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I take a seat at my desk, and almost immediately, a new chat window pops up. "Girl" is all the message says. It's from Andy Slate, my best gay at work.
Clove: What?
Andy: How did this happen?? Did your phone get stolen by bikers or something? Tell me it's Photoshop.
I steal a peek over the top of my monitor at Andy's side of the office. He sits on the far side, at least fifteen desks away from mine. But I'm still close enough to make out his signature WTF face which he's wearing at full tilt right now, directed straight at me.
Clove: What the H are you talking about?
Swearing, alas, raises flags on our company servers. Otherwise, I'd already be cursing up a storm to threaten him into telling me what's going on.
Andy: ... Shit. You haven't seen it.
Clove: You know I hate suspense almost as much as I hate surprises, Andy. Out with it.
Andy: It's not exactly SFW, if you know what I mean.
Clove: I own a phone, dude.
Next thing I know, said phone buzzes with a text. There's no explanation, only a link from him. I click on it and hold my breath. I don't know what I'm expecting. Nuclear apocalypse news? A letter from my boss explaining that we're all being let go? I don't know, but somehow, what I find is simultaneously worse and more personal all at once.
The page finishes loading, and it takes me a moment to comprehend what I'm staring at.
Tits, obviously.
But not just any tits. Familiar tits.
A pair of breasts I see in the mirror every single day. Not to mention the face attached, fully visible, because oh my god what was I thinking when I took that photo, I didn't even crop it, didn't even think that someone might be able to get a hold of it.
It's me.
Naked.
In front of, I can only assume, my entire office.
Underneath the photo, much to my chagrin, there's a caption. And below that, a few hundred comments. The caption is short, sweet and to-the-point.
Slut for hire, it reads. Willing to do whatever you ask, as long as it's dirty as hell.
The comments are even worse. I only make it through the first few.
Fuck yeah, I'd fuck up that filthy slut.
$100 says she's the cheapest whore in town.
Now there's a cum-slut if ever I've seen one.
My stomach churns. I'm going to be sick. Sure, it's fun and a little hot when Zayne gets all possessive and calls me his little slut. But that's in private, behind closed doors, where we can have fun without anyone seeing or judging us. This?
This is something else entirely. I shut the window, unable to look at it anymore. Andy saw this. How many other people?
I grab my keyboard so fast it screeches against the desk, a horrible plastic on plastic sound.
Clove: Where did you get that? Who sent it to you?
Andy: It circulated through the whole office this morning. First there was a spam email, then another message online.
Before I can ask for more details about the second message, though, I feel a light tap on my shoulder. I suck in a deep breath and look up to find my boss, Stacy, standing beside me, arms crossed, a subtle frown on her face.
