Rhea POV:
So you know that whole "I'm looking for a job" thing I mentioned earlier? Yeah, scratch that. Let me just walk you through my incredibly disastrous day of job hunting.
Picture this: me, looking all dolled up, walking into a couple of interviews like I'm about to change my life. Spoiler alert: I didn't. Not even close.
Yeah, let me give you the blow-by-blow of my glamorous interviews. I showed up all dolled up, thinking I was ready to take over the world—well, the corporate world, anyway. I even put on heels like I was about to break some glass ceilings. But, oh no, that wasn't the vibe these interviewers were going for.
First interview: A creep who literally didn't let go of his stare long enough to even look at my resume. He didn't care if I had a master's degree in whatever—it was all about my... assets. And I wasn't talking skills, folks. The guy? A sleaze. The interview? A joke. He barely looked at my resume before his eyes wandered down to… well, you know where. It was like he was judging me based on my non-existent cleavage. I watched other women there actively unbutton their top button, leaning in a little too much, trying to show what they had. Yeah, that's the kind of competition I was facing. Newsflash: I wasn't exactly "blessed" in that department. And I'm certainly not desperate enough to pull that kind of stunt. It was like a real-life version of The Bachelor—but with creepy dudes instead of rich guys in suits.
And then there were the other candidates. They were, let's say, more equipped for the job in the "appearance" department, if you catch my drift.
And don't even get me started on the next two interviews. One guy asked me what my "cup size" was. Yeah, you read that right. I nearly walked out. But I stuck it out, played nice, smiled through gritted teeth. I didn't get any of those jobs, obviously.
So, with my confidence at rock bottom and my stomach growling, I made my way back home. Lucy was on the couch, as usual, hunched over her laptop, typing away like she was inventing the next big thing. She looked up at me when I walked in, probably sensing the vibe from a mile away.
She immediately noticed the disappointment written all over my face. "So? How'd it go?" she asked, already guessing the answer.
"Well," I said, sinking onto the couch beside her. "I didn't get any of the jobs." Rubbing my forehead in frustration. "Apparently, my lack of assets was a dealbreaker. Can you believe that? I actually had a guy ask me if I was wearing a padded bra." I didn't bother explaining the weird, pervy interviews. She'd just roll her eyes and say something like, Men are trash, blah blah.
Lucy, being Lucy, didn't skip a beat. She popped a chip in her mouth and passed the bag to me. "Sorry, girl. Want some chips? I know it's not a job, but it's something."
I took a chip, popped it in my mouth, and let out a long sigh. "But I did overhear something. Apparently, this huge multimillion-dollar company is looking for a personal assistant for their new CEO. The pay? Ridiculous. We're talking big cash."
Lucy looked intrigued. "Ooh, sounds promising. What's the catch?"
"The catch is," I continued, "they want a male assistant."
Her brow furrowed. "What, are they allergic to women? That's some serious gender bias."
"Right?" I agreed. "Like, come on, do they really think a woman can't handle the job?" I threw my hands up in frustration. "It's 2025, for crying out loud. Get with the program!"
Lucy started laughing. "Oh my god, they probably have a thing about women in power, huh? Or maybe the CEO's gay. Who knows?"
I joined her in laughter, because, honestly, it was just too ridiculous to be angry about anymore. We were just a couple of young women trying to make it, and the world clearly wasn't making it easy. But, hey, I didn't have time to feel sorry for myself. If they wanted a guy, I wasn't just going to sit around crying over it.
We both burst out laughing, the absurdity of it all too much to ignore. Lucy wiped a tear from her eye. "Okay, wait. Hold up. Let me get this straight," she said, grinning. " One company wants a male assistant, and you're here telling me you can't get hired because of your… well, lack of boobage?"
"Exactly!" I snapped. "It's like they're all blind to actual skills and experience. It's just boobs and that kind of nonsense. I mean, don't get me wrong, I know some women play that game, but not me. I'm not stooping that low."
Lucy's face suddenly shifted. She tilted her head, looked at me, and gave me the kind of smirk I've seen a million times before—the kind that usually means she's thought of something either brilliant or batshit insane.
"So, how do you feel about becoming a mister?" she asked, voice all sweet and innocent.
I blinked. "What? No. I'm not going transgender, Lucy. I love my small boobs."
She snorted. "I didn't mean that, idiot." She leaned in, her eyes sparkling with that mischievous glint I recognized all too well. "I mean cross-dressing."
For a moment, I just stared at her. I could feel the wheels of my brain grinding, trying to process what she was suggesting. "Cross-dressing? Are you out of your mind?"
She leaned back on the couch, propping her feet up, clearly amused by my reaction. "Think about it," she said. "You go in, work as a guy for six months, make that fat paycheck, quit, and then you can get a regular job as a woman. You'll have enough to live on for two years. Hell, you can even start saving up for a bigger place. Oh, and did I mention? I'm an artist. I can make you look like the most adorable guy ever."
My jaw dropped. "You want me to pretend to be a dude?"
She nodded, grinning like she'd just solved world peace. "Yes! It's genius. I mean, they want a guy for the job, right? So why not be the guy?"
I gawked at her, completely stunned. "But... cross-dressing? Are you sure about this? It's... insane."
"Oh, please." She waved a hand, completely unbothered. "It's like Halloween. You get to play dress-up, but instead of candy, you get a six-figure salary. What's the worst that could happen? And I'll make you look so good, no one will even know. You'll be the CEO's personal assistant."
I couldn't help but laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. "You're seriously suggesting I dress up as a guy, take a job meant for a dude, and just... leave? After making all that cash?"
She leaned back, her grin widening. "Exactly. Trust me, it'll work. And hey, if anything, it'll make one hell of a story. Who knows? Maybe the gay CEO will fall in love with you. I mean, hello? Hot CEO guy? But seriously, I think you're just the girl to pull this off."
I didn't know if I was convinced yet. But as I stared at her, all I could think was: Why the hell not?
Lucy was right. It was risky as hell. But after today, what did I have to lose? Besides, if anything, I could at least get a few laughs out of it. And who knows? Maybe being a "mister" would turn out to be the wildest, most ridiculous thing I've ever done.
I sighed. "Okay, but this better work. Because if anyone finds out, I'm not just losing a job—I'm losing my dignity."
Lucy laughed. "Dignity's overrated. You'll be too busy counting cash to care."
I thought about it for a second longer, then shrugged. "Alright, let's do it. How hard can it be to look like a dude for a few months?"