Roomies by ItWasMe

 For the first time in as long as she could remember, Monica was nervous.

She was sitting in her office behind her desk, a clear glass surface with fine oak drawers for privacy and matching table legs. The morning sunrise lingered behind her as it clashed with the city skyline, framed through a clear glass wall spanning the width of the office, in a view only afforded to those on the 46th floor of her company’s building.

Monica straightened out her just-above knee length black pencil skirt as her right foot, clad in a matching high-heel, continued to tap against the thinly carpeted floor. She fiddled with the bottom button on her black blazer, partially blocking her white, short-sleeved blouse from view.

The weekend had come and gone, and Monday was here. Would he show up? Had he betrayed her and taken a job elsewhere? Had she misjudged him in the first place? What if he didn’t show up? What if this was a prank of some sort, and he was still missing?

Monica’s thoughts were interrupted by a woman’s voice blaring over the intercom.

“Boss, your 7 a.m. is here,” the voice said. “It’s not him. I think it’s that weird girl who called the other day.”

“Hey!” a second feminine voice came through the speaker.

Monica could feel the frown forming on her lips. This was why she never put any faith in others, especially her employees, and she would certainly never be making that mistake again. It had been some time since she had felt such disappointment. Her first thought was to send this girl away and cease with these games.

Then again, how is it that the old expression goes? “Shoot the messenger,” I believe? Monica mused, feeling her trademark haughty smirk returning.

“Show her in,” Monica spoke into the speaker.

She turned her attention to her office door, which promptly opened as her secretary strolled into the room, the latter’s wavy brunette tresses swaying gently against her shoulder blades with each step. Her tanned skin was partially hidden away by a white blouse and dark blue pencil skirt with matching heels.

But it was the blonde woman trailing behind, or rather her height, that stood out to the CEO.

“A Callie Voss here to see you, boss,” the secretary said.

This girl was tall, maybe even taller than Monica herself. She was aware that her secretary was on the shorter side, but the top of the personal assistant’s head was barely level with the young woman’s shoulders. A pair of strappy brown high-heeled sandals guided the blonde’s steps as she slipped beside the secretary, revealing her knee-length beige dress, a white sash tied at the hip. A small, thin-strapped black purse completed the ensemble.

“Thank you, Alyssia,” Monica addressed her secretary.

With a slight nod, Alyssia took her cue to leave, exiting the room without further comment.

“You have your secretary actually walk your appointments in?” the young woman asked. “So cool.”

Monica almost chuckled at the naive innocence of the young woman in front of her. This girl was making it too easy for her.

“Yes, well, even in this digital age, I’m still partial to the physical presence,” Monica responded. “Which is why I must admit to being most disappointed with the absence of the man for whom this appointment was made in the first place.”

Monica could see how the harsh condescension she had inflected into her voice immediately pulled this Callie girl out of her awed stupor.

“R-right, of course, Ms. Shale,” Callie stuttered. “About that—“

Monica narrowed her eyes, her death stare stopping Callie dead in her tracks, as it had many a business rival over the past few years. She wasn’t about to allow this girl ruin her fun with some lazily concocted excuse, electing instead to use her favorite negotiating tactic: bulldozing the conversation.

“I also seem to recall asking you only to relay a message to Mr. Brenadine. That was to be your sole role in this interaction,” Monica said. “And yet here you are, standing there cluelessly in my office, and all alone at that. The least you could have done, if you were going to involve yourself further in my personal affairs, was bring the one person for whom this part of my schedule was reserved. Do you believe my time to be without worth, Ms. Voss?”

The panic flooding Callie’s face was exactly what Monica wanted to see. As the co-ed moved to sit in one of the two chairs in front of Monica’s desk, the businesswoman was tempted to admonish her for mistaking her critique as an invitation to seat herself but decided to save her venom for the girl’s next slip up instead. After all, you have to let the fish wear itself out rather than constantly pulling on the line.

What a wonderful way to start the day, Monica thought happily.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Shale,” Callie answered, regaining her composure. “I know your time is valuable, but if you would just give me a second to explain—”

There it was, the next opening for Monica to strike.

“I don’t see what explanation you could possibly offer that would justify your presence here in place of Mr. Brenadine’s,” she snapped. “Perhaps my request was too complicated for you? Or is it that this is just some sort of game you’re playing? Well, I can assure you that I have no time for your pointless excuses. There is no combination of words you could utter that could possibly explain your incompetence or his arrogance in this instance!”

Monica felt good as she unleashed six months worth of frustration on Callie. A small part of her felt guilty for verbally assaulting the poor girl, but she was merely in the wrong place at the absolute perfect time. Besides, sympathy and empathy were two traits Monica had buried deep early in her ascension up the corporate ranks, and it was too late to dig them up now.

“That’s a good point!” Callie said in a far more chipper voice than Monica was expecting. “Hold up a second.”

As Callie rose to her feet, Monica stared at her, mouth agape. Why wasn’t this girl in tears yet? How could she possibly be so happy after the dressing down she had just received? And perhaps most importantly, why the hell was she closing the vertical Venetian blinds to her glass wall facing the rest of the 46th floor?!

Monica was feeling apprehensive as Callie returned to her seat, picking up her purse from the floor next to it. Callie opened it and looked inside. However, instead of simply reaching in and removing an item from it, she actually began speaking into it, leaving Monica very much distressed.

“You remember what you told me to do if you did this, right?” she asked the contents of her bag. “’cause I’m gonna do it.”

After another minute or so of Callie talking into her purse, she lowered her hand into the bag. In a panic, Monica reached into the top right drawer of her desk and gripped her revolver, preparing to defend herself if the need arose.

Callie pulled her hand out and Monica prepared to do the same, but stopped when she realized that it wasn’t a weapon in the young girl’s hand. Callie set the thing she took out of her purse onto the desk in front of her. It made a noise, but Monica was too confused to register it.

