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Phoebe Lewis sighed with enthusiastic refreshment and crushed her energy drink’s empty can against the front armrest of her car. Today had been a pretty good day for the area’s newest FoodFast delivery driver— a job that Phoebe picked up following her latest in a series of quarrels with various managers and coworkers at stores across town. “Hah!” Phoebe laughed, launching over a speedbump as her phone’s screen lit up, “another fat tip! Because they know I’m the BEST!” To Phoebe, this was the best thing ever. No need to tidy her ratty, black hair, cover the blemishes on her olive skin, or change out of her pajamas and flip-flops. No uniform, no rules, all cash. Suddenly, her phone buzzed with a new order. Phoebe’s eyes bulged as she devoured her next order. “Ooh, a big delivery from the new coffee place to one of those swanky office buildings… that midmorning rush is so much more fun when you’re not behind the counter making it!” She exclaimed to nobody in particular, her finger slamming the “accept” button. After trading a vocal barb or two with a panicked barista, Phoebe bounded out of the coffee shop and back into her car, and sped towards the office park. Upon arrival, Phoebe jumped out of her car, raced into the building, and snuck into an elevator door to the seventh floor just as it was closing, much to the chagrin of the stuffier types flanking her within. Before long, she reached her destination, the front desk of a logistics corporation that had just moved to town. Oddly, the desk sat empty. As she craned her neck around, an authoritative voice rang out from down the corridor. “Down here, dear.” Phoebe shrugged and slowly made her way down the brightly-lit, marble-tiled corridor until she reached the office at the end. “Emilia Wallace, CEO” was emblazoned on a plaque next to the doorframe. In an uncharacteristically sheepish fashion, Phoebe poked her neck in and rapped on the doorframe. Seated at the desk in a sharply tailored, navy-blue skirtsuit, greying hair in a bun, eyes sharply set behind dark liner and on top of a full, crimson-lipped face, sat Ms. Wallace. “Hey, uh, coffee’s here.” The sharpness of Ms. Wallace’s reply, despite her not looking up from her laptop, startled Phoebe. “I can see that, dear. Please set the drink carrier down on my desk. Then, see to your other tasks.” Phoebe made her way into the room, still timid. “…other tasks?” “Yes.” Phoebe jumped again. “You work here, do you not?” Phoebe set the tray down as she tried to mumble out a reply. “Uhh well… not really exactly but you did order-“ “Nonsense. I don’t allow freeloaders in this building. If you are here, you work for me. Now, please, go back to whatever it was you need to be doing. And…” Ms. Wallace looked up at Phoebe for the first time, driving daggers into the awkward girl’s sleep-deprived eyes. “And goodness gracious, young lady. Have some respect for yourself and your appearance. I don’t care if you’re just running coffee and copies. You’re a businesswoman, after all.” Phoebe nodded silently and turned to leave the office. As she stood in the elevator on the way down, Ms. Wallace’s words rang in her ears. She… was a businesswoman? Well, technically she was self-employed… FoodFast didn’t pay her a wage… she didn’t have a boss… so… was she…? The elevator dinged and opened up to the ground floor. Maybe, she was. Maybe. The thought sat in her mind as she flopped into the front seat of her car, her eyes wandering to a spare makeup bag in the backseat. Maybe… maybe looking at least a little better would help with tips… and her rating… which would mean more orders. Yeah, alright, sure. That makes sense. Phoebe grabbed the bag and fished around for her hand mirror and a couple powders. But only because it made sense to her. Not because some weird old angry lady told her to. The next day, Phoebe felt oddly refreshed as she hopped out of bed at 7:30 AM, sharp. She walked into her bathroom, fished out her toothbrush and paste, did her full skincare routine for the first time in a week and a half, and walked over to her bedroom doo—no, her closet? Why her closet? Her pajamas were… fine. Sure, they were a little stained and she’d worn them 3 days in a row but… Maybe, she should change. Maybe. An unworn pair of ankle-high, belted skinny jeans landed over the top of white converse. On top, Phoebe tucked a pastel pink polo neatly into those jeans. She pulled her newly-brushed and freshened hair into a ponytail, fluttered some foundation, eyeliner, blush and gloss over her face, and walked out the door. Not ten minutes after reaching the city center and starting her app, Phoebe recieved an order notification: the same coffee shop and the same office building as yesterday. With an excited smile, Phoebe pressed “accept” and turned into the parking lot. Her experience at the shop went much more smoothly this time around. She walked in to the moderately crowded shop and took her place in line. Upon reaching the front, she met the barista’s eyes with a grin. “Good morning! I’m picking up a delivery for Emilia W.” The barista, relieved she didn’t have to make another drink, and surprised at Phoebe’s affability, managed an exhausted half-smile of her own and handed over the tray full of drinks. “Have a good day…” the barista sighed out. But that didn’t bother Phoebe. “You as well, thank you!” She beamed, strutting out of the cafe. In the elevator up to Ms. Wallace, Phoebe thought about where she had been just a day earlier. Timid, sloppy, and not taking control of her business! Her tips doubled yesterday after she put on even a halfway face of makeup. Hopefully Ms. Wallace would be impressed