The Valentine

Chapter One

I knew I was in trouble when Mrs. Flair asked to see me in her office at three pm on a Friday afternoon. Two hours before the weekend? It's gotta be bad news, I thought.

Now, I'm no stranger to being fired. I've been fired ... a lot. In fact I've been fired so many times that I consider myself a bit of an expert. I've heard every excuse in the book, from "We don't feel that you are the right fit for us," to "There's been some reorganization and we've had to make some unfortunate cuts," to my personal favorite "You're so incompetent at your job that we fired the person responsible for hiring you."

I'd weathered them all, stumbling from one odd job to the next, never quite finding the right fit.

That was what surprised me when she asked to see me. Why now? I'd only been with the company for nine months, but I thought I was doing fine. I'd kept my head down, never complained, hadn't driven a fork lift off the loading ramp, hadn't accidently knocked over a wall of paint cans, nor forgotten the security pin number and summoned a swarm of angry patrol cars at five am on a Tuesday morning. What could I have possibly done wrong this time?

I pondered this while I sat outside her office. I took in every detail of the cramped room. There were stacks of cardboard boxes piled high in all four corners. The unmanned secretary's desk was cluttered with plastic binders and unopened junk mail. It was chaotic, but not uncommon for a small business, especially a new clothing line.

I'd never really paid much attention to what we were actually selling. Having had no success applying my university degree in the real world, I wasn't picky when it came to what covered the bills. When I saw the job opening, I pounced. After a very short interview, I was hired on the spot to work in the small warehouse, unloading, lifting and moving stock. It was a small, two man operation and I actually enjoyed it. My co-worker, John was easy to get along with and the work wasn't too difficult, thankfully women's clothing is light.

The door creaked open and I almost leapt out of my chair.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, you can come in now," Mrs. Flair said and returned to her office.

I stood up and followed her, my heart pounding in my chest.

Her office was the size of a storage closet ... correction, it was a storage closet. She'd gutted it and converted it into the brain center of the entire operation. Her desk was small. Her chair looked like it been rescued from the curb on garbage day. Her phone was like the dashboard of a commercial airline jet. Her big clunky old computer looked like it had been crafted during the Stone Age.

"Sorry for the mess," she said as she sat down. "February is one of our busiest months and I've been buried under a mountain of paper work."

"It's ok," I said and took a seat.

I hated this part, the buttering up. After some small talk she'd bring the hammer down and I'd be back on the street, looking for a new job.

"So, I bet you're wondering why I called you in today."

I didn't reply, only smiled, knowing full well why I was here, clinging to the last few seconds of full employment.

"How do I explain this," she said, struggling to find the right words. She reached out and turned her computer monitor to face me.

Oh god, I thought, she's going to show me some grainy security footage of me slacking off on the job. But, had I? I couldn't think of a single time me and John had. Sure, we tended to chat a lot while we unloaded the trucks, but waste company time? Never.

"Do you recognize this?" she asked.

I looked up at the screen, expecting to see the damning evidence that would lead to my immediate termination. What I saw instead was a website, our company's website.

"New sexy Valentine's Day collection launches tomorrow!" It proclaimed in big bold cherry red letters above a picture of a black box with a red silk bow.

"I ... I don't understand," I said, genuinely confused. What did the company's url have to do with me, a common stock boy?

"Here, let me show you something," she said, turned the monitor back to face her and started to click.

"As you know, all of our orders are done online. We're still a small fish swimming in a very big pond, but, thankfully, we've been able to carve ourselves out a nice little piece of the pie. We have a loyal customer base and I'm really proud of all the hard work every one on the team has contributed. That being said, the one area that has eluded us so far has been social media. We have a small following, and while we will get the occasional like, it's like screaming into the void ... at least that was, until this happened."

She turned the monitor back to face me and I almost gasped.

"Do you remember when I asked everyone to contribute to our "Halloween in July" sales event?"

I did remember, but I hadn't contributed.

It had happened in, well ... July. She'd sent a company wide email CCed to all eleven of us asking us to come up with a unique spin on the new clothing line and turn it into a quick and easy Halloween costume for the fall. I'd thought nothing of it, because well, I was a guy.