“But I did do what you said,” Callie talked down to the tiny object that she set on Monica’s desk. “You said you would do this and that you wanted me to ‘make sure you man up and just do it already.’”

Much to Monica’s surprise, the little thing squeaked back.

“That was then!” it yelled. “You’re supposed to listen to me now, in the moment!”

Callie threw her arms up in obvious frustration as Monica looked on, dumbfounded by what was unfolding in front of her.

“That doesn’t even make sense, Duncan,” she said. “Like, if I’m supposed to listen to you now, why would you tell me something different then?”

Wait, did she just say … Monica processed internally.

“I was being stupid then, obviously!” the finger-sized man answered.

Monica noticed the slightest hint of an amused smile cross Callie’s face.

“So, like, how do you know that you’re not being stupid now instead of then?” Callie questioned. “It’s not like people do stupid stuff on purpose, so how do you know which is which? Like, what even is stupid, anyway?”

The little man on the desk raised his right arm and jabbed his index finger in Callie’s general direction.

“Don’t try to Aristotle your way out of this!” he said.

Honing in on the man’s voice, Monica realized that it was a familiar one. It sounded so small, but it definitely belonged to Duncan. Having pieced together the what, or rather the who, of the situation, the baffled businesswoman began racking her brain to address the suddenly much more pertinent question of how.

Monica tuned out the mind-numbing drivel between her undersized employee and his much larger debate partner, her focus entirely centered on the miniature person with his back to her. She reached for him with her right hand, her mocha-colored fingers trembling in nervous anticipation.

That’s when Callie’s left hand swiftly and harshly gripped Monica’s wrist.

“Hey!” the blonde growled with a fierceness very unlike the sweet, almost bubbly quality her voice carried seconds before. “No touchin’ him without permission!”

Monica’s eyes drifted from the doll-sized Duncan on her desk to meet the intense gaze of the woman impeding her hand’s progress. The executive’s eyes widened as Callie’s words settled in her ears and she realized just what it was she was about to do.

Monica felt Callie’s grasping fingers release as the CEO pulled her hand back.

“Of course,” Monica almost whispered. “My apologies.”

The hostility melted from Callie’s face as Monica withdrew her hand. The executive watched the young woman’s vibrant hazel irises as they flickered down to the tiny man standing on the desk before rising back up, flashing an expectant glint upon meeting Monica’s own eyes once more.

Monica was barely able to contain a gasp as she realized her mistake.

“But then, I really should direct my apologies to you, shouldn’t I?” she asked, addressing Duncan this time. “I’m sorry, Duncan. I’m just having some difficulty comprehending your … current situation.”

Duncan, looking rattled, took a nervous step toward his boss.

“I-it’s fine,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”

Monica took a good look at the smaller Duncan for the first time. He was wearing black pants made from a thick, yet comfortable-looking fabric and a white shirt made of a different, lighter fabric. His face was clean-shaven and his hair, although a bit disheveled, was cut relatively short, likely chopped with some sort of blade.

As he looked up at her, it was clear that he still carried himself with the same composure and measure of confidence that he always did, something she particularly admired, given his current size. But hiding behind his little eyes, she saw something she wasn’t accustomed to seeing in him: fear.

She didn’t like that but decided to not dwell on it.

“I … I have so many questions,” Monica said. “I suppose I should start with the most basic one, however: How did this happen?”

Despite still seeming tense, Duncan took a deep breath and began to sound more like his old self.

“I hope you don’t have any appointments for a while,” he said, “because this story takes a while.”

********

“I … I don’t know what to say,” Monica said, breaking the minutes-long silence that followed the conclusion of Duncan’s tale.

Callie studied her idol sitting at the other side of the desk. The pained, sympathetic look on Monica’s face seemed out of place framed by her flawless light brown skin and strands of black hair that escaped the bun atop her head and landed just in front of her ears. Callie could relate, though, as her own emotions upon hearing Duncan’s story for the first time could easily fit that expression.

“Huh,” Duncan responded. “I figured you would have jumped at the chance to say, ‘I told you so.’ You’ve been warning me about Kristie for, what, two years now?”

Monica shook her head.

“No, I never could have guessed she would go that far,” she said, her button nose crinkling slightly. “I knew she was … unpleasant, but I didn’t think she was a monster, and I thought she at least cared about you enough to treat you like a person in your current condition.”

Monica flashed a small smile at the small employee standing on her desk.

“Besides, now hardly seems an appropriate time to brag, particularly about such a trivial matter,” she said. “I’m just happy to see you safe.”

Callie could see Duncan’s body relax, her little friend finally appearing fully comfortable in Monica’s presence.

“Thanks, boss,” he said, before giving a smirk. “It means a lot to hear that from the ice queen herself.”

Monica sighed in response.

“You never could just let a nice moment stand,” she said. “I suppose I should count as a positive that your sense of humor didn’t shrink with you?”

This got a chuckle out of Duncan.

“I’d definitely say so,” he said, turning back to face Callie. “You know, you were right about this. Thanks for talking me into coming here.”

Duncan’s appreciation brought a smile to her face. She had been a little worried when he didn’t want to leave her purse and even felt a bit guilty about showing him to Monica even though he had instructed her to do exactly that the night before. But now a strong sense of validation filled her heart.

Nodding in response, Callie looked up from her roommate, only to be met by the intensity of Monica’s deep brown eyes.

“Yes, thank you for bringing him here,” Monica said in a professional tone. “Although I must admit to being curious about the type of person with which my employee is sharing living accommodations, especially if I’m to have him resume his duties.”

Callie shivered under Monica’s stare. Luckily, a voice from below bailed her out.

“R-resume my duties?” Duncan asked. “I know what you said about my job over the phone, but this is more of a ‘Hey, I’m still alive’ visit than it is a ‘Hey, I’m ready to come back to work’ one. I can’t come back, not like this, not with those jackasses out there!”

