Sugar sugar baby

[3] Choice

The next morning, we all gathered in the main hall for one of Karen's briefings. The room was filled with interns, mostly guys, with a few girls scattered here and there. It was always tense when Karen was in the room, and today was no different. She stood at the front, her hands on her hips, looking us over with her usual no-nonsense glare.

"Alright, listen up," Karen started, her voice cutting through the murmur of conversation. "We have an event coming up next week, and participation is, of course, optional—" She paused, her lips curling into a smile that sent a shiver down my spine, "—but let's be honest, you're all going to want to participate."

I could feel the unease ripple through the group. Whenever Karen said something was "optional," it rarely was. She always had a way of making it feel like if you didn't go along with her, you were on her shit list.

She gestured to a rack of clothes being wheeled into the room by one of her assistants. My stomach turned when I saw them—dresses. But not just any dresses. These were the kind of outfits you'd expect to see at some risqué nightclub, not at a professional company event. Short, tight, with deep plunging necklines, and some were barely long enough to cover anything.

A murmur of disbelief went through the room. One of the guys near me, Jason, raised his hand, looking uncomfortable as hell. "Uh, Ms. Phillips? What's with the outfits?"

Karen's smile never wavered. "These," she said, with a wave of her hand towards the dresses, "are for our little talent show. You boys are going to have the chance to show us what you're made of. It's all about creativity and boldness."

Jason shifted uneasily, looking around at the rest of us. "But... they're a bit, uh... revealing, don't you think?"

Karen's eyes narrowed, her smile growing tighter. "Revealing? Jason, honey, it's called fashion. Maybe if you spent less time worrying and more time embracing the opportunity, you'd get it."

A few nervous laughs echoed through the room, but most of us were just staring at the rack, unsure what to think. This was bullshit, and we all knew it. Karen's "optional" participation was a lie. There was no way we could sit this one out and still keep our heads above water in this internship.

I felt the tension in my chest tighten as I glanced around. Everyone looked as uncomfortable as I felt. The guys were shifting on their feet, whispering to each other, while Karen just stood there, her smile not faltering for a second, like she was daring us to challenge her.

One of the other interns, Mark, spoke up next. "Ms. Phillips, this doesn't really seem appropriate for a work event. I mean, we're supposed to be showcasing our skills, right? Not... whatever this is."

Karen's expression shifted, and her voice dropped a notch, cold and dismissive. "Mark, do you know what sets winners apart from the rest? It's their willingness to step outside their comfort zone, to be bold. If you're not willing to push the boundaries, then maybe you're not cut out for this kind of work."

Mark fell silent, his face turning red. We all knew what that meant. Karen had a way of singling people out, making them feel small, like they didn't belong if they didn't follow her rules. It was a sick game, and we were the pawns.

I felt my jaw clench as I watched her, frustration bubbling up inside me. This wasn't about fashion or creativity. This was about control. She wanted to see how far she could push us, how much bullshit we were willing to swallow just to keep our spots. And we all knew it.

Karen's assistant began handing out the dresses, her eyes sweeping over each of us with an unspoken command: Take it. Don't complain. Play along.

When it was my turn, I grabbed mine with a reluctant hand. The fabric was soft but felt wrong in my grip, like it shouldn't belong anywhere near me. It was bright red, sleeveless, and tight. I stared at it, my stomach twisting into knots.