"I don't understand," I said as I stared at the screen. I saw a collection of all the photographs from the staff and their various interpretations of the clothing line. There were a few bumblebees, Jen from sales had turned a short sleeve red dress into a lady bug, and in the upper right corner there was a picture of ...

"Is that ..."

"Yes, I'm afraid it is. It's you," Mrs. Flair replied.

I stared at the picture, hypnotized. It had been taken during my first day on the job. I'd been so nervous, but seeing it now, I almost didn't recognize it. I was wearing my favorite black long sleeve shirt, which was two sizes too large. One of the sleeves hung off my shoulder. My head was tilted down, my long loose hair hanging over my eyes, as I smiled nervously.

"First, I want to apologize, profusely. I don't know how this happened. Well, actually I can guess. The company that handles our website hasn't been the most reliable in the past, to say the least. I suspect they pulled it from our staff directory and added it by mistake."

"How long has that been up there?" I asked.

She swallowed hard and whispered. "Almost seven months ... and there's ... more."

"More photos?" I asked nervously.

"No, thankfully not, and I can assure you I'll have it taken down ASAP, it's just ... well, you should probably see this."

She scrolled the mouse down and clicked on the comments.

"Oh god, there are comments?" I asked.

"Hundreds, if not thousands. I wasn't even aware we'd agreed to a comments section, but there they are. They've been piling up for months."

"Trolls?" I asked.

"That's what I thought at first too, but they're all registered to our customer's accounts and they're not trolling. Look, here's a good example of what many of them have to say."

She rotated the monitor back to face her.

"ApirlWhine69 says, 'OMG, I love the spooky goth girl, who is she? She's adorable. Is that velvet? I must have it!"

I felt my head start to ache, velvet? spooky goth girl? what were they talking about?

She scrolled down further and continued to read.

"DreamDaizy says, 'is that one of their models? It has to be. I haven't seen her before.' To which CatGrrl22 replied, 'Must be, but I haven't seen her in any of the recent collections, maybe the older lines? Too which CougarGames replied ... I won't bore you with the details, but it goes on and on and on."

My headache started to manifest into a full blown migraine. The room started to sway, rocking back and forth like a ship about to capsize.

"It actually explains a lot," she said. "I've been going through our sales figures and for some reason our long sleeve black velvet dress is our number one best seller by a huge margin. I couldn't figure out why until I discovered this."

"They all think I'm wearing ... a dress?" I asked meekly.

"Not you ..." she said and turned the monitor to face me again.

She'd enlarged the photo. As I stared at it, I started to see it in a new light. The picture was cropped so you had no way of knowing how long the shirt actually was. There was a slight glimmer to the material, possibly from an odd reflection caught by the camera. If I hadn't known it was plain cloth I might have assumed it was velvet.

It brought the entire photo into a clearer focus. I saw what they saw, the natural curls of my long hair forming spirals that looked like wet paint strokes. My petite features and pouty lips and the devilish little look in my eyes. As I looked closer I saw a ...

"Honestly, I probably wouldn't have noticed the comments had they not spilled over into our new campaign."

"New campaign?" I asked, prying my eyes away from the photo.

"Yea, it's called "Dare to be Devilish." It's our first lingerie line, and wow, does it pack quite the punch. I've been working on it in my spare time for years, waiting for just the right time to launch it. This Valentine's Day is perfect. I'm really quite proud of it. It's a mix of the sour thrill of vinyl BDSM with the sweet intimacy of silk lingerie."

I listened as she talked, trying to ignore the looped drum solo in my head. I didn't understand why she was sharing all of this with me, not that I minded. If it meant I still had a job on Monday, I was happy to play along. I continued to smile, following along as best as I could. Maybe she was buttering me up after all, maybe she was going to ask me if I'd be available to work some overtime to help unload the new shipment, which as I was single I had plenty of time to do.

I tuned back in and waited for my opportunity to say yes.

"... and I've been dropping hints on social media leading up to its launch for the past few months, sharing my production designs and teasing some of the early prototypes. I was shocked by the response. Suddenly there was a flood of engagement. The likes shattered all our previous metrics, and there were comments, hundreds of them. As I read through them, there was a common thread, a name that kept popped up any time the conversation stirred towards who should model the new line and that name was ..."