Callie’s eyes followed as Duncan pointed toward the office door, the sound of the other employees starting to file into the office being audible through the closed entryway. She cringed at the thought of what some of his coworkers, or anyone else, for that matter, might do to him if they found him at his current size.

“Duncan,” Monica’s said, her tone unchanged. “I have been assuming your responsibilities for six months, and not only am I looking forward to relieving my workload, but your clients have been clamoring for your return since the first week you went on your ‘sabbatical,’ which is where you’re to say you have been when they ask, by the way.”

Duncan appeared shocked at his employer’s words.

“You’ve been covering for me?” he asked. “Why would you—You know what, it doesn’t matter. I’m flattered that you want me back so badly, but I can’t start coming into the office at this size.”

Monica smirked ever so slightly as she looked down at her little employee.

“Which is why you’ll be working from home,” she said. “You didn’t think I would expect you to come to the office with your … condition, did you?”

Callie watched as the two of them worked out the details of his new terms of employment: what equipment was needed, how often he would need to report to her, and which tasks he was to prioritize while he caught up on things that fell through the cracks. Duncan brought up one other necessary detail as well.

“And you’ll also need to adjust my direct deposit to Callie’s bank account,” he said.

That last declaration certainly caught Callie by surprise.

“Um, what?” she said. “Why can’t you just keep getting paid in your own account? I don’t feel comfortable putting your money in with mine. I don't wanna accidentally spend some of your money.”

Duncan turned around to face his giant roommate.

“I can’t exactly go out and buy stuff like this,” he said, motioning his hands up and down his body. “So I’d need you to spend my money on stuff anyway. Besides, it’ll be so much easier for me to cover the rent if we share your account.”

Callie couldn’t help but feel slightly indignant at Duncan’s suggestion. Did he see her as some desperate girl who couldn’t get by without a handout?

“Cover the rent?!” she said. “I’ve been doin' just fine on my own, thank you! Like, I may be a bit short on cash right now, but I can pay my own rent.”

Duncan lowered his head.

“I know that,” he said quietly. “But I’m no freeloader, and trust me, whatever you’re paying the landlord isn’t going to make a dent in my check. So please …”

Callie had a hard time hearing Duncan, but his words still reached her heart as well as her ears. She had been so annoyed at thinking he didn’t believe she could take care of herself that she hadn’t thought of it from the opposite perspective, how he must feel having to rely on her so much.

“Alright, you can cover rent,” she said. “But I’m still paying utilities.”

Duncan was quick to accept the terms of Callie’s proposal.

“Very good. I’ll have Alyssia retrieve your information later, Callie,” Monica said, pausing for a moment before turning downward to Duncan. “There is one more matter I wanted to discuss with you. I’m aware of your aversion to having a lab look into your situation, but I can make a few calls. I have some connections that will be discreet and respectful, so—“

She stopped, as Duncan was already shaking his head.

“No,” he said.

Monica let out an exasperated sigh.

“I’m not going to let them expose you or keep you in a lab somewhere, Duncan,” she said. “Unless … unless the issue is that you don’t trust me?”

Duncan stared at her for a moment, dead silence passing between them, before making his decision.

“Do it,” he said. “Make your calls. But I don’t want to set foot in a lab at all, alright?”

Monica didn’t say a word but answered with the most sincere smile Callie had seen from her all morning. The three of them continued talking for a while longer before Callie announced that Duncan and she needed to head out if they were to make their bus in time for her first class of the day.

“Nonsense,” Monica said. “I’ll drive you home. It’s the least I can do to make amends for my rude behavior earlier, when I, um, tried to reach for Duncan without permission.”

After a bit of polite back and forth, Callie and Duncan accepted the offer. Duncan was gently set back into Callie’s purse with minimal but audible muttering, and the two women exited Monica’s office.

Callie saw a few employees at their desks, mostly on their phones as they typed away on their computers. Others were still just getting to work, getting off the high rise’s elevator after it reached their lofty floor.

“Alyssia, I need you to cancel all my morning appointments,” Monica said as Callie and she approached the secretary’s desk from behind.

Alyssia remained focused on her work, not so much as glancing at the two woman as they strode by her desk. Still, as Callie glanced at the secretary, she couldn’t help but notice that her eyes were a little red and puffy.

"It's already done, so take your time getting back," Alyssia said almost dismissively.

Then she added two words that stopped the two women in their tracks.

"Bye, Duncan."

Callie froze midstep, setting her left foot back down beside Alyssia's desk. The secretary kept her face buried in her computer screen, the thin smirk stretching her pink-painted lips serving as the only indication that she was aware of the stopping power of her words.

"You left the intercom on again, didn't you?" Monica said, her tone flat. "I do believe I told you to stop doing that."

Callie's eyes followed Monica's voice, finding her facing the front of her employee's desk. The CEO wore a neutral expression, aside from the frightful glare in her coffee-colored eyes.

"Of course I did," Alyssia responded as her fingers continued to glided across the keyboard. "I flipped it back on as soon as those blinds went shut. Don't act like you weren't worried, too. I bet you were reaching for your gun right before the 'big reveal.'"

Callie gasped.

"G-gun?!" she asked.

Monica's intense gaze softened as she cleared her throat.

"That ... that's beside the point," she said.

Finally lifting her head from her work, Alyssia swiveled in her chair to face Callie's hip. Before Callie could react, the secretary gave the side of the blonde co-ed's purse a light smack, causing it to sway slightly as it hung from her shoulder.

Alyssia frowned at the bag as a barely audible grunt penetrated its leather walls as the contents within were tossed about.

"That's for not letting me know you were okay when you guys called last week, ya little jerk!" she whispered at the bag. “And for not letting me know now!”

Callie instinctively grabbed the purse with her right hand, halting its momentum and turning her body to shield the bag from another potential assault. It wasn't until after she had secured her roommate’s transport that Alyssia's words registered with her.

"Are you guys, like, close?" She asked the auburn-haired beauty.

Alyssia smiled brightly as she shrugged her shoulders.

