Brunch

Brunch.

Craig understood the concept well enough. He'd seen it in movies, watched characters order eggs Benedict and elaborate cocktails at tables overlooking expensive city streets, and listened to Frank describe the occasional weekend brunch he'd attended with his mother. Apparently, brunch was what people did when breakfast wasn't quite enough and lunch wasn't quite an excuse to spend two hours eating and drinking.

Craig had never actually been to one.

Then again, Craig had never been driven to brunch in a limousine, either.

The country club appeared beyond a pair of imposing wrought-iron gates, its grounds rolling away in manicured green slopes that looked as though someone had been paid a considerable amount of money to ensure that not a single blade of grass grew out of place. A circular driveway surrounded a stone fountain, and the main building stood beyond it, an enormous structure of pale stone, tall windows and white columns. Flower beds bordered the walkway, their blooms arranged in tasteful combinations of colour. An attendant in a dark uniform waited near the entrance, ready to open doors for arriving guests.

The limousine glided towards the entrance.

Craig straightened in his seat.

This was the sort of place that would have turned him away at the gate a few weeks ago. Not even at the door. He wouldn't have made it past the security booth. The old Craig, with his warehouse uniform and his battered work boots, wouldn't have looked as though he belonged within a kilometre of the place.

But that was old Craig.

The new Craig was wearing knee-high black boots, a short red pleated skirt and a fitted black top with a neckline that showed considerably more skin than any shirt he'd ever worn to work. His gold hoop earrings caught the morning light, while his lips remained a striking red beneath the expertly applied makeup. Long blonde hair had been sculpted into an elaborate updo, complete with curls framing his face. He looked like someone who had spent the morning preparing for an important social event rather than someone who had been ambushed by a magical makeover before nine o'clock.

The limousine stopped. An attendant opened the door, offered his hand, and greeted Craig with a smile that suggested his arrival was entirely expected.

"Good morning, sir. Welcome."

Craig stepped out, carefully navigating the transition from the soft leather seat to the polished pavement. His heels clicked against the stone. The short skirt shifted around his thighs as he straightened, and he instinctively smoothed it with his palm before following the attendant towards the entrance.

Nobody stared in disapproval. That was the first thing he noticed. People were looking, certainly. A pair of men approaching the building glanced at him, exchanged a few words, and smiled. A woman seated at an outdoor table watched him walk past, her expression brightening as though she'd recognized a favourite performer. Near the entrance, a young woman in a cream-coloured dress actually stopped walking.

"Oh my God. You're Craig, aren't you?"

Craig halted.

"Uh, yes?"

The young woman's hands flew to her mouth.

"I knew it! I'm such a huge fan. I watch your streams all the time."

Craig managed a smile. "Thanks. That's really nice of you."

"Could I get your autograph? Please?"

An autograph.

Craig had spent most of his adult life as an anonymous warehouse worker. Even when he'd been good at his job, nobody had ever asked him to sign anything more important than a delivery receipt.

"Sure."

The woman produced her phone, then seemed to think better of it and pulled a small notebook from her purse instead. Craig accepted the pen she offered, signed his name, and handed it back. She looked as though he'd made her day.

"Thank you! You're even prettier in person."

Craig's smile became a little more strained.

"That's... very kind of you."

As he continued towards the entrance, he couldn't decide what bothered him more: the fact that strangers recognised him, or the fact that a small, treacherous part of him enjoyed being recognised, enjoyed being seen as pretty. There was something intoxicating about walking into a place like this and having people assume he belonged. Nobody questioned his presence. Nobody looked at his outfit and wondered whether he'd taken a wrong turn. The clothes, the hair, the makeup, the heels, all of it seemed to send a message that people accepted without question.

This is someone important.

And they treated him accordingly.

Craig was beginning to understand why some people became addicted to attention. He was also beginning to understand why the gods might have thought this was good for him. Of course, that didn't mean he was going to forgive them for it.

The dining room was even more extravagant than the entrance. Sunlight poured through towering windows overlooking the golf course, illuminating polished wooden floors and tables dressed in white linen. Crystal glasses and silver cutlery caught the light. Waiters moved quietly between the tables, carrying silver trays and speaking in voices pitched low enough not to disturb the atmosphere. The air smelled of fresh coffee, warm bread, citrus and something buttery coming from the kitchen.

Craig paused at the entrance, searching for his hosts. A woman near the windows lifted her hand and waved.

"Craig! Over here!"

