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Ruth almost walked past it. A single postcard, half tilted in the corner of the shop window, caught her eye like a whisper tugging at her sleeve. Nobody used postcards for advertisements any more; that alone made her slow down. But it was the wording, simple, unusual, almost too deliberate, that made her lean closer, feeling a small, unexpected spark of curiosity and excitement unfurl in her chest.

It read:

"Personal Assistant required: Non-conventional role subject to a strict contract of obedience, with immediate compliance to all instructions. Strict Dress Code: Deliberately provocative. Further details are available upon application. Expectations: - Any non-compliance, deviations or challenging behaviour will be chastised."

Ruth felt a flicker of curiosity she hadn't experienced in years. The advert was such an odd thing to find in a shop window, and it clearly hinted at a role that pushed boundaries, though she couldn't quite tell which ones. She snapped a quick photo, telling herself it was just to look at again later. She had no intention of responding; of course, she didn't. And yet, the idea of the job sent a small, unexpected thrill through her, as if some long-dormant part of her had just stirred awake.

After rereading the advert all day, Ruth felt a restless buzz under her skin. She kept telling herself it was ridiculous, that it was just a strange little postcard in a window, yet the tone of it thrilled her in a way she couldn't quite explain. She would be an idiot to message the number.

By mid-afternoon, the office felt even greyer than usual. The same dull chatter. The same lifeless tasks. The same beige people who hadn't surprised her in years. Meanwhile, the advert pulsed in her mind like a dare, a desperate desire to experience life.

Before she'd even finished the thought, her phone was already in her hand. What harm could there be in sending one message? She didn't plan it. She didn't weigh it up. She just felt a sudden, sharp need to know more, an impulse that made her heart kick a little faster as her thumb hovered over the screen.

"Hi. I'm getting in touch about the PA role. I'm 45 and fairly inexperienced in anything outside standard office work, and your advert seems to suggest a sexual element, so I'm not entirely sure what you're looking for. The wording of your advert was unusual, which is what caught my attention. If my age or lack of experience rule me out, I completely understand, but I'd still like to know a little more. Ruth."

She pressed send before she could talk herself out of it. The moment the message left her phone, a wave of nerves hit her so hard she felt almost queasy. What on earth had she just done? It was bold, reckless, far more daring than anything she'd attempted in years.

For the next hour, she swung between regret and a strange, fizzy thrill. Part of her wished she could snatch the message back, pretend she'd never acted on that impulse. Another part quieter but undeniably alive, was secretly proud she'd done something that felt risky.

Then, a couple of hours later, her phone buzzed. Her stomach flipped. Her breath caught. All that anxiety evaporated in an instant, replaced by a sharp, bright excitement that shot through her like a spark. They'd replied.

"You are correct in your assumption, you are acceptable for the interview. Questions about age, suitability and role expectations will be addressed in person. Dress code: Fitted jacket over a risqué blouse/dress. Lingerie, stockings, high heels. Attend at 3pm tomorrow. Directions to my office are attached. Confirm if you accept. Sir."

Ruth's stomach flipped the moment she saw the reply. Excitement and anxiety tangled together so tightly she couldn't tell one from the other. She hadn't wanted an interview; she'd only wanted the thrill of imagining one. A harmless fantasy. Something to spark a little colour into her day, could she go through with it?

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