"He's the only other person that works here that isn't a complete and total dick," she said.

Monica gave her assistant a death stare. Alyssia’s grin only got larger in return.

“Let’s go,” Monica said, dropping her shoulders in defeat.

Alyssia gently grabbed Callie’s wrist before she could leave.

“Just a sec,” the secretary said, carefully grabbing Callie’s purse with a hand on either side.

Alyssia quickly scanned the office, ensuring that none of the other employees were looking her way. Satisfied, she brought her face closer to the handbag.

“Did you think I'd forget?” she said, whispering menacingly. “Shortstack, hobbit, armrest; you thought you were pretty clever, huh? Well, guess what? You won’t know when, you won’t know where, but when you least expect it, I will crush your soul with the most devastating nickname your tiny ass has ever heard!”

Callie half-expected Alyssia to finish off her rant with a maniacal cackle, but instead she simply released the purse and resumed her work.

“See ya!” Alyssia said.

Callie clutched her purse a little tighter as she moved to catch up with Monica at the elevator.

********

Monica’s dark red Porsche began braking as it approached a traffic light that more or less matched it in color. From the passenger seat, Callie tightened the grip of her index finger and thumb as they encircled Duncan’s chest under his armpits, securing him from the g-force of the vehicle’s braking. She looked down to check on her tiny charge.

And he was staring right back at her.

“I still don’t see why I can’t just hang out in a cup holder or something,” Duncan said.

Callie suppressed a smile at feeling his little feet gently bounce between the breast of her palm and her other three fingers as his lower body swung like a pendulum within her loose fist at the sudden shift in momentum as the car came to a complete stop.

“I already told you, it’s not safe,” she answered. “If you don’t like this, I could always hold you in my purse.”

Duncan recalled the bus ride to the office, feeling the walls of the dark purse close in around him as Callie wrapped her arms around it protectively for the duration of the trip. While he appreciated the gesture, it wasn’t something he was looking forward to repeating.

“This is fine,” he said.

Still staring down at her roommate, Callie couldn’t help but feel just a bit of guilt. The last thing she wanted to do was use her size to boss him around, and the defeated tone with which he responded to her hurt her heart. But she reminded herself that she wasn’t doing this because he was small, that she wouldn’t so much as turn the key in the ignition before any of her other friends fastened their seat belts.

She looked out for her friends, always, and if it was sometimes a little easier to do that with Duncan because of his size, so be it.

As she was reassuring herself, Callie finally took notice of just where she was holding him, his chest and above sticking through her fist as he stared straight ahead into her cleavage. Feeling the heat of her cheeks blushing, her first thought was to quickly lower him down to her lap.

However, her arm didn’t move, as she decided that this was some sort of compensation for her forcing him to stay in her hand.

Yeah, that’s it. She tried to convince herself. A little reward for him. That’s all.

"So Callie," Monica said, never taking her eyes off the road, "As I mentioned in my office, I think I would like to know a bit more about you."

While her words were polite, the businesswoman's stern voice heavily implied that the coming conversation would be an involuntary one for the blonde college girl.

"M-me?" Callie asked, a slight quiver in her voice. "Why would you wanna know about me?"

It was only then that she realized that, much to her panic, the only subject she never visualized herself discussing with her hero was her own boring, mundane life.

"Is it so unusual that after becoming apprised of Duncan's situation my curiosity with regard to his ... ‘roommate’ might be piqued?" Monica queried.

Callie froze. Once again, Monica's tone left no room for debate on the question. Mortified at the prospect of not meeting some unstated expectations from the CEO, the college student's grip subconsciously tightened around her tiny roommate as she met the questioner with a deer-in-headlights stare.

"You should stop fighting it and just answer her questions," Duncan said in a slightly strained voice. "The woman is relentless. She's sans relent!"

Monica turned her attention to her puny protégé, offering him a scowl for his contribution to the conversation.

“Oh, uh, what I meant to say was … something positive?” Duncan shrugged.

Monica shook her head as she looked back to the road, resuming her drive as the light turned green.

“I’m confident they don’t suffer such nonsense at Goldman Sachs,” she muttered to herself.

Monica returned her focus to the road as the light changed green and the car started moving once again. Much like when the vehicle had stopped, Callie enjoyed feeling Duncan’s legs sway back and forth in her grip in those first few moments of acceleration.

Her driver for the morning wasn’t about to let her off the hook so easily, however.

“Since your nerves seem to have gotten the best of you for whatever reason, perhaps we should start with something simple, the most basic of questions,” Monica mused aloud before clearing her throat. “So, where are you from?”

Callie lowered her head in embarrassment. She noticed that Duncan was looking down over his right shoulder, toward her feet. It brought a small smile to her face to see him trying so hard to be a gentleman and not enjoy the view she was “unwittingly” providing him.

“The Midwest,” she said.

Monica shot Callie a quick, incredulous look, sparing only the briefest of moments from the road.

“That’s it?” Monica asked. “That’s not an insignificant region. Are you always this vague when people ask you this question?”

A derisive chuckle escaped Callie’s lips.

“That’s usually as far as I get before people start in with the jokes about corn and regional gas station chains,” she said.

Before Callie could continue, she heard laughter from below.

“In their defense, I lived in Indiana for a year as a kid, and that’s pretty much all it had,” Duncan said.

Callie glanced down excitedly at Duncan. If he lived in Indiana for a time, maybe he spent part of his childhood fairly close to where she grew up. She wasn’t sure why, but the thought made her happy.

“You lived in Indiana?!” she asked. “Which part?”

Without missing a beat, Duncan responded, “The part we’re not talking about right now because you’re the one getting interrogated.”

Suddenly, his face lit up with a mischievous grin, giving Callie a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach as he turned to face Monica.

“Ooh, ooh! Ask her who her hero is!” he yelled to Monica before turning back to Callie. “That should be fun!”

