Hilarious SPA surprise

Chapter 4: High Heels, Higher Stakes

Mark stood frozen in front of the mirror, staring down at his feet. His open-toed high heels gleamed in the morning light, the black patent leather catching every bit of sunlight that streamed through the window. But what stood out most were his toes, painted in the same glossy, dark blue polish as his fingers, fully on display for the world to see.

"Lisa, are you sure about these?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lisa, busy tying her hair into a neat bun, glanced at him with a smirk. "Absolutely. Open-toed is perfect for today. Everyone will get to admire those beautiful nails of yours."

Mark groaned inwardly. Today was his first day back at work after this whirlwind of changes. It was one thing to humor Lisa at home, but now the thought of walking into his office—heels clicking against the floor, nails shining for everyone to notice—filled him with dread.

"Do I really have to wear these?" he asked, glancing nervously at the door.

Lisa walked over and kissed him on the cheek. "Of course. We're just getting started, babe." She reached down, adjusting the strap on his right heel, making sure it fit snugly. "Besides, you'll be sitting most of the day. You'll be fine."

Mark wasn't so sure. Every step felt exaggerated, with the clicking of his heels announcing his arrival to anyone within earshot. And with his exposed toenails—painted to perfection—he knew he couldn't just blend in today.

"Remember," Lisa said as she grabbed her keys, "confidence is key. Walk tall. Own it."

Mark wasn't feeling particularly confident, but he nodded nonetheless. "Yeah, walk tall," he muttered under his breath, looking down at the unfamiliar shoes once more before they headed out the door.

The walk into the office was torturous. Every step felt louder than usual, the sound of his heels clicking on the tiled floors drawing eyes from his colleagues. Mark kept his head down, his palms already sweaty, and made a beeline for his desk. He hoped to sit quietly behind his computer all day, avoiding unnecessary attention.

But as he settled into his chair, he noticed a few of the women from his department glancing over. They were whispering to each other, their eyes widening as they took in his polished nails and high heels.

"Mark?" It was Rachel, one of his coworkers from accounting. Her gaze lingered on his feet. "Wow... are those—high heels?"

Mark's face turned red. "Uh, yeah, my wife thought it would be, you know, fun."

Rachel smiled, not unkindly, and leaned in closer. "And your nails! Look at that color!"

Mark held up his hands sheepishly, showing off the dark blue polish. "Yeah, uh... gel builder, so it's not coming off anytime soon."

Rachel chuckled. "You're braver than most. And hey, if you ever need tips on maintaining those nails, let me know!"

Before Mark could respond, a few of his male colleagues passed by, shooting curious glances at his shoes and whispering amongst themselves. One of them, Tim, smirked and nudged his friend.

"Hey, Mark," Tim said with a grin, "you gonna join us at the guy's table for lunch?"

Mark hesitated, sensing the mockery in his voice. "Uh, maybe I'll just—"

"Nah, man, you're looking a little... out of place today," Tim said, cutting him off. "Why don't you sit with the girls today? Looks like you'd fit right in."

The group chuckled as they walked off, leaving Mark feeling humiliated. He sighed, sinking deeper into his chair. Great. Just what he needed—being ostracized by the guys at work.

"Don't worry about them," Rachel said softly, offering him a kind smile. "Come sit with us at lunch. We'll take care of you."

When lunchtime finally rolled around, Mark found himself seated at a large table surrounded by nearly all the women in his department—Rachel, Anna, Jess, and several others. They were chatting animatedly about work, weekend plans, and office gossip, but it didn't take long before their attention shifted toward him.

"Okay, Mark," Jess began with a teasing smile, "we have to talk about those shoes. You're really pulling them off!"

Mark blushed, feeling the weight of their collective gaze. "Uh, thanks, I guess. It's... different."

"Different in a good way!" Anna chimed in. "Not every guy could pull off heels like that."

"Not to mention the polish!" another colleague, Sarah, added. "That's a bold color. I love it."

Mark could feel his embarrassment growing, but the women weren't making fun of him. In fact, they seemed genuinely impressed.

"So," Rachel leaned in, resting her chin on her hand, "how's it going so far? Are the heels killing your feet yet?"

Mark chuckled awkwardly. "Honestly, I'm still getting used to them. Walking is... not easy."

Several of the women laughed sympathetically.

"It takes practice," Jess said. "You can't just throw on a pair of heels and expect to walk like a pro. It's all about balance."

"Yeah, and posture!" Sarah added. "You have to keep your back straight and shift your weight to the balls of your feet."

Anna nodded. "Smaller steps help, too. If you try to take big strides, you'll wobble all over the place."

Mark listened as the women continued offering advice, and despite the strange circumstances, he found himself oddly comforted by their support. They weren't treating him like a joke—they were treating him like one of their own.

"Also," Jess said, glancing down at his toes, "since you've got gel builder, those nails are going to last a while. You should get some cuticle oil to keep them from drying out. And you might want to file them down a bit if they start growing too long."

"Yeah, long nails can be tricky if you're not used to them," Rachel agreed. "You don't want them snagging on things."

"Or breaking!" Anna added. "That's the worst. A broken nail can be painful, and it ruins the whole look."

Mark blinked, trying to absorb all the advice. He had never thought about any of this before, but now it seemed like there was a whole world of nail care and heel-wearing techniques that he was expected to learn.

"You've got a lot of us rooting for you," Sarah said with a wink. "If you ever need tips or tricks, we've got you covered."

As the lunch hour went on, Mark felt himself relaxing into the conversation. His female colleagues were warm, welcoming, and surprisingly encouraging. They shared stories about their own struggles with heels, how to deal with sore feet, and even recommended brands for future pairs of shoes—something Mark hadn't planned on considering.

By the time lunch was over, Mark had received more advice about nail care, foot comfort, and walking in heels than he ever imagined. And while part of him still felt out of place, another part—the part that had been excluded by his male colleagues—felt strangely... accepted.

As the group stood to leave, Rachel nudged him playfully. "We'll have you walking like a pro by the end of the week, don't worry."

Mark chuckled. "I'll take all the help I can get."

"Just remember—slow, steady, and stylish," Anna said with a grin. "And next time, maybe we'll help you pick out some new shoes."

Mark froze, unsure if she was joking, but the playful glint in her eye told him she just might be serious.

As he clicked his way back to his desk, surrounded by the echoes of high heels and the lingering scent of perfume, Mark realized something unexpected—he might actually survive this.

And with the support of his female colleagues, he might even start to enjoy it.