I thought about what I'd do with the extra money. I could finally treat myself to something special and buy one of the new video game consoles. There was a back log of games I could probably buy cheap used. Then I'd order an extra large pizza loaded with pepperoni, lock myself in my apartment and ...

"Do you have any idea what I'm getting at?" she asked.

I snapped out of my trance and looked up at her.

"I'm sorry, what? I must have spaced out there for a second. You were talking about doing some overtime for the new shipment?"

She sat back and studied me like a hawk.

"Well, there would be some overtime involved. But it wouldn't be your usual rate, and it wouldn't involve any heavy lifting."

No heavy lifting, then what? I thought, confused.

She turned the monitor back to face me. I stared at the photo and the spooky goth girl stared right back at me.

"Here's it in a nut shell. I need the right look to model our new line. I need mysterious, I need playful and above all else, I need sexy, and based on the overwhelming support of our customer base, I think the choice is obvious ... I need you."

Chapter Two

I stumbled down the hallway, dragging my feet, my hand closed tightly in a fist over a scrap of torn paper. I felt woozy like I'd just been kicked in the head. Had I? My memory was a foggy mess. Maybe I'd fallen down and banged my head off something. Where had I been again? I opened my hand and looked down at the scrap of paper, counted all the zeros and commas that separated them into neat little groups and remembered. Right, of course, I'd been in Mrs. Flair's office and I'd accepted a new job.

"Yo, dude, are you ok?" someone asked me from beyond the horizon of my perception. I looked up, and saw a muddy form advancing towards me. I recognized the broad shoulders anywhere, it was John.

I'd worked with him for nine months down in what we'd affectionately called "Hades." We'd tried negotiating with the furnace, but it was a stubborn old thing, often picking temperatures at random. When it was in a particularly foul mood the warehouse would be as hot as an oven.

"How'd it go, good news, bad news?" he asked. "If there's a reason to celebrate, there's a bar just down the street, and if it's to commiserate, I got a couple of beers stashed away in my trunk."

I steadied myself, smiled and pocketed the slip of paper.

"Nothing bad," I said trying to appear as normal as possible on the surface. "Mrs. Flair just had some ... paperwork she needed me to sign, for tax purposes or something."

John grinned, his eyes lighting up.

"Well, that's great to hear. I'd hate to have to go to all the trouble of having to train a new hire. There's a real art to teaching someone how to lift a box without throwing their back out the first time. Well, the offer still stands though, if you want."

"Thanks," I said smiling. "Maybe another time, it's been a long week and I'm wiped."

John grinned. "Count on it."

Now, I'm not one who typically pays much attention to what a guy looks like. I have a very loose sliding scale between what is hot and what is not. But why would I even use it? If I got along with a guy why would I care what they looked like? That being said, there was no denying John's raw natural magnetism. He looked like he'd been cut from a slab or marble by a renaissance master. Whatever his work-out regiment was, it was delivering results. If you'd been handed a ball point pen and asked to circle an ounce of fat on his body, you'd be hard pressed to find any.

"Good timing too, it's almost quitting time. Any big plans for the weekend?" he asked.

My mind drifted back, replaying the last few minutes of my meeting with Mrs. Flair, my hand hovering over the contract.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," I said softly.

"Well, I still have a few things to tidy up before I head out. I'll see you bright and early Monday morning. Take it easy champ." he said and turned to go.

Bright and early, I thought as I watched him go ... bright and early.

"So we'll see you bright and early tomorrow?" Mrs. Flair had asked me as she took the contract from me.

I nodded, meekly.

"Excellent. When you arrive, we'll take care of everything. You just need to be well rested and ready for action. Nervous?" she asked.

"A little," I said. "Actually, a lot."

"Don't worry. You have absolutely nothing to fear. It's just going to be you, me, and the photographer I've hired. I've worked with her before. She's super professional.

"We're doing it here?" I asked.