Callie tightened her grip around her little roommate just a tiny bit more, this time well aware of the squeeze, hearing a slight grunt escape the little man whose upper torso was clutched by her forefinger and thumb. Looking down with a mixture of annoyance and worry at using too much pressure to get her point across, she was both aggravated and relieved to find that same smug expression staring back at her.

Maybe she hadn’t squeezed hard enough.

“That’s not such a terrible suggestion,” Monica said, unaware of the playful tension building in the seat next to her as she kept her eyes on the road. “Tell me, Callie, who is your—Shit! Look out!”

Callie looked up in time to see the solid red brake lights of the car in front of them lit up despite there being no intersection in sight and no vehicle ahead of it. As she heard the screeching of their own vehicle’s tires and began to feel the full effects of Monica slamming on the brakes, Callie instinctively pulled her right hand into her body, opening her fingers to rest Duncan between her flat palm and the area just beneath the base of her collarbone.

As Monica’s Porsche stopped mere inches from the rear bumper of the car in front of it, Callie breathed a sigh of relief.

“Holy fuck that was close,” the blonde uttered, quickly covering her mouth with her left hand at using the unprofessional language in front of her hero.

A small shiver just above her breasts caught Callie’s attention. It was then that she remembered Duncan, who was still pinned to her body. But why did he shiver like that? He couldn’t be cold; if anything, her body heat was probably making things uncomfortably hot for him. Fear then? Not likely, as he wasn’t the type to scare easy and probably didn’t even have time to comprehend what happened.

My voice! she realized, remembering the slight vibration in her chest when she spoke.

After spending the weekend with Duncan, Callie had gradually become more aware of how even her most casual actions affected her little roommate: the way his face cringed slightly when she spoke too loudly or how he would sometimes struggle to keep his balance on the wobbly “kitchen table” if she approached too briskly, for example.

She quickly learned to walk and speak with less force while still maintaining a sense of normalcy. After all, Duncan never brought these issues up and even seemed to go out of his way to hide them. She understood that, as she didn’t like people fussing over her, either. So she did her best to make him more comfortable without being blatant about it.

But one thing Callie had never considered was how the very act of talking could affect Duncan beyond volume. The movement of her vocal cords alone were enough to get a response out of him—and such a pleasurable one at that! She hoped he had shivered because the vibration felt good to him, because it sure as shit felt good to her. It boggled her mind how his tiny touches could be so … stimulating!

Would it be weird if she let out a quiet little moan right now? You know, just to test her shiver theory?

“Are you two alright?” Monica asked breathlessly, pulling Callie from her thoughts.

Nervously, Callie removed her hand from her chest, softly wrapping her fingers around Duncan as it withdrew.

“I’m good,” she replied, glancing down at Duncan. “You?”

From Callie’s perspective, he looked dazed, flushed, and happy. She smiled with relief, grateful that her awkward moment had passed without incident.

“All good here,” Duncan said. “T-thanks.”

The two of them just stared at one another, unsure of what to say yet still feeling comfortable in the moment.

“Good,” Monica said. “Now, where were we?”

As traffic resumed, the near collision from seconds ago seemingly forgotten or ignored by those on the street, Callie felt her heart stop once again.

********

As Monica opened the door and stepped out of her car, she felt kind of guilty.

After spending most of the 25-minute drive across town questioning Callie, the businesswoman was starting to regret the way she had treated the younger girl in her office that morning. Monica had simply become too accustomed to dealing with the ruthless drones that typically roamed the office.

But Callie wasn’t like in the slightest. Monica found her to be a sweet, compassionate, and charmingly silly young woman, certainly not someone deserving of the same ire Monica reserved for those corporate shills who act cordial to her face while waiting to plant a knife in her back the moment she allows her guard to drop.

Legitimately kind and considerate people like Callie were simply a rarity in the business mogul’s life, one that she was beginning to quite enjoy in this case.

The feeling of something squirming in her right fist reminded Monica of another person in her life who shared such qualities.

Monica refused to show it, but she was elated when Duncan agreed to allow her to carry him from the parking lot to Callie’s apartment. Rather than keep him her blazer pocket, he had agreed to hide himself entirely within her grip.

As Monica felt his body shift, likely trying to find a more comfortable position against her closed hand, she considered giving him a quick, affectionate squeeze but thought better of it, instead simply loosening her fingers slightly to give her small cargo more room to stretch about.

Duncan’s … initial hesitance toward her in the office had hurt Monica, but she could hardly blame him for feeling that way. While she had always been fond of him and even tried to look out for him in his early days under her employ, her need to remain stoic and unflappable at all times often led to her intentions being … misinterpreted, if Duncan’s constant jokes and other efforts to have her “lighten up” were anything to go by.

So she was never able to simply laugh when she heard Duncan and Alyssia playfully mocking their stern fellow employees in the office or offer them friendly advice in a way that didn’t seem demanding. She never took either of her two favorite employees up on their invitations to lunch, and she never met them for drinks after work. Instead, she was too busy closing deals and buying companies.

The worst were the times that Monica tried to warn him about his girlfriend at the time, Kristie. From the moment she first saw that woman at the office Christmas party two years ago, Monica knew she was a bratty, self-centered bitch.

Still, Duncan defended the girl, standing up to Monica in a way no one had since she had led her first board meeting. While the CEO didn’t appreciate how heated he became each time one of those “discussions” took place, she respected his loyalty and his guts all the same.

Recalling Duncan’s story in her head, Monica knew there was more to his time under Kristie’s “care” than he let on. It was easy enough for the executive to fill in the blanks, however, and it made her blood boil to think about it.

To take her mind off that horrendous woman, Monica turned toward Callie as the pair approached the latter’s apartment door, keeping the swing of her right arm to a minimum as she watched the younger woman ahead of her insert a key into the door’s lock.

She’s definitely an upgrade from the last one, Monica mused as watched Callie open the door. Yes, I think … I think I approve.

