of wool, the sleekness of satin lining, on

the roughness of wool, the sleekness of satin lining, on

your bare ass. Every time you move, you're going to think

of me and how I own you.

Voices echoed in the lobby and the elevator dinged, but

nobody came down the hal to catch me, a thief, taking

what I hadn't meant to steal. I pushed the card through the

slot and bent to make sure it had gone al the way through.

It would be gone when I came home, gone and read by

the person for whom it had been meant.

Did she glory in them as much as I?

Did she deserve them, the smal rewards of treating herself

to a hot bath, a piece of gourmet chocolate, for completing

the tasks? Did she force herself to another hour in the gym

as punishment when she failed to folow the list exactly?

Or was it only me who looked forward to each day's

commands?

Paul had left me another list. Along with the standard

"copy the files" and "schedule the appointments" he'd added something interesting. Lunch. He'd underlined it

twice. Like I wouldn't remember to eat?

Order from China King for delivery.

He'd added what I should order and in what amount, and

what time I should place the cal to ensure the food would

arrive by the time he and his client returned. As if I couldn't

figure al that out for myself.

Order enough for yourself , he'd added. At least he was

being generous.

I tried to put the morning's note from my mind, but my

thoughts were focused more on the fact I was bare

beneath my skirt than anything Paul was having me do. His

list was longer this time, more detailed, and while I

enjoyed the new responsibilities and projects he'd left for

me, I hadn't finished by the time the food came. I'd only

just managed to colect it from the front desk downstairs

and set it out on the smal conference table in Paul's office

when he and the woman from marketing showed up.

Vivian Darcy. I'd seen her before, a tal woman with blond

hair she wore in a sleek twist. She wasn't thin but dressed

like she was and managed to carry it off. Her shoes cost

more than my rent.

I had my own lunch, chicken and broccoli, to eat at my

desk. Paul gave me little more than a glance and closed his

door. I heard them laughing behind it. They were in there

for a long time. When the door opened again, I'd finished

eating and set back to work on the filing I hadn't managed

to finish before lunch.

"Paige, bring me the advance proof packet," Paul said

from the doorway. He'd loosened his tie and taken off his

jacket and roled up his sleeves. From behind him I heard

the flush of water running in his private bathroom.

I nodded as he disappeared into his office, but a moment

later my stomach sunk. I hadn't actualy finished copying

the packet. I'd known I needed to do it, it was part of my

regular weekly projects, but it hadn't been on Paul's list. I

also didn't want to admit I'd been distracted.

"Paul?"

They both looked up. She had puled her chair close to

his, their heads bent over what looked like a spreadsheet.

She'd taken off her suit jacket, too, and her breasts

pushed at the front of her silk shirt.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I haven't finished with the copies of that packet. It wil take me about fifteen minutes, but I'l do

that packet. It wil take me about fifteen minutes, but I'l do

it right now."

I'd been made to feel smal before, but I hadn't expected

the look both of them gave me. Different looks, neither

pleasant. Hers was cutting, an arch of brow to indicate

surprise but not too much, as though she'd expected as

much from the likes of me. Hers I could deal with.

Paul, on the other hand, looked blank for the span of some

long seconds. Then he looked disappointed. "We need

that packet now, Paige."

He didn't need to tel me I'd screwed up. I'd have liked it

better if he had. I could have been angry, then, at being

scolded. Instead, al I could feel was the vast wash of guilt

for knowing I hadn't done what I was supposed to do.

"Ten minutes," I promised.

"No need to jump through hoops," Paul said. "Just get it done."

I did it in seven minutes, though it meant cheating and

taking up al three copy machines at the same time. When I

handed the packets, properly colated and stapled, one

handed the packets, properly colated and stapled, one

each to her and him, I didn't expect a reward.

I didn't get one. Not even a smile. Not even a terse thank-

you. Both of them took the papers and bent back to their

work without more than a glance at me, and I slunk out of

Paul's office in disgrace.

My mood only lasted another ten minutes. I worked for a