Phoebe heard her name called, immediately stood up, and ran over to her supervisor.
The moment she reached her supervisor, the very design drafts she had submitted were thrown in her face. "What the hell is this crap you've drawn? With this level of skill, you expect to be made permanent? Let me tell you: no way!"
The thrown drafts felt like blades against her skin, leaving her face stinging as if it had been scraped. She lowered her head and said nothing.
But the woman, acting as if she were going through menopause, only grew angrier at Phoebe's silence.
"Don't you think for a second I'm scared of you just because you have connections upstairs! Let me make this clear: you're *my* intern, and you'll do as I say. If you can't draw and you keep trying to pass off this crap as a design, you can get the hell out, the sooner the better!"