Three women occupied a round table with a view of the grounds. The first, a short, curvy woman with an attractive face and a cheerful expression, was already halfway out of her chair. The second was tall and almost gaunt, with short blonde hair and a straight-backed, composed posture. The third had silver hair, glasses and a floral dress. She sat quietly, hands folded beside her cup, observing Craig's approach with an expression that gave little away.

Craig walked towards them, his body moving with a sway he suspected came prepackaged with the heels and the skirt. He'd spent enough time in both now that walking had become second nature. Even so, he remained conscious of the way the skirt moved around his legs, the click of the boots against the floor and the occasional glance from nearby tables.

The attention didn't make him uncomfortable in the way he should have expected. That might have been the most uncomfortable part of all.

"Craig!" The short woman rose and hurried towards him, arms wide. "You made it! I'm so glad."

"Er, hi."

She wrapped him in an enthusiastic hug before he could decide what to do with his hands. Craig returned it awkwardly, careful not to crush her against the small clutch tucked beneath his arm.

"I'm sorry," she said, finally releasing him. "Where are my manners? I'm Samantha Vanderbleek."

She gestured towards the other women.

"This is Tamara Green."

The tall blonde woman gave Craig a small nod.

"And this is Natalia Schmidt."

The silver-haired woman smiled politely.

"Pleased to meet you," Craig said.

"Likewise," Natalia replied.

"Come and sit down," Samantha urged. "We've ordered for you, and it should be here soon. I hope you like good food, because that's all they serve here."

Craig took the vacant chair, smoothing his tiny skirt as he did, as if the act could magically create more fabric. The chair was upholstered in soft cream fabric, with a carved wooden frame that looked more expensive than his entire living-room furniture collection.

"Thank you. This place is incredible."

"Isn't it?" Samantha said, beaming. "I adore it here. The gardens are lovely in the summer, and the chef makes the most wonderful eggs Benedict. Although I told them not to bring you that today because I thought we'd try something a little more interesting."

"That's very thoughtful."

"Oh, nonsense. We want you to feel welcome."

Natalia waited until Craig had settled before placing her napkin neatly across her lap.

"Perhaps we should explain why we've invited you here."

There it was. Business. Craig straightened.

"As you know, we're significant shareholders in your company," Natalia continued. "In fact, between the three of us, we hold a majority interest."

Craig looked from one woman to another.

"A majority?"

"Yes," Natalia said. "We have invested a considerable amount of money in the business over the years. We have a vested interest in its performance, naturally, and that performance has become... disappointing."

Samantha's smile faded a little.

"Oh, we've tried to be patient. We really have. But the last few quarters haven't been what we expected."

"Profits have been declining," Natalia explained. "Not catastrophically, but consistently. Leadership decisions have been questionable, internal reporting has become unreliable, and several promising initiatives have failed to deliver their projected returns. We've asked questions and received very polished answers, but very few that actually explain what's happening."

Craig listened carefully. This was not what he'd expected. He'd assumed the investors wanted to congratulate him on the fashion show and discuss his future with the company. Perhaps they'd offer him a promotion or some kind of executive development opportunity. Daniel had practically promised it. Instead, they seemed worried.

"We're not convinced the problem is the market," Natalia continued. "The company has capable people, good products and enough capital to remain competitive. Something inside the organisation isn't working as it should."

Samantha leaned forward, her fingers wrapped around her coffee cup.

"And then yesterday happened."

Craig's stomach tightened.

"The fashion show," he said.

"Yes!" Samantha's face brightened again. "I watched the footage several times. I couldn't stop thinking about it. You walked into that warehouse and somehow turned an ordinary workplace into something extraordinary. Everyone was engaged. Everyone was excited. People who barely spoke to one another were cheering together. It was so... alive."

Craig looked down at his hands.

"It wasn't exactly my idea."

"Oh, don't be modest," Samantha said, waving away the objection. "Whatever the circumstances, you inspired people. You made them feel something. I've never seen our employees so enthusiastic about anything."

Natalia's response was less effusive.

"The financial implications of that enthusiasm are significant. Your performance attracted investor attention, improved internal morale and demonstrated an unusual ability to influence people across different levels of the organisation. That combination is valuable."

Craig felt a cautious spark of hope. There it was. The opening he'd been looking for. They'd noticed his contribution. They understood his value. With these women controlling the majority interest, perhaps they could make the promotion happen without waiting for Daniel or the rest of the executive team to get around to it. Maybe he could become an executive. Maybe he could earn enough money and influence to escape the streaming obligations, regain some control of his schedule and eventually rebuild a life that belonged to him.

