Fan Art by Fraylim (Patreon)

Whilst not necessarily secretarial, Fraylim's design for this one just seemed perfect for Cindy at work. In this case, the artwork preceeded the writing, and I worked it into a scene. To be honest, it felt like a bit of a waste of such a great image on such a short scene; I should've made more of it, possibly. Nevertheless, enjoy!

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From chapter 4:

            The next day, Monday. She didn’t say a word about what happened the night before. Instead, Julia assembled an outfit for me: houndstooth skirt over tan pantyhose and a form-fitting long-sleeved black top paired with a wide red belt and red pumps.  I looked sexy—Cindy always looked sexy—but compared to previous days it felt subdued, almost comfortable. Touching up my nail colour that morning to match belt, shoes and lips, I watched Julia moved efficiently around her apartment. Exhaustion again dogged her footsteps, yet she pushed aside her own needs in favour of mine.

            “Good luck today,” she said, and I saw the tiredness behind her eyes. But she smiled and tapped the bracelets. “I made a few adjustments.”

            We traveled separately, that morning: I rode the bus, and she took a taxi.

            I didn’t see her at work. The night’s previous conversation haunted me at first, but the intensity of my performance distracted me. At 9am, my phone beeped: Julia, to tell me she’d hooked her software into the floor’s security cameras. I felt the armbands come alive. For the rest of the day, they guided me through this new, nuanced version of Cindy. The software seemed to focus on mannerisms, that day, the less obvious expressions of girlhood. The negative reinforcement had changed as well. Gone, the previous warning warmth, the gradual heating. Now, both armbands gave a shock, ranging from a mild prickle to a genuinely painful jolt for persistent and egregious violations.

            When we met later that evening, she walked me through the day as represented by bar charts and line graphs. “Not bad,” she grudgingly admitted. “Though we need a bit more focus on this ‘timid’ metric, you’re still coming across as way too confident.”

            I blew a lock of hair out of my eyes and kept silent.

            “Next time someone compliments your work, try to play it down,” she advised.