Ctrl Alt Defeat: A Secretary's Takeover 09

Chapter 9: Third Time is a Charm

Later that evening, Mia and Mr Wright sat side by side in the hotel lobby, awaiting their taxi to Giovanni’s Italian restaurant. The restaurant was a mere ten-minute stroll away, but given the height of Mr Wright's new shiny leather pumps, navigating the distance on foot would have been quite the journey. Mia had briefly entertained the idea of making up some excuse just to watch the pompous man awkwardly stagger through the streets. However, delightful as the thought was, arriving at an important business dinner dishevelled after such an ordeal didn't seem very logical.

As they waited, both had crossed their pantyhosed legs at the thigh, yet their postures and expressions were polar opposites. Mr Wright sat bolt upright, his beautifully made-up eyes darting nervously around the room, muscles tensed as if ready to spring into action at the slightest hint of trouble. Mia, in contrast, lounged back relaxedly, casually swiping through social media posts on her phone, completely at ease in the plush hotel lobby.

Their attire further highlighted the extent of their role reversal. Mia wore an elegant long-sleeved dress that gracefully reached past her knees, paired with classic black pumps featuring a three-and-a-half-inch stiletto heel - stylish yet practical. Mr Wright, however, was dressed in a striking black and white patterned mini dress that clung to his padded frame. Held up by thin spaghetti straps, the flirty little number did little to conceal his ample bosom and thighs. His footwear - black platforms with seven-inch heels - was another devilish choice by Mia. It elevated the usually short man to nearly six feet in height, ensuring he would catch the eye wherever he clicked. He had been visibly unhappy when she presented him with the sky-high stilettos following her late afternoon shopping spree. However, when Mia reminded him that these new shoes matched the heel height he had once demanded she wear, and considering that he was now the eye candy and thus needed options, he had little ground to argue.

Their makeup, too, revealed their new respective positions. Both wore more than usual, yet the application differed markedly. Mia’s makeup was skilfully applied, enhancing her features with a look that was sexy yet professional - ideal for a business dinner with a hint of evening allure. Mr Wright’s Botox-stretched face, on the other hand, was plastered with product and designed to catch the eye. Madame Maria, now on a retainer for the next few days, had outdone herself - applying emerald-green eyeshadow that complemented his long fluttering lashes and dramatic darker lips to perfection. His look screamed sultry and seductive, the look of a woman out to mesmerize every man she encountered.

After a brief five-minute wait, a receptionist approached to inform the well-dressed pair that their taxi had arrived. As she delivered the message, Mia noticed the woman's gaze lingering curiously on Mr Wright. It was the same woman working the desk as the day they arrived at the hotel, and Mia couldn't help but wonder if she recognized the voluptuous ponytailed siren to her right as the same arrogant man she had checked in a few days earlier. After thanking the receptionist, who quickly scurried back to her position behind the front desk, Mia stood up and smoothed out her skirt.

Glancing around, she noticed Mr Wright still seated, a look of frustration painted across his heavily made-up face. "Come now, Mia. Up you get," Mia coaxed with a hint of amusement in her voice, revelling in the reversal of their usual roles, "you’re going to make us late."

Mr Wright responded with a deep inhale, his darkly lined eyes narrowing and his bee-stung, glossy lips forming a pout. He seemed on the verge of saying something, but catching a well-dressed couple crossing the lobby out of the corner of his eye made him bite his tongue. With a wobbly effort, he gripped his little purse tightly between his extended nails and gingerly rose to his high-heeled feet. "Let’s go then," he snarled quietly, his voice barely above a whisper as he half tottered, half stumbled towards the hotel exit.

Watching the man awkwardly manoeuvred through the lobby, Mia couldn't help but savour the spectacle. Each precarious step was a clear challenge, his transformed body weighed down by jiggling silicone, swaying as he struggled to maintain balance. The minidress hugged his artificial curves tightly, occasionally riding up to reveal more of his swishing thighs than intended, prompting him to constantly tug at the short hem. His ponytail added dramatic flair, bobbing emphatically with each loud step and undoubtedly pulling uncomfortably at his scalp. Seeing her former boss delicately clutching his small purse and mincing through a public space in his body-hugging dress, Mia felt a mix of triumph and amusement. Regardless of the outcome of the takeover talks, she knew she could now leave Stitch & Sovereign a satisfied woman.

