(Saturday morning)

Mid-May sun filtered gently through the half-closed blinds, drawing golden stripes on the floor and illuminating a chaos that looked like the backstage of a drag set before the show: open makeup everywhere, scattered brushes, and my two friends racing against time to turn me into a believable woman.

The clock on the nightstand read 9:47.

Just over two hours left until the final close of interviews at Harrington, Locke & Partners.

At noon sharp, they'd lock the firm doors.

No extensions.

Last day.

Last slot.

I was sitting on a stool in the middle of the room in sweatpants, half my face already perfect thanks to Amanda's steady hands, the other still plain old Matthias. On my head was the professional net that flattens hair (the kind drag queens use before slipping on the wig); for now it was empty, looking like a giant condom.

Amanda held my chin with two fingers and blended with the brush. "I still can't believe you're really doing this."

I smiled, trying not to move my face too much.

"Neither can I."

Samy, kneeling on my bed, was rummaging through a black bag, pulling out silicone prosthetics like it was Christmas.

"Hey, princess." He said, snapping his eyes up. "What really happened in that bathroom last night?"

My stomach flipped. I tried to stay calm.

"Nothing much."

Samy glared at me.

"You're not telling me the truth."

I couldn't help it: I thought back to that fuck, to that blond who'd made me explode in under ten minutes. I still felt his cock inside, the sweet burn, the way he'd fucked me until I shook. Even now, sitting there, I had a shiver.

Amanda paused with the eyeliner mid-air.

"Actually, when you came back you were flushed… like you'd just run a marathon."

"I told you." I insisted, maybe too fast. "I saw a guy who looked like my ex making out with someone. Got agitated. End of story."

Samy flopped onto the bed edge, legs crossed like a TV host.

"Bullshit. You fucked. I can see it in that satisfied look. Details. Now."

"Samy!" Amanda and I exclaimed together.

"What? I always tell you about my adventures!"

"No one asks for the full menu." Amanda muttered, going back to my makeup.

Samy rolled his eyes, then grabbed two silicone breast forms. One was a solid C-cup, the other… well, calendar cover material.

"Fine, play mysterious. But this isn't over." He showed me the two pairs. "Now: serious professional woman or 'hey boys, look here'?"

Amanda glanced over.

"Wow, they look real. Whoever made them is a perverted genius."

"Pass me the more subdued ones." I said before Samy could speak. "I need to impress with my brain, not two melons."

Samy feigned offense.

"Hey, princess, sometimes melons open doors brains don't even see!"

Amanda laughed. "Not in a Manhattan law firm."

"Exactly." I cut in. "I want them to take me seriously. At least for the first five minutes."

With Amanda's help, I slipped it on. The silicone was cool, a bit heavy, and stuck perfectly to the skin. When I looked in the mirror from the side… fuck, it looked real.

Amanda noticed the makeup had smudged a bit on my right side. "Hold still. I'll fix your eye."

One of my few physical advantages is a build perfect for this game: shoulders not too broad, slim waist, no exaggerated muscles. Not skinny, not buff: just right to pass as male or female without much effort.

Samy grabbed three wigs and showed them to me like a carpet salesman.

"Which do you prefer, princess? Blonde, brunette, or chestnut?"

"Chestnut." I said. "With my complexion and dark brows, it's the most believable."

"Agreed." He replied, already excited.

Then he sat back on the bed, sighing.

"You know, Matt, I miss doing cosplay for comic cons."

I laughed. "I remember. Three years straight as Disney princesses."

"Hell yeah!" Samy cheered. "And the second year I hooked up with two editors from a publishing house in exchange for… very sinful favors." He burst out laughing.

Amanda, fixing the chestnut wig that fell softly to my shoulders, shook her head.

"You two together are dangerous. Good thing you've never been caught."

She finished pinning it, stepped back, and looked at me with her mouth open.

"Wow. You're… a stunning woman."

I hesitated. "Sure?"

"Look at yourself."

I turned to the full-length mirror on the closet.

Holy shit.

The makeup was perfect: big eyes, fake but discreet lashes, nude pink lips. The wig fell soft, the prosthetics gave a natural cleavage—maybe even too much. I looked like… a female version of myself who could easily work in a Manhattan firm.

Samy came over with a mischievous grin. "Now just one thing left: the definitive test."