As she stepped into the apartment, Monica lifted her right hand level with her chest and opened her hand palm side up, freeing Duncan from the confines of his fleshy hiding place.

“Whew!” he said as he hastily filled his lungs with fresh air. “It was a little hot in there but definitely better than the purse!”

Monica nodded, but she was too busy scanning the apartment to take note of Duncan’s words. Run down didn’t begin to describe this place, although she did her best to hide her disgust at the tacky living space and ugly kitchen with appliances older than she was. She certainly didn’t want to come off as snobbish or judgmental.

Perhaps she was just a little spoiled with her own living arrangements?

On the card table serving as Callie and Duncan’s dining room table, Monica couldn’t help but notice that the surface was cluttered with several unfamiliar odds and ends. Intrigued, she stepped into the kitchen rather than following Callie toward the couch, causing the hostess to course correct with an unexpected burst of excitement.

“I see our little project here has caught your eye,” Callie said giddily. “After I finished makin’ Duncan’s wardrobe and alterin’ the furniture for his place, we decided to, like, work on something together!”

Monica reached down and picked up what appeared to be a smoothly broken off piece of a paint stir stick covered in some sort of light foam padding and a layer of smooth material, with four legs made from halves of doll table legs and a pair of cut-down hair pins with mostly pinched-together ends attached to either side at one end.

“It’s a weight bench!” Callie explained.

The confusion must have been evident on Monica’s face, as Duncan decided to elaborate further.

“We decided to build me a makeshift gym,” he said. “We’re still working out the mechanics of the salmon ladder, though.”

Monica tilted her head quizzically as she stared down at the little man in the palm of her hand.

“Salmon ladder?” she asked.

Looking from Duncan to Callie, Monica could almost hear as much as see the younger woman’s eyes roll.

“Ugh, don’t even ask,” Callie groaned.

Duncan gave Callie a mean stare, immediately silencing his larger roommate. He then turned back to Monica.

“Anyway, I don’t know if you noticed, but fighting for survival for months on end can actually leave you pretty built,” he said with false braggadocio, flexing dramatically. “I figured I should try to keep in shape now that things aren’t quite so hard for me.”

Duncan’s act brought a giggle out of Callie and a knowing smirk out of Monica.

“Yeah,” Callie chimed in, “I called in from work on both Saturday and Sunday so we could work on the ladders and this stuff.”

Ladders? Monica looked around the room more carefully. The first one she noticed was the one leading from the floor to the tabletop in front of them. Wood craft sticks, glued both together and to one of the table’s legs until it curved inward, are stacked side by side up to the lip of the table, with half-toothpicks serving as the handholds for the improvised ladder.

The structure was also painted to match the color of the table legs, with the empty space between the curved leg and the tabletop being its only easily noticeable part. Now knowing what to look for, she identified several other such ladders in the kitchen and living room, each also blending into their surroundings.

“I told you that you didn’t have to call in for my sake,” Duncan said, bringing Monica’s attention back to him. “I hated seeing you lose out on some cash just to help me out. On the bright side, though, at least we got some studying in, right?”

Callie answered with another groan.

“Studying?” Monica asked.

The girls set out for the living room couch with Duncan along for the ride. Once they sat down, Monica slowly brought her hand to the coffee table in front of their shins, letting her tiny employee step off her palm. She reached for a nearby book on the table open to one of its early pages, looking to Callie for approval, which the co-ed gave with a nod.

Monica picked up the book, Advanced Business and Statistical Analysis and You, and began to thumb through the pages.

“You’re really quite lucky to have Duncan as a tutor for this sort of material,” Monica muttered as she absorbed the information on the pages. “I pay him good money to do exactly this sort of stuff for me.”

Callie stared down at Duncan with a look of shock and respect, as though he had been endorsed by the Pope for sainthood.

The two women chatted for a bit after that, with Duncan sitting silently at the edge of the table. Monica, soon realizing they were excluding their tiny friend, was about to ask him his opinion on something when she saw that he was looking down rather than up. Following his eyes, she discovered that his line of sight led right to Callie’s sandaled feet, a zoned-out look upon his face.

While driving over, Monica had noticed Duncan looking over his shoulder and down at his roommate’s feet from the corner of her eye. Recognizing the vacant look in his eyes now, she had to stop herself from smiling.

So Duncan has a little foot fetish, does he? she thought to herself.

Monica’s thoughts began to drift. Callie clearly had no idea what she was doing to the poor guy as her feet shifted idly on the floor. Monica wondered if he might be willing to be played with just a little bit. Nothing meaningful, just a bit of harmless enjoyment for the both of them. But then, was she willing to expose her real self like that, even to someone like Duncan?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a cheery ringtone. Callie fished through her purse and checked who was calling her.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” Callie said. “Be right back?”

Monica nodded dumbly as Callie retreated to her room, stunned that such an opportunity had presented itself. In that moment, she made a decision.

It’s time to put the ice queen away for a while, she said to herself. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to let my hair down for once!

********

Callie anxiously walked back and forth across her bedroom while her mother informed her of the latest gossip spreading through their small town. She loved her parents very much and enjoyed hearing from them, but talking to them has always made her feel a little nervous, and this time was no exception.

It wasn’t long before one of the topics she dreaded most was brought up by her mother.

“So, you any closer to gettin’ that MRS degree?” her mother asked.

Callie stopped walking and pinched the bridge of her nose with her right thumb and index finger, her eyes closed as she exhaled sharply.

“No one’s said that since, like, the ‘80s, Mom,” she groaned. “And that’s not what I’m here for anyways.”

A short grunt let Callie know that her father was on the other end as well. She tensed up, preparing for the impact from whatever unfiltered comment was about to fly out of his mouth.

“Well, you can hardly blame your mother,” he said harshly. “With the way you dress most of the time, seems pretty obvious what you’re really after.”

Callie couldn’t stop a gasp from escaping her lips; that was just a little more unfiltered than she was expecting, not that she didn’t already know his opinion on her wardrobe. He’d made that well know throughout her high school years through his stern looks and head shaking damn near every time she left the house.