An hour later, Mia and Mr Wright were comfortably seated at Giovanni's - well, Mia was. The meal had started with a classic bruschetta appetizer, which Mr Wright had initially attacked with too much enthusiasm, prompting Mia to embarrass him by pointing out he was ruining his lip makeup. Now, surrounded by two imposing figures, Mr Wright pondered how he would tackle the plate of ravioli - Mr Horton had ordered on his behalf - without any further mishaps.

To his right sat Mr Horton, who was engaged in a lively discussion about stock market trends with Mia, sat directly across the table. Opposite Mr Wright was Graham Horton’s so-called business associate, who turned out to be none other than the vice president of the company and his younger brother, Grant. Dwarfing his brother - who was already well over six foot tall - Grant was a giant of a man, one who wouldn't look out of place on a professional basketball court. When introduced earlier, even in his stilt-like platform heels, Mr Wright had felt particularly dainty and small, the top of his head barely reaching Grant's chest.

“So, my brother tells me you want to target the celebrity market,” Grant said with a friendly smile, breaking into the conversation. “A big change for a traditionally old-fashioned company like Stitch and Sovereign,” he added with a chuckle, his gaze momentarily dropping to Mr Wright’s artificially enhanced chest.

Mr Wright, feeling uneasy under such scrutiny, forced a smile onto his shiny lips. “It’s one idea,” he replied in his best imitation of a woman's voice, which was improving rapidly. “There’s also the current clientele to consider. They... Ouch,” he howled, suddenly stopping mid-sentence as he felt the tip of Mia's pump connecting with the side of his nylon-clad ankle.

Glancing over, he received a disapproving glare from his former assistant. Remembering his role, he quickly adjusted his demeanour. “I mean, it’s never too late to change, right?” he added, trying to sound more flippant and ditzy, fitting the secretary persona he was supposed to embody. “Celebrities are like… important.”

The corner of Mia’s mouth curled into a sly smile as she turned her attention back to Graham Horton. Watching Morgan Wright acting like a ditz as the enormous man to her right subtly flirted with him was deliciously satisfying, making her wish there was some way to extend their new roles.

Ten minutes later, moments after the main dishes had been served, Grant Horton exchanged a knowing nod with his brother before turning his attention back to the feminized man pouting at him from across the table. "Well, I'll be honest, Mia. I had my reservations when my brother first mentioned this takeover idea," he admitted with a warm smile. "But meeting you tonight, you've won me over."

Mr Wright, momentarily taken aback, responded with a hint of confusion. "Really? I have?" Throughout the evening, he had spoken little of business, struggling instead to follow conversations centred on fashion and celebrity gossip.

"Yes," Grant continued, his eyes twinkling. "You have a creative flair that's quite compelling. I believe we could do great things together."

"Together?" Morgan gulped, his voice laced with apprehension.

"Let’s toast to that," Grant suggested, lifting his beer. "To new relationships and successful collaborations."

Mr Wright glanced over to Mia for guidance. She nodded, prompting him to awkwardly pick up his wine, carefully arranging his acrylic nails around the glass. Slowly, he reached over the table to clink glasses with the smiling giant opposite, feeling ridiculous as he did so. Not only did he consider white wine a girly drink, but the small glass with his lipstick mark on the rim made his long-nailed hands look even daintier in comparison to the large beer glass held by Grant’s massive, manly fingers.

“To new relationships and success,” Graham Horton echoed his younger brother, clinking glasses with Mia.

“Are you free tomorrow afternoon to hash out the details?” Graham asked Mia with a warm smile.

Realizing this meant another day in skirts and heels, Mr Wright froze, his wine glass suspended mid-air. He held his breath, acutely aware of every discomfort caused by his disguise: the tight pull of the ponytail extensions on his scalp, the weight of the gold hoop earrings tugging at his pierced lobes, the trapped heat under his prosthetics, and most notable of all, the throbbing in his toes and ankles. Silently, he prayed that Mia would come to his rescue.

(See image 17)

“Of course,” she replied cheerfully. “Name a time, and we’ll be there.”

“Excellent,” Graham replied. “Then tonight we celebrate.” Clicking his fingers loudly, he got the attention of a passing waiter. “The finest bottle of champagne you have, good sir. And four chilled glasses.”

“Right away, sir,” came the reply as the waiter trotted off to fulfil the request and compound Morgan Wright's misery.

