I hated it.
A black, low-cut blouse that hugged my curves too tightly, paired with a skirt that barely skimmed mid-thigh. It was designed for one thing—attention. Unwanted, leering, suffocating attention. I yanked the hem down and adjusted the neckline, but there was no fixing it. I was stuck in this second skin of exploitation.
"Back to work, Lene?"
I turned to see Carla leaning against a locker, arms crossed. Her dark eyes flicked down at my uniform with a smirk. "You know, you should own it. Some of us would kill for what you have."
I rolled my eyes. "You can have it, Carla. I'd trade places in a heartbeat."
She snorted. "Yeah, sure. Like the Boss would ever let his favorite girl go."
The murmurs started as soon as I stepped out of the locker room. The same old hushed whispers, the not-so-subtle glances.
"She didn't get fired? Figures."
"She's probably sleeping with the boss."
"No way he let her off just because of a sick father."
