"Breakfast!" Grandma Katherine called.
"Coming!" Venus grabbed her makeup bag, deciding she'd have to apply it in the car.
She shoved her feet into the first professional-looking shoes she could find; thankfully, both were for the right foot this time, and grabbed her folder of resumes.
She slid into the kitchen like a baseball player stealing home.
Grandma Katherine sat at the table calmly eating her eggs, a plate waiting for Venus. "Seven minutes. Not bad."
Venus shovelled eggs into her mouth while standing. "Can't sit. Wrinkled skirt. Don't want to make it worse."
Her grandmother raised an eyebrow. "If you'd ironed your clothes last night like I suggested—"
"Yes, yes, I know," Venus interrupted, washing down the eggs with a gulp of orange juice. "I'm a disaster. But a punctual disaster. I'm leaving right now."
"Your hair is still wet."
"The wind will dry it!" Venus planted a quick kiss on her grandmother's cheek. "Wish me luck!"
"Luck follows preparation," her grandmother said sagely, but her eyes twinkled with affection. "But I'll wish it anyway."
Venus grabbed her bag and keys and rushed out the door. The humid Atlanta morning hit her like a wall, immediately causing her hastily dried hair to start frizzing.
"No, no, no," she moaned, patting it down uselessly as she hurried to her car.
She flung her bag onto the passenger seat, started the engine, and was relieved when it turned over on the first try. "At least you're on my side today," she told the car gratefully.
That gratitude evaporated when she glanced at the fuel gauge. The warning light glowed mockingly orange.
"Are you SERIOUS right now?" Venus smacked the steering wheel. "When did you get so empty? We just went to the store yesterday!"
The car, unsurprisingly, didn't answer.
Venus checked the time. 8:17 AM. She still had time, but it was getting tight.
"Okay, new plan. Gas station, then interview. It's fine. This is fine."
She backed out of the driveway with slightly more speed than was wise, causing her to clip the mailbox with her side mirror.
"Sorry!" she called out the window, as if the mailbox could hear her apology.
Venus manoeuvred the morning traffic with the skill of someone who was perpetually running late.
She weaved between lanes, took shortcuts through residential areas, and may have rolled through one or two stop signs (though she'd deny this if asked).
At 8:25 AM, she pulled into a gas station, relief flooding through her—until she saw the lines. Every pump had at least two cars waiting.
"You have GOT to be kidding me," she groaned, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. "Today of all days."
She chose the shortest line and waited impatiently, checking her phone every thirty seconds as if that would somehow make time slow down.
When a man in the luxury car ahead of her seemed to be taking his sweet time, meticulously cleaning his windscreen after filling up, Venus made a decision.
She grabbed her makeup bag, checked her appearance in the rearview mirror, and grimaced.
Her hair was drying in bizarre patterns, her face was bare of makeup, and there was a small spot of egg on her blouse.
"Well, I've looked worse," she told her reflection, quickly dabbing concealer under her eyes and applying mascara with the skill of someone who regularly does their makeup while in motion.
After a quick lipstick application, most of which actually made it onto her lips. She took a deep breath and got out of the car.
The man at the pump was tall, impeccably dressed in what looked like an extremely expensive suit, and annoyingly handsome.
Under different circumstances, Venus might have appreciated the view more. Right now, he was just an obstacle between her and career success.
"Excuse me," she called, approaching with her most winning smile.
"Hey, handsome! My name is Venus Phillips. I don't usually do this, but I've got a life-changing interview in—" she checked her phone—"twent"y-two minutes, and my gas light is giving me the evil eye."
"Any chance you could let me cut in? If I get this job, I promise I'll owe you a coffee. Or a drink. Or my firstborn child will be named after you. Whatever works for you."
The man turned, surprised. For a moment, he just stared at her, taking in the slightly frazzled appearance and eager smile.
Venus pressed on. "I know, I know, cutting is rude. My grandmother would be appalled. She raised me better than this. But desperate times, you know? And that company won't care that Atlanta traffic is a nightmare or that my skirt was playing hide-and-seek this morning."
A smile slowly spread across the man's face. "Do you always narrate your life story to strangers at gas stations?"
"Only the good-looking ones," Venus replied without missing a beat. "The less attractive ones get the abbreviated version. So what do you say? Help a girl out?"
He glanced at his watch, which Venus couldn't help noticing probably cost more than her monthly rent—and then back at her. "What's the interview for?"
"Marketing Manager at Copeland & Company. You know, the big fancy place downtown with the glass tower and the superiority complex."
Something flickered in his eyes—amusement, perhaps?—but he nodded. "Well, we can't have you being late for that. Especially not because of a gas pump." He stepped aside with a theatrical gesture. "All yours."
"You are God sent!" Venus exclaimed, grinning broadly. "Seriously, if I get this job, hunt me down for that drink. I'll be the one doing a victory dance in the lobby."
She quickly moved her car into position and began filling her tank, keeping an eye on the time. The handsome stranger leant against his car, watching her with unconcealed interest.
"You know," he said casually, "I hear the CEO at Copeland is quite particular about punctuality."
"Great," Venus sighed, watching the numbers on the pump climb. "One more thing to stress about. If you see a news story later about a woman being ejected from a glass tower for showing up four minutes late, that'll be me."
The man chuckled. "I doubt it'll come to that. You seem... resourceful."
"Is that a polite way of saying I look like a hot mess who talked her way into cutting a gas line?"
"I was thinking more 'determined.'"
Venus checked her reflection in her car window and made a futile attempt to smooth her now-dry but wildly uncooperative hair.
"Well, determined is definitely the vibe I'm going for. That and 'Please hire me, I have student loans'."
The pump clicked, signalling it was done. Venus quickly replaced the nozzle and screwed her gas cap back on.
"Well, handsome stranger, thanks for the pump privileges. Wish me luck!"
"Good luck," he said with a smile that seemed to hold some private amusement. "I have a feeling you'll do just fine."
Venus hopped back into her car, checked the time—8:45 AM—and calculated she could make it to Copeland & Co. with about three minutes to spare if traffic cooperated.
As she pulled away from the pump, she caught sight of the man watching her in her rearview mirror. For a brief moment, she wondered what his story was—then her focus snapped back to the road and the interview ahead.
"Alright, Venus," she told herself, merging onto the main road with determination. "Time to go get that job."
She never knew that her gas station negotiation had already made quite an impression on someone very important to her future career—and that her grandmother's warnings about punctuality were about to become hilariously irrelevant.