After an unforgettable evening, Mia stood slightly tipsy in the women's bathroom. Beside her, staring blankly into the mirror, was Mr Wright. "I don't think I can do this anymore," he said in a defeated voice. "I don’t feel right. I don't feel like myself."

"Well, that's because you're not yourself anymore," Mia replied promptly. "You’re a secretary now. Remember what you once said to me? Flirting a little to get a deal over the line is part of the job. So, fix your lips and buck up, Mia. The night's not over yet."

This comment ignited a spark of anger within the feminized man. "Buck up!" he roared. "That's your advice? After I've allowed myself to be manipulated into looking like this... this circus show," he yelled, glancing at his reflection in the mirror and waving his long-nailed hand. "You're really going to twist the knife further? Why did you have to accept his invitation for drinks? I can’t walk anymore in these ridiculous shoes. You need to go back out there and make an excuse. I need to go back to the hotel now!" He stared Mia down, arms folded, and chest thrust out like a pouting princess.

There was a moment of silence before Mia burst out laughing. "Oh, Mia! You still haven't grasped your new role, have you? You don’t give the orders anymore. For over a year, I watched helplessly as you made bad decision after bad decision, decreasing the value of the stock that I spent years cosying up to your entitled father to acquire. Well, now, I’m in charge, and I plan to get the money I worked so hard for. And if you want this cross-dressing adventure to stay between us - not to mention getting back the key to your little cage - you’ll do as you’re told."

Stunned by her words, Mr Wright took a sharp inhale as his plump bottom lip began to quiver. For a moment, Mia almost felt sorry for the man before quickly remembering the demeaning way he had always treated her. "Now, freshen up your lip gloss so you can get back out there and do what a secretary does when invited out for drinks."

Mr Wright turned sharply, his ponytail whipping around his makeup-caked face and his earrings jangling. "You're going to pay for this, Mia. Just you wait," he said menacingly as he rummaged through his purse, pulling out a tube of gloss.

"I can't imagine anything worse than working for you. So do your worst, dollface," Mia shot back, her gaze fixed intently on him.

Realizing he was trapped, Mr Wright chose not to argue further. Instead, he met Mia's defiant stare in the mirror, applying layer after layer of sticky gloss to his injected lips until they shone like diamonds. A line had been crossed in their tumultuous relationship, and with it, a silent war had been declared.

Mia exited the bathroom first, her stride confident and her posture impeccable as she approached the two imposing men waiting to escort them to a nearby cocktail bar. Mr Wright lumbered behind, each step a struggle in the towering heels that had tormented him all night. He tried to mask his discomfort and frustration, but his cinched, padded, and stretched body was almost at breaking point.

As Morgan Wright neared the Horton brothers, slightly tipsy himself, disaster struck. Tripping over the edge of a rug, he stumbled. Arms flailing and unable to regain his footing, he lurched forward toward Grant, who was seated on a leather sofa. Reacting quickly, Grant caught Morgan effortlessly, lifting him onto his knee as if he weighed nothing.

"Mia! Do be careful," Mia exclaimed, feigning concern as she looked down at her former boss, now awkwardly adjusting the hem of his short dress while seated on Grant’s knee.

Trying to rise, Mr Wright felt Grant’s large hand press against his padded hip, holding him firmly in place. "It’s fine," Grant said with a smirk. "As fancy as those shoes look. They can’t be very comfortable. She can rest here for a minute. Take a load off."

With a nod, Mia turned to Graham. "Would you like to join me for a smoke outside before the taxi arrives?" she asked, unconcerned by Morgan Wright humiliation.

Crossing his legs in an attempt to maintain some semblance of modesty, Mr Wright glared up at Mia, lips parted, and eyes filled with rage while his former assistant simply ignored his plight.

(See image 18)

"Lead the way, Morgan," Graham replied, offering his arm for Mia to link hers through.

As the pair departed, Mr Wright felt the steady pressure of Grant's hand working its way down the padding covering his thigh. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he turned. "Erm… thank you for catching me, but you can let me up now," he said, finding himself much closer to the man’s face than he wanted to be.

"Of course," Grant replied, his voice low and teasing. "But first, tell me, do all your dates end up sweeping you off your feet like this, or am I just lucky?"

With a loud tut, Morgan Wright looked down past his fake bust to see his pantyhosed legs ending in a pair of impossibly high heels. ‘How did I end up like this?’ he asked himself, determined to find a way out of his current predicament and reclaim his old life.