Job Hunt
927 Words
Four days.
That’s how long it took me to adjust to this new city—to its loud streets, its endless streams of faces, and its unique rhythm that seemed to demand both patience and speed. The days had been great, to be honest, mostly because Emily was there. With her, even the strangest corners of Veloria felt less intimidating, almost like home.
Louis, on the other hand, had disappeared. I hadn’t seen him since that evening. Emily mentioned that he traveled unexpectedly, something about his job. I didn’t bother to dig further. Whatever it was, the air always felt lighter whenever he wasn’t around.
Still, Emily had made things clear—painfully clear. I had only one month to stay in her apartment, thanks to her boyfriend’s “kindness.” That left me with no choice but to step into the real world of Veloria and hunt for a job. I understood her perfectly. Who would want a third wheel crashing at their place for too long? Even I wasn’t comfortable overstaying my welcome.
But one thing was certain: I wasn’t going back to nursing. That chapter of my life had closed. My dream was different now. I wanted to study business administration, work as an executive assistant, and—someday—own a company of my own. It sounded ambitious, maybe even foolish, but it was mine.
So, I sat down, edited my CV, highlighted every possible skill that could pass for an executive assistant’s profile, and on the fifth day I set out. I sent applications everywhere—emails, hand-deliveries, online portals. By some stroke of luck, two companies invited me for interviews. I walked into their gleaming offices with hope pounding in my chest… only to walk out rejected. Twice.
It didn’t take long to realize how Veloria worked: if you didn’t have money or connections, you were invisible. Even Emily tried to pull some strings for me, but doors remained tightly shut.
Two weeks slipped through my fingers like sand, filled with waiting and hoping, until I finally understood the bitter truth—nothing was coming. I needed to survive, which meant settling for anything that came my way.
That “anything” turned out to be Jasmine Coffee Shop.
At first, I thought it would be some dingy corner café with cracked cups and cheap decor. But Jasmine wasn’t ordinary—it was a piece of art. The exterior shimmered with glass panels, while inside, polished wood tables stood surrounded by comfortable chairs, the soft glow of golden lights bouncing across the room. It had a lively vibe, almost extravagant for a coffee shop, and the pay, though modest, was at least enough to keep me afloat.
What surprised me most wasn’t the look, but the people. My colleagues were warm, funny, and accommodating. In a city that often felt like it could swallow me whole, Jasmine felt like an island of ease. Within a week, I had made friends, shared laughter, and even started to enjoy the rhythm of brewing, serving, and delivering coffee.
Deliveries, especially.
There was one particular destination I secretly loved: a company just a stone’s throw from the shop. To me, it wasn’t just another office building—it was my dream company, the kind of place I had once imagined myself walking into as an employee, not a delivery girl. Every time I stepped into their reception area, balancing trays of steaming coffee, my eyes couldn’t help but roam. Professional attires. Sophisticated lives. The quiet hum of importance in the air. Each time, I found myself whispering a silent wish: if only I could work here, even for a day.
It was there I met Angela, one of their employees. She had been flustered, rushing for a meeting with her boss, struggling to finish a presentation draft. I offered to help. Within minutes, I polished her work, and she ran off with gratitude spilling from her lips. That small act etched a tiny space for me in her world, and we became casual friends.
But alongside those connections came whispers. Rumors. Stories that painted the figure who stood at the top of that empire like some dark legend.
Their boss.
Some said he was ruthless, merciless—firing employees for mistakes so small they were barely mistakes at all. Others described him as cold, a man incapable of smiling, handsome yet terrifying. The women whispered that he loathed them, as though their presence alone offended him. Strict. Aggressive. A man you never wanted to cross.
One thing was certain: the company paid handsomely, but the boss was the storm everyone feared.
I laughed off the rumors, but a small prayer still formed in the back of my mind every time I made a delivery there.
God, please don’t let me ever run into that wicked boss.
But fate has a way of playing tricks.
And as I pushed open the company’s glass doors one breezy morning, a shadow cut across the lobby floor into a door at the end—a tall figure stepping in , his stride purposeful, his presence commanding.
I froze. Coffee tray trembling in my hands.
For the first time, I realized my prayer might not be enough.oh no why is Howard smith here?
- Writer