His mind began racing ahead, assembling possibilities with an eagerness that made him almost ashamed of how desperately he wanted to believe them.

"So," Craig said, trying to sound casual, "what exactly did you have in mind?"

Samantha exchanged a delighted glance with Natalia.

"We think you're an asset," she said. "Not just because of your performance yesterday. You have skills, certainly, but more importantly, you adapt. You walk into situations that would leave most people paralysed, and somehow you make them work."

Craig wasn't sure whether to take that as a compliment. He'd rather have been paralysed than experience half the things they were talking about. Still, he nodded.

"Thank you."

"And that adaptability is precisely what we need," Natalia said. "Someone who can move through the organisation without immediately triggering suspicion. Someone who can establish relationships, observe how the business operates and identify problems that aren't visible in quarterly reports."

Craig's smile faltered slightly.

"Identify problems?"

"Yes."

Samantha leaned back in her chair.

"We think you could help us understand what's happening inside the company. Not through a formal investigation, which would put everyone on their guard, but by becoming part of the daily life of the people we're concerned about."

Craig stared at them. The promotion he'd imagined was beginning to take an unexpected shape. Natalia folded her hands on the table.

"We're offering you a confidential assignment. Your official position will remain unchanged for now. No new title, no public announcement, no immediate restructuring of your responsibilities. On paper, you'll continue to work under Daniel Mercer."

Craig blinked.

"Wait. I'm not being promoted?"

"Not at this stage," Natalia replied.

The words landed with all the grace of a dropped brick. Samantha leaned forward quickly.

"Please don't be disappointed. This is potentially much more valuable than an ordinary promotion. We want to give you an opportunity to prove yourself in a way that could make an enormous difference to the company."

"And to your future," Natalia added. "You would be paid separately through a corporation we control. The compensation would be substantial, with significant additional bonuses if your work produces results."

Craig sat very still. Separate pay. A confidential assignment. Substantial bonuses. It sounded promising. It also sounded suspiciously like the sort of thing that could end with him being fired, sued or both.

"What kind of assignment?" he asked.

For the first time, Tamara spoke.

"Daniel Mercer."

Her voice was quiet, almost conversational, but the other two women stopped talking. Craig turned towards her. Tamara adjusted her glasses.

"We want you to get to know him. Properly."

Craig waited. At first, she seemed content to leave the statement hanging. Then she glanced towards the windows, where a group of golfers were making their way across the course.

"Daniel is one of the people we've been watching most closely. He's responsible for a great deal of the company's day-to-day operation, and we're no longer confident that we understand how he manages it. We need someone close enough to see what the reports don't tell us."

"Which means?"

"You'll spend time with him," Natalia said. "At work. Over lunch. In meetings. Outside the office, wherever possible. You'll observe his routines, his decisions, his relationships and the way he handles his responsibilities. We want a complete picture of his life as it relates to the company."

"His life?"

"His professional life, certainly," Natalia replied. "But also his personal. His circumstances outside of the office may also be relevant if they affect his judgement, his priorities or his conduct."

Samantha reached across the table and touched Craig's forearm.

"We don't want you to feel as though you're spying on a friend. Think of it as helping us understand someone we need to trust."

Craig looked at her hand, then back at her face. That was an interesting distinction. An almost meaningless one, perhaps, but interesting.

"And how, exactly, am I supposed to get close enough to Daniel to do all this?"

A brief silence followed.

Tamara looked at Natalia.

Natalia looked at Samantha.

Samantha smiled at Craig.

"Well, that's the interesting part."

Craig was beginning to hate that phrase.

"We've arranged for Daniel to believe that something has happened at your apartment," Natalia explained. "Something that will prevent you from staying there for the next few days."

Craig's stomach tightened.

"What kind of something?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with," Natalia replied. That was not an answer. "Daniel has been told that you're temporarily displaced. He's a decent man in that respect, and when he heard about your situation, he offered to let you stay with him."

Craig stared.

"Stay with him?"

"At his home," Samantha confirmed. "He wants to help."

Craig felt the floor drop away beneath his imagined promotion. He was supposed to move in with Daniel Mercer.

The same Daniel who had casually continued a video conference while Craig knelt in front of him, trying to repair his tros. The same Daniel who considered baking cookies and doing laundry legitimate management responsibilities. The same Daniel who'd apparently been so impressed by Craig's fashion show that he now thought Craig was a rising star.

And now Craig was supposed to live with him.

"How long?" he asked.

"Long enough to establish a proper understanding of his routines," Natalia replied. "We don't expect you to remain there indefinitely, not unless you want to, but we do need you to accept his offer and make the most of the opportunity."

