Chapter 1

The concept had started as a bold experiment, but its implementation sent shockwaves through corporate America. While other companies balked at the idea of having fully nude women deliver interoffice mail, DDE embraced the controversy. Barbara Anderson had carefully studied Hiromoto’s model before launching her own version stateside. She knew the risks—potential lawsuits, public backlash—but she also recognized the potential rewards. The Mailgirls became walking advertisements for DDE’s progressive image.

Barbara Anderson had become something of a public figure, she graced magazine covers and appeared on television talk shows, her notoriety bordering on celebrity status. My name is Amanda Johnson, working in the marketing department at GlobalCom, a major telecommunications company.

I take stock of how I carry myself—a slender, athletic build honed by years on the tennis court. My dark skin, a radiant testament to my African heritage, radiates warmth even in the sterile light of the office; I’ve always taken pride in that glow. And though my straight black hair is usually tied back in a neat bun for work, I know it frames my face nicely when I let it fall to my shoulders after hours.

The very concept of these naked delivery girls had always unsettled me, stirring a visceral unease that made my stomach churn. I could only imagine the humiliation, the degradation, the utter submission inherent in such a role. And yet, despite my discomfort, I had to acknowledge that many other companies were following suit. Barbara Anderson’s influence and reach had been instrumental in creating a network of partnerships across industries, she was personally invested in helping train and develop these so-called Mailgirls.

I never would have believed GlobalCom would embrace such an outrageous policy, but there I stood in the lobby, heading out to grab lunch, when who should stride in but Barbara Anderson herself. My breath caught in my throat as she swept past, her eyes locking onto mine with a knowing smile that sent a shiver down my spine. That unnerving stare felt almost predatory.

As I gathered my composure and stepped outside, my mind reeled at the implications of seeing Barbara at our headquarters. Her mere presence suggested that GlobalCom might soon join those companies experimenting with the degrading Mailgirl program. The thought made my stomach twist into knots.

After lunch, I planned to check my emails for any updates regarding Barbara’s unexpected visit. What exactly was she doing at GlobalCom? I wondered uneasily. Suddenly, my manager Lucas’s voice cut through the office chatter. “Amanda?” I flinched slightly before responding, “Yes, Lucas?” Over time I’d grown accustomed to his demeaning attitude; it seemed that no matter what I did, he found ways to belittle me, and I suspected his behavior stemmed from discriminatory motives.

Lucas approached my desk with that familiar air of superiority. “I need you to compile all the reports from last quarter,” he said brusquely. “And make sure everything is double-checked before sending it to me.” His tone left little room for discussion, and though resentment simmered within me, I simply nodded in compliance.

Fucking Lucas, I thought bitterly as he strode away. That asshole always dumped the most tedious grunt work on me – checking and rechecking reports that anyone could have handled. This wasn’t why I’d pursued marketing so passionately, pouring my heart into my studies only to land a position where my capabilities were constantly overlooked. I should’ve been thrilled to secure this role at GlobalCom nearly a year ago, especially given how difficult it remains for a black woman to break into the corporate world. Yet from day one, Lucas had taken an immediate dislike to me despite joining the team after I did. His blatant disrespect made every day a struggle.

As I collected the reports from last quarter, my frustration mounted. The injustice of being relegated to glorified data entry while less experienced colleagues received meaningful assignments ate away at me. Each keystroke felt heavy with resentment as I prepared the documents for Lucas’ review.

While preparing the documents, I glanced up to see Caroline Whitmore, our executive director and second-in-command at GlobalCom. A slender, attractive white woman of 48 with shoulder-length blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, she carried herself with a poised, commanding presence. Although I’d never had the chance to speak with her directly, her reputation for sharp business acumen preceded her. Accompanying Caroline was Barbara, whose eyes scanned the office before locking onto mine with another warm smile. I quickly averted my gaze and focused back on finalizing these tedious documents for that arrogant bastard Lucas.

As I continued working, my thoughts wandered to how differently things might be if someone like Caroline noticed my efforts. Perhaps then Lucas wouldn’t treat me like some expendable clerk meant only for grunt work. The injustice of it all gnawed at me—I’d poured my heart into marketing studies hoping to make a real impact, not end up relegated to glorified data entry while less experienced colleagues received meaningful assignments. Each keystroke felt heavy with resentment as I prepared the documents for Lucas’s review.

My frustration mounted further when I overheard snippets of conversation from nearby coworkers discussing an upcoming project led by one of Lucas’s favorites—a project I knew I was more than qualified to handle. It seemed no matter how hard I worked or how many extra hours I put in, Lucas always found ways to undermine me while praising others who did half as much. The unfairness of it all made my blood boil silently as I forced myself to concentrate on the task at hand, determined not to let Lucas’s petty behavior distract me from doing my job well—even if he never appreciated it.