This was the first time he’d ever come right out and just said it so bluntly, though.

“I’m not tryin’ to be mean, sweetheart,” her father continued, softening his voice. “I’m worried about you is all. You dress a certain way, you attract a certain type of guy; that’s just the way it goes. If you wanna find somebody that badly, Jake just started workin’ with me in the shop, and he still asks about you."

Callie pulled the phone away from her ear as her mother’s squeal reached a pitch that Callie was pretty sure would deafen most dogs.

“Oh, I always thought you two would look so cute together!” the older woman said. “I don’t know why you never went out with him in high school.”

‘cause he’s a sexist jerk that pretty much said he’d treat me like property if we went out, Callie silently explained. “When you’re with me, you won’t be working.” Still can’t believe that asshole said that to my face!

“I don’t know, mom” she said instead. “I guess it just never worked out.”

Her father’s heavy sigh weighed down Callie’s spirit.

“Maybe … maybe it’s time for you to come home,” he said. “You’ve got some big goals, and I’m really proud of you for goin’ for it like you have, but it just doesn’t seem to be workin’ out.”

Callie’s left hand balled into a fist at her side as she could feel her frustration rising.

“Not workin’ out?!” she questioned. “I’ve got a 3.9 GPA!”

This did little to impress her father, however, as few things often did.

“Yeah, but most of your first two years was just your electives, right?” he asked. “Now that you’re gettin’ into the stuff you wanna learn, you’re strugglin’.”

Callie shook her head with her phone still to her ear, as though her parents could see her.

“It’s just one class, Daddy,” she said. “And I’m gonna get that turned around.”

When Professor Stillwell had first come on to her, Callie’s first thought was to tell her parents. But she had quickly dismissed that idea, as she knew there wasn’t really anything they could do to help. After all, the professor was a regular in the Op/Ed section of The New York Times and her parents were the kind of simple country folk that readers of the Op/Ed section of The New York Times loved to look down on.

If she thought they might at least give her some moral support, she may have told them anyway, but she already knew exactly who her father would say is responsible for the professor’s attraction to her. No, it was better if she told her parents as little as possible about the professor’s class and just dealt with their disappointment.

“I was just offerin’ a suggestion, sweetheart,” her father said. “You know your mother and I will support you the best we can, but just remember that we can’t afford to help you pay for an extra semester if you fail a class. Things are tight here, and I know they are for you, too. I just don’t wanna see you set yourself up for failure is all.”

Now it was Callie’s turn to give a heavy sigh.

“I know, Daddy,” she said.

After a brief silence, Callie’s mother steered the conversation away from her college life, catching Callie up on the latest happenings with their extended family. Callie welcomed the topic change, resuming her pacing as she listened to her mother drone on about the love lives of her cousins and her favorite aunt’s divorce.

********

After the first few minutes of dead air in the living room, it was Duncan who decided to break the silent standoff.

“So how are things at the office?” he asked.

Monica stared straight ahead, seemingly giving the inquiry little thought.

“Things are going well,” she responded, following up with a pregnant pause. “So how long have you been into feet?”

Duncan did a literal double take as his brain took a few seconds to process Monica’s question.

“WHAT?!” he yelled.

Monica tilted her head downward, facing Duncan with a sly smirk across her face.

“I’ve been to enough conferences in Tokyo to know what a foot fetish looks like,” she said.

Fetish? Duncan repeated the word in his head a few times. That couldn’t be right, could it? There’s no way he had a foot fetish. At least, that’s what he told himself. But it was hard to deny that he had found his attention being drawn to Callie’s colossal feet more and more ever sense he faceplanted between her toes a few days ago.

So if he couldn’t deny, maybe deflection would prove a more useful tactic.

“Wait, is that what those conferences are for?” Duncan asked.

Monica rolled her eyes at him.

“Yes Duncan,” she said, “while we’re comparing third-quarter numbers and discussing buyout strategies, I’ll have several short Japanese men sucking on my toes and licking my heels. It’s just how business is done over there.”

For a split second, Duncan felt his jaw quite literally drop.

Did the ice queen just make a joke?! And was that an eye roll? he asked himself in awestruck wonder. The fuck is happening right now?

Duncan was quick to recover, however. After all, he was more than happy to steer the conversation as far away from his supposed fetish as possible.

“Short Japanese men?” he questioned with a smirk. “Care to rephrase? You might give our new DEI director a heart attack if she hears stuff like that coming out of the mouth of our fearless leader.”

Monica flashed Duncan a smug smile.

“I have nothing to do with that program,” she said. “That’s what employees are for.”

Suddenly, with a speed and grace betraying its size, Monica’s lithe right leg swung out from under the edge of the coffee table. The heel of her foot crashed mercilessly against the tabletop directly in front of Duncan, the impact of the mighty collision knocking him over and leaving the wooden surface beneath his butt shaking for several seconds afterward.

“But if you’re quite finished trying to change the subject,” she said, “perhaps we could get back to the business at hand.”

Monica’s toes wiggled high above, entrancing Duncan as the gentle swish of her pantyhose rubbing against her foot filled his ears. He slowly rose back to his feet, his eyes only straying from the wriggling digits for long enough to notice that her leg was still quite bent as her knee stretched even higher into the air. He vaguely registered that he would have been flattened if it had straightened itself out before it’s assault on the ground under his feet.

“Now, I know these may not be the particular feet you want to be under, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun exploring this new … interest of yours,” she said with her right eyebrow raised.

Not the feet I want to be under? Duncan questioned internally. What does she mean by that?

“Go on,” Monica interrupted his thoughts, her voice soft and inviting, yet carrying with it an edge of authority. “Touch it.”

Duncan, unsure whether it was by her will or his own, approached her right heel. He could feel the heat coming off the monolithic foot as he stood before it. The vinegary smell wafting from it reminded him of just how early she always started her work day.