"Which is?" Amanda and I asked together.

"Let's call your straight roommate crush, Patrick O’Connor, and see his reaction."

Amanda smiled. "Brilliant idea."

I glared at them. "You're cruel."

Samy shrugged with that devilish grin that promised nothing good. Amanda bit her lip to keep from laughing.

But in the end I sighed, raised my voice, and called my roommate.

"Trick!"

Silence.

"Trick, can you come for a second?"

"Coming!" He answered from afar, voice sleepy.

Samy brought a hand to his mouth, ready to explode. Amanda covered her eyes with her hand, but through her fingers you could see she was laughing.

And I stood there, waiting for my straight roommate to come in and decide if Madison Reed could really fool the world.

The door opened. Trick walked in with his usual gym tank, buzzed hair, fair skin, and a toothpaste ad smile.

When he saw me, he froze.

"Holy shit…" He turned his back immediately, red as a tomato. "Sorry, I thought Matt was in here!"

Samy clapped his hands, thrilled like he'd just seen the finale of a Broadway musical. "Bingo! Test passed with flying colors, princess! Look how our Trick blushed… Madison Reed, welcome to the world: you just embarrassed a personal trainer!"

I approached Trick and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, it's me."

He turned slowly. First his gaze dropped straight to the décolleté (impeccable silicone effect), then up to my face.

"Matt, is that… you?"

I smiled, a bit embarrassed. "Yup."

"Holy shit, you're a real babe. And those tits… wow, they look real."

I laughed. "Wanna touch?"

Trick's eyes widened again, then he looked at Amanda (who stared at him with arms crossed), shook his head vigorously. "No, no! I respect women, even if… I mean… they're fake, but the principle's the same."

Samy butted in, obviously. "That's why you straights are so cute around a woman." Then, with his devilish smile: "Anyway, hunk of a man, thanks for coming. Too bad not like I hoped."

Amanda and I in unison: "Samuele!"

"What?" He replied, innocent. "Friends joke around."

I thanked Trick, still a bit red in the face.

"Sorry for the stupidity. I'll explain everything later, promise."

He left shaking his head, muttering something like "I don't get it anymore."

When the door closed, I looked at my two accomplices.

"Okay!" Taking a deep breath. "Madison Reed is officially ready to conquer Harrington, Locke & Partners."We'd been in the car for about twenty minutes, stuck in New York traffic that seemed designed to torture me. Amanda drove her old Honda with Olympic calm, while I, in the passenger seat, stared at my phone like it might explode any second.

After the transformation we'd had just an hour to finalize and send "Madison Reed's" résumé.

The professional photo we'd taken with Amanda's phone, neutral background, natural light from the window, Samy quickly tweaking contrast and skin to make it flawless without overdoing it.

The experiences we'd tweaked carefully: real roles and responsibilities from my past path, but described with more incisive language, responsibilities amplified believably, dates slightly adjusted to fit the narrative, details that sounded authoritative without inventing anything false.

The references were genuine but tweaked with care: contacts from my old numbers, the ones accumulated over time, personal phone lines I'd left in old résumés, freelance projects, past collaborations. They were all my numbers, under my control.

If anyone called for verification, it'd be me answering: with modulated voice, disguised just enough, pretending to be an ex-colleague or enthusiastic reference, confirming the slightly emphasized versions of my contributions without losing the narrative thread.

Click on "send."

No turning back.We'd dropped Samy at the restaurant, it was on the way, since he had the lunch shift. "Break a leg, princess," he'd said with a kiss on the cheek before getting out. "And if they catch you, say you were forced. You know, some bad guys kidnapped me, made me up and dressed me as a woman to infiltrate the firm. Help me, please!"

We all burst out laughing, but underneath the joke had a grain of truth, funny, but with that pinch of seriousness reminding us how crazy the whole plan was.

Traffic crawled. I drummed my fingers on the armrest, fake nails tapping nervously.

Amanda glanced over quickly.

"Hey, you okay? Look, you don't have to really do this. It's insane, we both know it. Risky as hell."

I looked at my reflection in the window: elegant black skirt suit (borrowed from Amanda, a bit tight at the waist but perfect), white blouse unbuttoned just enough to show the fake cleavage, mid-heels I still didn't fully handle. I felt like an imposter… but also strangely euphoric.

