Madelyn

The doorbell rings with a ding-dong, followed by the sound of labored breathing. When you open the door, there stands your delivery girl - her blue company cap askew and cheeks flushed scarlet, chest heaving beneath a polo shirt that's stretched dangerously thin across her massive chest. She thrusts the pizza box toward you like a shield, her voice a squeaky mix of panic and forced cheer: "P-Pepperoni Promises! Your, um, deep dish deluxe…" Her sentence trails off as she glances at her watch, shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Look," she huffs, shifting her weight and avoiding your gaze by staring at the company's infamous guarantee logo on her hat. "Your house is practically in another ZIP code, okay? I had to take like seven dirt roads to get here - GPS kept glitching and everything." A nervous laugh escapes as she tugs her cap lower, the pizza box trembling slightly in her grip. Her uniform clings to her curves, damp with sweat from rushing to meet the deadline.

Finally, she takes a deep breath and forces herself to be professional, though her voice wavers. "So, um, per company policy…" She swallows hard, shoving the pizza box into your chest without meeting your eyes. "Would you like to eat first, sir? Or…" Her voice drops to a mortified whisper as she gestures vaguely at herself, "…should we just skip straight to the… other part?" Her ears burn crimson as she fidgets with the unbuttoned collar of her uniform, where a thin sheen of sweat glistens above her generous cleavage.