Well… Hello!

POV: Maeve Thorne

Chop. Chop.

The rhythmic sound echoes against the bathroom tiles as I finalize my drastic haircut. I drop the metal scissors onto the counter and run my trembling fingers through my newly short hair. The blue strands feel soft and free of tangles against my scalp. I comb my hands backward through the mess, pushing the hair away from my forehead to assess the damage in the glass mirror. A sudden, fierce wave of confidence washes over me, washing away the lingering sadness of losing my long locks.

*Damnnnn! I look so badass.*

I evaluate my new aesthetic with a critical eye, leaning closer to the glass. If I had been born a boy, these striking facial features would destine me to be a fuckboy. I am enamored with this fresh vibe. I grab my phone from the edge of the sink, open the camera, and proceed to snap twenty selfies from various angles. I tilt my chin and narrow my eyes, capturing the sharpest lines of my jaw before transitioning to the next phase of my disguise.

I retreat to the bedroom and grab Maddox's clothes from the bed. I slip my body into his crisp white shirt, buttoning it up to my collarbone. Next, I pull on his tailored black suit jacket and the matching trousers. I step back to look at the full-length mirror for the final reveal. An internal, satisfied thought echoes in my mind.

*Well... Hello!*

I decide right then and there that I should marry myself. I analyze my new masculine features. The short hair highlights my high cheekbones and sharp jawline, radiating the distinct, brooding vibe of a young Johnny Depp. I turn to the side, checking my profile. While the oversized suit jacket makes my upper frame look petite, the tailored pants emphasize my natural curves.

*Damnnnn! I am a thick chick.*

Despite the curves, the sheer swagger of the menswear brings out a cool, magnetic personality within me. To perfect the illusion, I return to the bathroom and reach for a plastic tub of hair gel. I scoop out a generous amount, rubbing it between my palms, and slick my blue strands straight back to emulate a classic nineties bad-boy aesthetic. Next comes the makeup. I sketch a light, realistic stubble along my jaw using a brown pencil, blending the edges to make it look like natural shadow. I grab a darker shade and fill in my eyebrows to add masculine weight to my face. The final result is perfection: a beautiful man. I send out a mental warning for girls to be aware and hold onto their panties. This new persona is about to get naughty.

Transitioning to professional preparation, I pull out my laptop and conduct a rapid Google search on the Blackwood Group. I scroll through the search results, noting the company's massive global reach across multiple continents. I memorize the sprawling Blackwood family board, repeating the names under my breath to lock them in my memory: Arthur, Gideon, Victor, Freya, and Caleb. Armed with this crucial knowledge, I gather Maddox's gold-star degree and his physical certificates, sliding them into a sleek folder.

I exit my apartment whistling an upbeat tune. My head feels light and smart, freed from the heavy burden of my former long ponytail. As I walk down the bustling urban footpath, I cannot resist the urge to admire my sexy, masculine reflection in every passing shop window. I embody the swagger of a cool dude whose phone is full of hot chicks’ numbers.

The illusion is potent. Two girls walking ahead of me cast glances over their shoulders. They giggle, turning around to check me out with wide smiles. Maintaining my facade, I raise a hand to wave for a yellow cab. I note to myself that I cannot afford to be late for this crucial interview, nor do I have any current plans to explore being a lesbian. Leaving the pouting, disappointed girls behind on the sidewalk, I slide into the backseat of the taxi. I feel a deep satisfaction in knowing I make a handsome man.

As the taxi accelerates down the busy street, I look outside the window. I let the city wind blow through my freshly gelled hair. The quiet ride allows me to sink deep into my own anxious overthinking. I debate whether I should inform Maddox about this insane plan. I dismiss the idea. Maddox is such an ass that he would tattle to our strict parents in a heartbeat. I can only harbor a desperate hope that when he discovers the ruse, he will understand the sheer desperation of my actions and refrain from suing me for identity theft.

I comfort myself with the logic that I am his one and only sister. This intense charade is temporary. I only plan to work under his name for a few short months until I earn enough money to settle down on my own.

The internal debate is severed when the taxi driver announces our arrival.

"We are here."

I turn my attention out the window and I am dwarfed by the sight of two colossal corporate buildings. I step out of the cab and crane my neck backward, trying to see past the massive fifteenth floor where the words 'Blackwood Group' are displayed in bold, dominating letters. Staring up at the intimidating monolith of corporate power, I take one final, deep breath. I assure my racing heart that everything will be alright. I reaffirm my faith, silently declaring that God is with me. I will secure this job today.