His right hand gravitated toward the lower arch of Monica’s nylon-covered sole, just above the heel, his palm pushing into the fabric near eye level. Moisture flowed through the stocking and between his fingers as he applied pressure against her foot flesh. Almost subconsciously, he traced a lone wrinkle across the width of her foot, having to stretch his arm to cover the distance.

“Oh fuck!” she moaned.

Monica’s eyes widened more than Duncan had ever seen before. She brought her right fist to her mouth and cleared her throat.

“Uh, I mean, your little hands certainly … exceed expectations,” she said, slowly regaining her composure. “And I don’t see why we can’t push things just a bit further.”

Duncan was caught be surprise as Monica’s foot rammed into the front end of his body, pressing ahead like a silky black freight train as it shoved him toward the table’s center. Her foot sweat drenched his chest and face as he was carried away by the runaway sole, some of it dripping into his mouth.

This actually tastes different from Callie’s, he noted mentally. Wait, am I really comparing the taste of women’s foot sweat right now? What’s wrong with me?!

Duncan’s ride came to an abrupt halt as he was lost in thought. The full stop didn’t slow his momentum, however. He was flung from the foot, landing on his back a few of his feet away from his involuntary ride.

“Hey, no laying down on the job,” Monica giggled.

As Duncan stood back up, he was able to briefly wrestle his gaze away from the giant CEO’s foot in front of him. Trailing along the incredible distance of her shin, it’s milk-chocolate skin just visible through the soft fabric of her dark nylons, his surprisingly eager eyes fell upon her leg’s now-flattened knee cap.

A quick glance at his surroundings revealed to the small subordinate that he had been transported from near the edge of the table to more than halfway across its surface. He wasn’t sure which realization left him more in awe: that he could travel such a distance in so short a time or that the impressive distance of his trip didn’t even equate to the entire length of his boss’s curvaceous lower leg.

Duncan’s attention was swiftly drawn to Monica’s shimmering brown eyes, which met his own stare as the two of them studied one another.

“Rub,” she said.

Absent from Monica’s voice was the commanding undertone from minutes before. Taking its place was a sense if yearning, and it seemed to Duncan that she was almost begging rather than demanding. Not that it mattered.

He was compelled to obey.

Led by his extended arms, Duncan stepped forward in a trance-like state. His fingertips made contact with Monica’s foot, spreading across the smooth black expanse to make way for his palms to touch down on the slightly damp sole. His fingers squeezed gently at the flesh hiding under the frictionless material as his hands caressed the meaty ped with slow, deliberate strokes.

He felt muscles tense and loosen at his touch as the executive curled her toes overhead. Her foot flexed as his probing fingers brushed against a particularly sensitive spot, the base of its ball descending enough to scrape the hair atop his head before straightening out. He worked through the disturbance, barely registering that anything had taken place.

A quiet moan echoed from on high, probably hushed enough to not be heard across the room but plenty boisterous to him, Duncan realized. It motivated him to push harder, squeeze tighter, stretch further. Anything to hear that sound again. Choosing to ignore the logical questions sitting in the deep recesses of his brain, he instead focused on surface level thoughts, such as wondering just how loud he could make her get or if he could make her whimper instead of moan or even if—

“Sorry about that,” Callie said as she reentered the room. “If I don’t answer by the third ring, my mom’ll think I’m layin’ in a ditch somewhere!”

Duncan froze at the sound of his roommate’s voice, his hands still on Monica’s sole. He felt a slight twitch as Monica made to pull her foot away but stopped because of his continuing presence on it. Thinking fast as senses came back to him, Duncan, rather than moving away from the foot put his right arm at his side, leaning semi-casually into the appendage with his left hand, arm straight and ankles crossed.

“Um, what are you doing?” Callie asked as she approached the table.

Duncan kept his hand on Monica’s foot but leaned forward to hide his shrinking but still present erection. Apparently all the blood was rushing from his penis to his now fully flushed face due to his embarrassment.

“Oh, uh, just relaxing,” he answered. “What’s, uh, what’s more relaxing than a good lean, am I right?”

What the hell was that? Duncan thought to himself. More relaxing than a good lean? And did I really just end on a “am I right”?! Fuck, I used to be good at lying my way out of shit.

“Um, yes, Duncan wanted a place to … lean, I suppose, and I just so happened to have the desire to rest my foot on the table,” Monica jumped in with uncharacteristic nervousness. “It just seemed as though our wants were compatible, so we figured why not just combine them.”

While sounding a bit more eloquent than his own explanation, Duncan found the CEO’s own cover to be no more believable. They were busted, for sure. Not that they were doing anything wrong, but God was it humiliating. All that was left now was for Callie to call them out on their bullshit and spend at least the next week having a laugh at his expense. Because there was no way she bought that nonsense.

“Oh, okay,” Callie said. “Makes sense.”

Slowly moving her foot off the table after giving Duncan time to remove his hand from it, Monica slipped her shoes on and stood up.

“As much as I’d like to stay and continue chatting, I really should be going,” Monica said, shifting her gaze from Callie to Duncan. “I’ll have Alyssia bring over what you’ll need to work from here as soon as she has finished preparations for my trip to Tokyo this afternoon.”

Callie’s mouth dropped open in awe.

“Japan? Seriously?!” she asked.

Despite Callie posing the question, Monica made direct eye contact with Duncan, a smirk forming on her lips.

“Quite,” she answered. “I never joke about Tokyo.”

Duncan was left stunned as Monica winked down at him before leaving the apartment. He was unsure if it was the shock at his boss’s parting words or his desire to hide his arousal at them that kept him staring at the door even after she was gone. Only a large plopping noise from behind broke him from his trance.

“Tokyo,” Callie said dreamily as she let herself fall onto the couch. “So cool.”

As Duncan turned away from the door and toward his giant roommate, two questions swirled inside his head: What the hell just happened and why did it keep making him so hard?