"I know," I said, with modulated voice—I was already practicing Madison's.

"But I sent the résumé. They'll want to see who this Madison Reed is, right?"

"Well, someone can always not show up. I doubt they'd sue you for ghosting. Madison doesn't exist… I mean, she might somewhere in the world, but I doubt she's a lawyer with your freckles."

I stared at the road, cars inching along in Manhattan traffic, red brake lights flashing on and off like an irregular heartbeat. My heart pounded in my chest. It wasn't just the interview. It was everything: the risk of being discovered, the crazy idea of entering the firm as Madison.

I took a deep breath, feeling the air enter my lungs like the first time in hours.

"Amanda… last night I had sex with a stranger."

She braked suddenly, the car lurching forward before stopping completely. For a second I feared the sedan behind would rear-end us: the horn blared immediately, a long irritated sound, like a wordless "what the hell are you doing?!"

Amanda lowered the window, made a quick apologetic gesture with her hand, and yelled: "Sorry!"

Then she turned to me, mouth open. "You what?"

"So… it happened fast. I was in the bathroom, he came in, we looked at each other… and boom. Sex. In the club bathroom."

Amanda burst out laughing, a laugh that filled the car.

"Damn, that's a big news! Samy has a bloodhound nose for these things. I suspected something too, you were too flushed, but I didn't imagine you'd actually done it."

I blushed under the foundation. "There, I'm telling you now, just because I didn't want Samy to know. You know how he is: turns into a machine gun of questions, doesn't let up until he's squeezed every private detail."

Amanda nodded, still chuckling. "True. But this is a major distraction, huh. Just what you need right now."

"Yeah," I admitted. "It was last night… and it still is."

She arched an eyebrow, mischievous grin.

"It was? You mean…"

"Amanda!"

I shot her a glare, but couldn't help laughing.

She raised her hands off the wheel for a second.

"Hey, you're the one who used past tense! I just assumed." She laughed again. "So tell me: was he cute? Was it sweet?"

I sighed, thinking back to those green eyes, that arrogant mouth.

"He was… really sexy." My voice lowering from shame. "Tall, gym body, platinum blond, dominant. Not exactly sweet. More… brutal."

Right then, my gaze fell on a big billboard by the road: Harrington, Locke & Partners, the main partners' faces with their competent smiles, Manhattan skyline behind.

And there, front and center, was a man who stopped my breath.

"Wait… Amanda, look at that one on the billboard." Pointing with my finger. "He looked like him, the one with ginger hair. Like… identical."

She glanced as we passed.

"Hmm, hot! If he was like that, you hit the jackpot, princess."

For a moment I was puzzled, twisting in the seat to see better, but the car had already passed. It really looked like him. The face structure, green eyes…

But the hair was natural ginger, neat, not platinum blond like the bathroom guy's. And no light stubble: clean-shaven, perfect, one hundred percent corporate.

Coincidence? Or was I psyching myself out from nerves?

I shook my head, trying to shake the thought.

Impossible.

New York's full of handsome guys with green eyes. Just a weird resemblance.

I didn't have time to process more. Amanda pulled up in front of a glass and steel building that screamed money from every window.

"Well, princess." She said, turning off the engine. "We've arrived."

I looked out the window. The building towered, imposing, with the gold plaque: Harrington, Locke & Partners.

Fuck.

Out there were about ten women: young, mature, all elegant, perfect suits. Some gorgeous, self-assured, entering or exiting with decisive steps.

"I'm making a huge fuckup." I murmured. "I can feel it. You see those? They're stunning."

Amanda took my hand.

"Hey, they're not here for a beauty contest. They're here for their talent, for what they can do. And you, Matthias, sorry, fantastic Madison, you're really good."

Her words warmed my chest. Amanda had this power: she could always make me feel less alone, less wrong. To me she was my good witch, the one who with a phrase took the world's weight off your shoulders.

"If you want, I'll walk you in." She offered.

I shook my head. "You mind if I go in alone?"

She smiled. "No, of course. But try not to mess up the pronouns when you talk to them."

Right.

I opened the door, got out of the car with legs shaking a bit on the heels. Adjusted my bag on my shoulder, finally took a deep breath.

I looked at the building for a second, then headed toward the entrance.