wi— hold on, what? Phoebe glanced in the mirror walls of the elevator at herself. “What… the hell am I wearing…?” Then, the elevator dinged. Phoebe jumped and her train of thought ended. A smile returned to her face. She strode out into the lobby. Oddly, the receptionist’s desk still sat empty. “Down here again, dear.” Called Ms. Wallace. Phoebe made her way down to the office, this time walking straight in with her smile leading the way. “Today’s delivery, Ms. Wallace!” She chirped, setting the coffee down. After taking a step back, Phoebe looked at Ms. Wallace expectantly. Ms. Wallace looked up. “Very good, dear, thank you. But this…” she motioned with her pen, up and down Phoebe’s body. “Still… childish. Juvenile. You can do better, dear.” With that, Ms. Wallace’s gaze returned to her laptop. Again, jarred, Phoebe muttered a quick, “yes, ma’am”, turned, and walked out. In the elevator, Phoebe returned to her reflection. What was she thinking?? How could she have thought this was good enough. She wore this outfit for her first day of university orientation. It was ‘nice enough’. But ‘enough’ wasn’t going to help her become the woman that Ms. Wallace knew she was capable of being. That’s why she took her under her wing in the first place. The elevator dinged and opened. Phoebe strode out, making some plans for the weekend. Sunday came and Phoebe found herself at the local outlet mall. She had never really shopped there, most of her ironic tees and flannel pants came from online stores, but she still remembered enjoying herself when her friends would hang out here after school occasionally. There was a designer store here and there, but nothing outrageous. The real draw was the department stores… and their sale racks. Phoebe absentmindedly wandered into Dylan’s, a large store at the far end of the mall. She glanced around as she walked, not really spying anything of interest. At last, she came across a clearance rack. Most of what was there wasn’t really her size but… oh, wow. And was this… oh my god it matched! And for only that much! Maybe, she should buy these. Maybe, she should find a couple more. But… wouldn’t this kind of outfit be somewhat impractical for her line of work? All that getting in and out of cars? Phoebe pondered this, staring at her purchases as she entered the mall’s elevator. Then, the elevator tone dinged, and everything became clear. Of course not! She would simply ask Ms. Wallace if there was some desk work she needed taken care of. Obviously, she would make the morning coffee run, but perhaps it was time to see if her responsibilities couldn’t be expanded at all. Monday morning’s Phoebe stepped gracefully into Ms. Wallace’s office, neatly setting the tray down in front of her laptop. Her new blouse, with its ruffled neckline and printed lillies, paired so simply with the white, knee-length pencil skirt and sheer leggings that fed into three-inch white heels. Her hair shined brilliantly as it cascaded down to her upper back in waves. Her face, made up as expertly as it was unnoticeable, was set around a glossy, pink smile that radiated from her flawless facade. “Good Morning, Ms. Wallace.” Phoebe smiled, “might there be any work around the office that I could assist you with today? Ms. Wallace looked up, scanning Phoebe. “Of course there is. Why ask such a silly question, dear?” Phoebe’s professional facade broke slightly. “Well… ma’am, it has come to my attention that I did not really… well… fit in with this company at my arrival.” Ms. Wallace waved her hand dismissively. “Nonsense, dear. You have always belonged. I hired you, and you are a part of this company. Until I decide that is no longer the case, you absolutely belong, dear.” The benevolent CEO let her words hang for a moment before meeting Phoebe’s hopeful gaze. “You are a businesswoman, dear. Hold your head high, and command the respect you deserve.” Phoebe’s face brightened, her smile stretching across her face. “Yes, ma’am!” She exclaimed, nodding her head. “I’m a businesswoman!” Ms. Wallace nodded. “Very good, dear. Now, your desk is waiting out front.” — The elevator dinged. The doors opened. Phoebe Lewis strode into the lobby. Her expertly tailored pink satin blouse tucked neatly into a similarly tailored white, floral, knee-length pencil skirt that contrasted smartly with her tan hose, ending in her favorite pair of white heels. Ms. Wallace had contined to make improvements to her star pupil. Gone were ill-fitting, clearance-rack blouses and drugstore makeup. Phoebe was no longer a maybe, after all. Phoebe was a businesswoman. And a good one at that. In fact, at some point, that became all she was. Her entire wardrobe a combination of designer formal wear, her vocabulary refined and congenial, her face and skin and hair free of any degeneration. Her friends began to notice. yo cass im free next thursday wanna get on vc Cass we should hang sometime its been a little while Cass! I thought yesterday was so much fun! We should definitely meet up again soon! -Phoebe Good afternoon, Cassandra. I am writing to make you aware of an evening of mine that has become vacant of activity. Ms. Wallace will not require my services following business hours, and so I thought it would be delightful to meet at the new steakhouse in uptown, perhaps. Please let me know if you are able at your earliest convenience. Respectfully yours, Phoebe Lewis “Good morning, ma’am! How may I be of assistance?” “Uhh… food delivery for Wallace Logistics?” “Oh, that would be us! I would be happy to take that from you.” “Cool, thanks.” “Of course, dear. Have you maybe considered another line of work?” “Maybe…” One day, The elevator dinged, and Phoebe became perfect.