Free The Position by Izzy Mason Page A

strange not feeling the heavy weight of my hair on my back, and I love it. I wash and condition my new hair and scrub my body with a wonderfully scented oatmeal soap that I picked up in a bath store in the mall. Then I stand at the mirror wrapped in a towel and blow-dry my hair. I’m amazed at how quickly it dries and how easy it is to style. Then I rub lotion over my arms and legs, enjoying the smooth texture of my skin, appreciating my body for the first time.  
    When I pull on the blue dress, I smile at how it fits to my every curve, showing off my hourglass figure rather than hiding it away. The hem falls just above my knees. My exposed legs shimmer from the milky lotion.  
    Pulling on a pair of pumps, I practice walking back and forth in the bathroom until I no longer wobble. The heels are relatively low, so it doesn’t take long. Then I drop my bag off at my car, leave my bike chained up, and head for the bus stop. As I walk, a man in a passing car leans out of his window and whistles at me. I’m so shocked I stop and stare after him. At the bus stop, several businessmen gather to wait. They all throw glances my way, giving me broad smiles and nods. I feel like I’m in a dream.  
    It’s still early when I arrive at the building and stride through the lobby. I can feel the eyes on me; the heads turning. When I reach the elevators I see a crush of people fighting their way on, and I hang back. I do this every morning. Elevators make me nervous enough without being smashed up against strangers, unable to move.  
    Finally, the doors to another elevator open. This one is empty. I step inside and press the button for the top floor. Just as the doors are nearly closed someone throws a hand into the gap, forcing them open again. I catch my breath. It’s Lazarus.  
    I grasp for the handrail to steady myself. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it pulsing in my ears. He’s in the middle of a conversation on his phone, but as he slips into the elevator, our eyes meet. My stomach leaps when I catch him glancing at my breasts, which are not exposed but very pronounced in the dress. There’s a coy smile on his face and I realize that he’s being flirtatious. He doesn’t even know who I am.  
    “Because I can’t be in two places at once, obviously,” he says irritably to whoever is on the phone. “And I’d rather go to Paris than Perth.”  
    I watch him, waiting to be recognized, but other than a few stolen glances at my legs, Lazarus is completely distracted. When the elevator opens on our floor, he heads briskly to his office without looking back. With a pit in my stomach I push through the doors and into the hushed reception area of Lazarus & Smith. Christian is standing at the reception desk arranging a series of folders and sipping coffee. He doesn’t recognize me, either. I know this because he *actually smiles*.  
    “Good morning! Can I help…” Then he freezes and gawks at me, incredulous. It takes him several moments to speak. “M-Michaela?” he stammers at last.  
    “Hi Christian.” I act as casual as possible, but my whole face feels like it’s on fire.  
    “What happened to you?” Christian drops into his chair and gapes at me. “I didn’t even…whoa.”  
    I shrug. “Just wanted to clean up my image a bit.”  
      “A bit? Are you kidding?” he chokes out. Then he’s quiet for a moment. He shakes his head and sighs. “Well, shit.”  
    “Well shit, what?”  
    He rubs his face in frustration, but I have no idea why. “Here we go again.”  
    When I step into Lazarus’s office, he’s at his desk, still on the phone. “If you can set up the meeting I’ll talk to him,” he grumbles, stooping over his computer and working the mouse with one hand, searching for something. But when I walk through the room to my little office at the back, I hear his voice falter with confusion.  
    “But his budget is way too low. I can tell…tell you…uh…excuse me! What are