Craig opened his mouth. Closed it again. The women watched him with patient expressions, as though they'd just suggested a perfectly ordinary arrangement. Samantha gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"I know it's unexpected, sweetheart. But you'll be very well compensated, and the opportunity could be tremendous for you."

"How well compensated?"

Natalia named a figure. Craig forgot how to speak. It was more than his current annual salary. Considerably more. The sort of money he'd never imagined earning, let alone for a temporary assignment that supposedly involved spending time with his boss. It was the kind of money that made his dream of becoming wealthy enough to justify going back to his old lifestyle possible.

"And that's before the bonuses," Natalia added.

Craig recovered enough to look suspicious.

"Why are you paying me so much to hang around with Daniel?"

"Because the information we need is valuable," Natalia said. "And because the assignment will require discretion, time and judgement. We aren't asking you to do this for free."

Tamara tilted her head.

"Besides, you already know how to be underestimated."

Craig looked at her sharply. For the first time, he felt that she was seeing something the other two had missed. Or perhaps something they had deliberately avoided saying. Tamara continued in the same quiet tone.

"People look at you and make assumptions. They see the clothes, the hair, the streaming career, and they think they understand you. They don't pay attention to what you're noticing. That can be useful."

Craig wasn't sure whether he appreciated the observation or resented it. Both, probably.

"And everything I find out goes to you?" he asked.

"Everything relevant to the assignment," Natalia said. "You will document your observations. Meetings, conversations, decisions, inconsistencies. Anything that helps us understand what is happening within the company. We expect a thorough report."

"Every aspect of his life?" Craig asked.

Tamara held his gaze.

"Every aspect."

The phrasing was careful. Deliberately so. Craig had spent enough time with the gods to recognise the difference between an answer and a promise that sounded like one. The arrangement was beginning to feel less like a promotion and more like a trap built from money, corporate intrigue and Daniel's misguided generosity. He could refuse, presumably.

Couldn't he?

Craig tried to imagine telling the three women that he wasn't interested. That he would rather keep his current salary, his current job and his current problems than move into his boss's house and start documenting his behaviour for a group of wealthy shareholders. The words wouldn't come. Not because anyone had done anything to his voice. Not because magic had physically prevented him from refusing. Because he knew what was at stake.

He was trapped in a life that had become progressively less his own, and this was the first opportunity he'd been offered that might give him some leverage. The money could change things. The information could change things. If he played his cards carefully, perhaps he could turn this assignment into something useful. Perhaps he could finally become powerful enough to stop being pushed around.

And if he refused? He would remain where he was, with no plan, no leverage and no obvious way out. Craig swallowed.

"When do I start?"

Samantha's face lit up.

"Wonderful!"

"Today," Natalia said. "Daniel is expecting you to return to the office after your professional development session. You'll arrange the details with him."

"Of course," Craig muttered.

A waiter arrived at that moment, carrying an assortment of dishes on a silver tray. Another followed with a pot of coffee, fresh juice and a basket of warm pastries. Plates were placed before them with practised precision, and the conversation paused while the table filled with food.

Craig stared at the meal.

Savory Duck Confit and Mushroom Brioche Toast. Crispy potatoes. Fresh fruit arranged in a small bowl. A flaky pastry that smelled so good he nearly forgot the conversation he'd just had. There was a dish of yogurt with honey and berries, too, and coffee served in a cup so delicate he was afraid to hold it too tightly. Dishes he barely recognized. Dishes he somehow knew the names of, how to prepare, and what they would taste like.

It was extraordinary.

Everything about the morning had been extraordinary. The country club. The attention. The investors. The money. And the prospect of becoming an undercover observer in his boss's private life.

Craig picked up his fork.

He felt uneasy. He felt cornered. He felt as though he'd just agreed to something he didn't entirely understand, and he wasn't sure whether the agreement had been his choice or merely the least terrible option available.

But he also felt the pull of that salary. The possibility of influence. The hope that, for once, he might be able to use the strange new world around him rather than simply endure it. Perhaps that was enough to get him through the meal.

Samantha watched him take his first bite.

"Well?"

Craig chewed thoughtfully.

The duck was perfectly cooked. The potatoes were crisp, the fruit fresh, the pastry warm and buttery.

He swallowed. Looked down at his plate. Then, despite everything, nodded.

"The food is really good."

Samantha beamed.

"I knew you'd love it."

Craig took another bite. The food was, in fact, very good. And for the moment, that was the one thing about the morning he could enjoy without having to wonder what it meant.