"Yep, we're closed during the weekend, so we'll have the entire warehouse to ourselves. We'll be using a simple backdrop, which we can digitally alter afterwards. No one will ever be the wiser."

"And you're going to post the pictures ... online?"

"Exclusively to our website, yes, and don't worry, after I perform my magic no one will recognize you. You may not know this, but before I founded this company I was a very prominent beauty influencer. I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve that I'm dying to try out on you."

I looked down again at the number she had scribbled on the torn scrap of paper. She'd told me it was what she had budgeted for the model. I'd gasped when I'd seen it. Had I known I had the potential to be a model, I may have jumped at the opportunity sooner. But, a model of what?

She'd laid out a few photos for me to look at. They were her concept drawings for the new line. Her figures were exaggerated, every line dripping with raw sexuality. The lingerie was unlike anything I'd ever seen before.

"Don't worry," she said, as she saw me nervously eyeing the shoes. "You won't actually have to walk around in them. They're more for show."

I smiled, trying to conceal my trembling hand. I flipped to the next drawing, my eyes widening when I saw it. What had been left to the imagination had been picked clean by scavengers.

"Having doubts?" she asked.

"No, it's just ... a black velvet dress is one thing, but this ... this."

"Honey," she said, and reached out and gently touched my hand. "Leave everything to me. I've hired the best in the business. You have nothing to worry about."

I smiled, trying to find reassurance in her words.

I clung to them as the day wound down. I sleep walked through the trip home, almost failing to pay for the bus fair. After a stern eye from the driver, I slipped into an open seat and stared out through the thick rain soaked glass window. The city slipped by as I combed through every detail of my conversation with her. It still didn't feel real, like it had been a fever dream. I pulled the scrap piece of paper from my pocket and stared at the string of numbers again.

It's real ...

I thought again about her production designs, of what they showed and how little they covered. I was still confused by one thing she'd said.

"Oh, and on your way home you might want to take a quick detour, you know ... to prepare."

Detour, prepare? Why would I need too ... Ohh. the thought struck me like a bolt of lightning. I leapt up and pulled the chord for the next stop. A few minutes later I found myself in the isle of a pharmacy close to my apartment standing under harsh fluorescent lights, staring at a wall of products I'd never thought I'd ever need to buy.

There were more options for hair removal than my brain could comprehend, but which one should I choose? I opted to try several, as I didn't want to draw the attention of an employee and be asked questions I'd prefer not to answer.

With my purchases bagged, I headed home.

It's best not to describe my single room apartment because there's not much to describe. The walls were bare, the furniture sparse. I'd been living there for over two years, yet I still hadn't unpacked half of my cardboard boxes.

I found myself pacing after I arrived. I tried to eat, but had no appetite. I tried to watch TV, but couldn't concentrate. The tips of my fingers felt electric. I kept looking over at the thin shopping bag sitting on the plastic bin I used as a kitchen table.

When was I going to start preparing again? I looked over at the clock. Close enough, I thought and grabbed the bag and headed for the bathroom. I read the instructions on the box, pouring over every detail several times. One of the hair removal products looked like a thick paste and smelled like an industrial chemical. I opened the bottle, smeared it over every available inch of my body, set a timer on my phone and waited.

My patience was stretched razor thin as I watched every second count down. When it hit zero, I leapt into the shower and started to scrub the thick goo off. I ran my hand over the exposed skin. It was smooth, plucked clean and bare.

I remained in the shower, savoring every last drop of the scolding hot water.

How rude, I thought as the temperature dropped, cursing the apartment's ancient furnace. I turned the shower off and poked at the tiled floor with my toes. I stepped out, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my shivering, naked body. At the sink, I wiped the steam from the mirror and gazed into the reflection. My wet hair dangled in front of my eyes like festive ribbon, my lips were drawn up like a bow.

What was in those hair removal products? I thought as I examined my body. It appeared fuller. There was a natural swagger to my hips I'd never noticed before. They were curvy, hung like a bell from my thin waist. My legs were long, lean.

I pictured the production designs again, the spaghetti thin straps, tight black lyrca and shimmering red silk.

From spooky to sexy in a snap, I thought, my mind simmering with devilish thoughts.