Job offer

One month later.

For the first time in six year, I wasn't working.

It wasn't because I couldn't.

In fact, I had twenty job offers sitting in my inbox, each one waiting for nothing more than my signature.

CEO assistant positions, management consulting roles, executive planner jobs—every single one offering obscene salaries, cushy benefits, and enough prestige to keep my career at the top of its game.

And yet, not a single one of them interested me.

I stared at the neatly stacked contracts on my coffee table, their glossy company logos taunting me like a bad joke.

Polar Industries. Vexor Global. LuxCorp. A dozen other high-profile names that I had once thought were the pinnacle of success.

I could sign any of them right now.

And yet, the thought of going back to another rigid, color-coded, high-powered corporate life made me want to slam my head against the table.

I sighed, sinking deeper into the plush couch of my living room.

The space around me was minimalist, yet elegant—cool neutral tones, sleek furniture, nothing out of place.

The large floor-to-ceiling windows let in the early afternoon light, casting soft shadows across the hardwood floor. The air smelled faintly of coffee, despite the fact that I hadn't even had coffee yet.

I exhaled, rubbing my temples.

I needed food.

Something healthy. Something to distract me from the fact that I was, apparently, incapable of making a single decision about my own life.

Reaching for my phone, I scrolled through my usual meal delivery apps.

I had long given up on cooking—not because I couldn't, but because I valued efficiency over the unnecessary struggle of meal preparation.

Why spend an hour cooking when I could have a high-protein, nutritionally balanced meal delivered to me in twenty minutes?

After carefully selecting my usual order—grilled salmon with quinoa and vegetables—I placed my phone down and let out another long sigh.

It would take a while.

Might as well shower.

Fifteen minutes later, I stepped out of the bathroom, feeling infinitely better.

I had changed into a comfortable yet stylish black loungewear set—because even if I wasn't leaving my apartment, I refused to look unkempt.

My damp golden-brown hair cascaded down my back in soft waves, and I took a moment to brush through it before returning to the living room.

Just in time for the doorbell to ring.

Finally.

Opening the door, I was met with the familiar sight of the delivery guy, a young man with messy brown hair who had become a regular over the past few weeks.

"Hey," he greeted, handing me the neatly packed brown paper bag.

I nodded. "Thanks."

"You're, uh, still on a break?" he asked, eyeing my comfortable outfit with far too much curiosity.

I paused. "What?"

He scratched his head. "I mean—you, uh, look like you work in corporate. Like, high-level stuff. But you've been ordering food at home for weeks, so I just figured—"

I stared at him.

He coughed. "Right. I'll just—yeah. Have a nice day."

I closed the door.

What was it with people acting like I was incapable of taking time off?

Shaking my head, I moved back to the couch, setting my food down and unwrapping it with the same methodical precision I applied to most things in life.

The moment I took my first bite, my phone buzzed.

I sighed, already knowing what this was going to be.

A glance at the screen confirmed my suspicions—

Group Chat: Girl Power(A ridiculous name courtesy of Chloe.)

Chloe: Lyyyyydddiiiaaaaa

Chloe: I'm BORED.

Elena: That sounds like a you problem.

Chloe: IT IS. So FIX IT.

Lydia: How, exactly, is that my problem?

Chloe: BECAUSE I'M SUFFERING.

Elena: She just wants attention. Ignore her.

Chloe: RUDE.

Lydia: Why are you even texting? Shouldn't you be with Isabel?

Chloe: She's BUSY.

Elena: Translation: Isabel got tired of her nonsense and kicked her out for a few hours.

Chloe: …

Chloe: …Shut up.

Lydia: I'm eating. Leave me alone.

Chloe: WHAT are you eating?

Lydia: Food.

Chloe: That's so informative.

Elena: Let me guess. Something disgustingly healthy?

Lydia: Grilled salmon with quinoa and vegetables.

Chloe: Oh my GOD, you are SO BORING.

Elena: That sounds tragic.

Chloe: Lydia, you NEED a new job. You're turning into a cave creature.

Lydia: I have twenty job offers.

Chloe: AND YOU'RE STILL UNEMPLOYED?

Elena: Lydia, just pick one already.

Lydia: None of them interest me.

Chloe: YOU ARE IMPOSSIBLE.

Lydia: Thank you.

Elena: You know that wasn't a compliment, right?

Lydia: Wasn't it?

I smirked as Chloe spammed the chat with aggressive emojis, but before I could type another reply—

My phone buzzed again.

A new message.

From an unknown contact.

I frowned, clicking it open.

[NEW JOB OFFER]

Position: Personal Manager for Professional Football Player

Salary: $70,000 per month

Additional Perks: Exclusive travel, accommodation, and sponsorship bonuses

Contract Length: Flexible

My brows lifted.

That was… a ridiculous salary.

For a football player's manager?

I didn't even like football.

And yet…

That could exactly be what I need at the moment.