Corporate Confidential — The Day My Hooker Shoes Arrived At The Office ~Part 1

It was just supposed to be a regular Thursday. Staff meeting. Spreadsheet. Sad desk salad.

Until they arrived.

A brown box with no logo and no warning. My new red, lace-up, five-inch platform hooker shoes — stripper boots, really. The kind of shoes that scream, “I do not have to be up early for a quarterly review.”

I’d had them delivered to the office because my neighbors apparently enjoy stealing my packages as a part-time hobby. I figured I’d sneak them home at the end of the day, no big deal.

Except… I couldn’t resist.

The office was quiet. Everyone was at lunch or fake-working in meetings. So I closed my door, slid one shoe out of the box, and—G-d help me—I put it on.

It was like slipping into an alter ego. My boring black pump lay discarded on the floor like a sad ex-boyfriend. I zipped the red boot all the way up, stood up, and felt instantly like I could command armies or possibly swing around a pole and get tuition money thrown at me.

And then… the door opened.

Apparently, I forgot to actually lock it.

Enter: Kyle. From Finance. With two coffees. And the look of a man who just accidentally walked in on his coworker morphing into Jessica Rabbit.

He froze.

I froze.

My leg, half-raised, heel sparkling in the light like a weapon.

Without a word, he carefully set one of the coffees on my desk.

Maintained eye contact with the floor.

And backed out of the room like he was defusing a bomb.

He knocks now.

Every. Single. Time.