Sequel:
"Here's your coffee, Mr Ironwood," Mr Ironwood says meekly. "And I've arranged to have flowers sent to your wife. It is your anniversary tonight after all."
"Thank you, Abigail," I smile, taking my coffee. Triple-shot caramel latte, just how I like it, apparently. Mr Ironwood makes the best personal assistant a man could ask for. He knows my body's needs better than I know them myself.
I work -or worked- as a secret swapper. It's kindof like a secret shopper. Businesses hire out my swapping abilities to spy on their employees. Workplace harassment mostly. If I catch a member of staff misbehaving, I report the misdemeanor and temporarily swap them into my body, so that head office can start the firing process while the employee is distracted figuring out how to walk in heels.
Best job ever. They even provided a body for this job - I was Abigail, a beautiful 21-year-old intern, fresh out of college and so very naive to the ways of the world.
It only took until my lunch break before the regional manager, Mr Ironwood, went in for a fumble. I'm just that good. Of course I made sure the ass grope happened within view of the office cameras, then I stole his body.
That was four months ago.
"Make sure my wife gets a message with the flowers. Something personal," I remind him, sending him scurrying on his way with a hard slap to his skirted behind.
He'd begged me not to report the incident. It hadn't been his first misdemeanor at the company but it would certainly have been his last. Well how could I say no to that face? Or that body...
Head office still think I'm Abigail, still their secret swapper, continuing to pay me a monthly salary for it on top of the far more lucrative wage I take home as Mr Ironwood.
How long can I keep up this charade? Well, with my PA easing me into the role with all her experience, I might keep this up for a long time to come.