4 - Job Hunting

Araceli's Pov

Back in my cramped apartment, I quickly prepared instant noodles as my tummy was void of food. I got comfortable on the couch trying to watch another episode of Love******, but I couldn't as my thought kept drifting to the stranger at the club from last week. I couldn't shake off his gaze. Who was he? What did he doing in a club in the slum? His presence had fueled the ease of my performance, turning my steps into a desperate plea to have his eyes on me only and when he came up on stage, I felt like he had some sort of control over me. I have encountered lots of men while dancing but there's something intriguing about this Mr stranger. He had awakened senses in me that I didn't even know existed. I almost kissed him.

I returned the empty plate to the kitchen, dropping it in the sink as I was too tired to wash the dish. I quickly showered, wore an oversized, faded polo, climbed onto my bed and I was out the minute my head touched the pillow.

My phone rang, jolting me awake from my sleep. I squnited my eyes at the phone, trying to ignore the brightness of the device. With sleepy eyes, I searched for the caller's ID, It was the doctor. All traces of sleep immediately vanished from my eyes and I clicked the green icon on the screen and held the phone to my ear.

"Araceli, how are you?"

"Good morning doctor, I'm fine, what's going on?" I asked wanting to get down to business. Doctor Michael, is the head doctor in charge of my mother's treatment and he only calls when something isn't going as planned. My stomach tightened as I waited for his reply. I heard him take in a deep breathe before he spoke,

"Araceli, your mother isn't doing well."

"What do you mean, the last time I left, she looked okay."

"She was making progress Araceli, but, she is in a bad shape as I speak to you right now."

"What do you suggest we do?" Another pause and another sharp intake of breathe before he spoke,

"Araceli, you have done enough, I suggest we take her off the life support machine."

WHAT

"Hell no, there's no way I'm killing my mother."

"You are not killing her Araceli, you have done more than any twenty old year can, take a break and focus on your life, go live life a little."

"I am not doing that doctor Michael, and you cannot take her off the machine without my consent, else I will sue you and your establishment." Angry tears streamed down my face as I spoke, my emotions were all over the place, I wasn't ready to let go of my mother yet.

"We need money for her next round of treatment which is due in a week, this will be our best shot at any chance of survival she has left." his voice sounded grave.

My eyes found the calendar on my bedside table, and sure enough, I had the date circled in a blue marker.

My mother's treatment, the only hope left, required a staggering sum that I couldn't afford. I hung up, the harsh reality crashing down like the curtains on a failed performance.

Job hunting wasn't my forte. My resume, adorned with years of ballet and theater, lacked the glint of corporate experience.

I freshened up, and got dressed in a black pants, white shirt and a black blazer, nothing elegant but it will have to do for now.

After a long morning of having unsuccessful interviews because of my incompetent resume, I trudged on, not wanting to quit now. I may not have a certificate from any University, but I'm sure as hell smart.

I stood before a sleek high-rise building, the tall glass building looked like it was mocking me. 'Monolith Cooperations Inc' was boadly emblazoned on the glass at the top of the company. It's the rave of social media, with it's CEO claiming to be anonymous. I let out a snort at that. I would be a fool to apply for this organization, as it's rated top in the city but when have I never been a fool.

I was allowed in by the guards when I told them I was here for a job interview. My corporate outfit also made things easy.

I stopped at the receiptionist desk

"Hi, I'm here for an interview, can.."

"You are late for the interview." The receptionist, a woman with a perfectly sculpted face and a nametag that read 'Valerie,' looked me up and down with irritation clear on her face.

I suddenly felt nervous, I didn't know the company had interviews scheduled for today but I wasn't about to tell her that. I felt my confidence plummet with every passing seconds. "Y-yes?"

Valerie raised an eyebrow. "I don't want to waste my time with you, if you are incompetent enough to not stick to a schedule, I'm sure you wouldn't meet the boss's criteria. Do take a seat with the other ladies and wait your turn." She pointed a coffin shaped manicured nails in the direction of where three other ladies sat.

She went back to typing on her laptop while I made my way towards the ladies, trying my best to ignore the fact that all three women are impeccably dressed and exuding an air of quiet confidence, waiting patiently in the plush chairs. A suffocating sense of inadequacy threatened to overwhelm me but I pushed it down, my aim for being here stronger than how I felt.

The wait felt like an eternity. Finally, a door opened, and the woman strode out. "Next please." The lady called for the fourth time and it was my turn. I stood to my feet, straighting invisible wrinkles with my palm. My sweaty palm.

Hesitantly, I entered the opulent office. Fate, it seemed, had a peculiar sense of humor and was mocking me because sitting on a big luxurious black chair behind a massive mahogany desk is the man from the club. On the desk plaque, 'Zayn Vanderbilt, CEO of Monolith Enterprises Inc', was written. He is the CEO of this company, Fu*k me.

His face was more prominent and dare I say he was even more imposing in a sharp grey suit that screamed luxury, his sharp jawline and piercing blue eyes holding an air of authority that left no room for argument. The black Rolex on his left wrist definitely didn't go unnoticed. All these captivated my attention.

"Miss are you here for an interview or you want to keep staring at my me?" I snapped back to reality, he looked impatient and bored.

"I'm sorry Sir." He stretched his hand towards me and I handed my file to him. He fleeked through the document, his eyebrows furrowed in a frown.

"Do I look like a joke to you?" As he yelled, his voice reverberated through the room. But I was undaunted. He pushed the file towards the edge of his table. "Am I supposed to hand over a job to you based off of this documents here?"

Despite the tone of his voice, I refused to be intimidated, he can yell all he wants but I'm not one to back down. He definitely didn't sound like the man who had asked for permission to hold my waist at the club. Guess he doesn't mix business with pleasure.

Unfazed, I met his gaze with unyielding determination. "I'm very sorry, sir. I apologize for not meeting your standards, but I can assure you that I am more than capable. There's no one better suited for this job than me."

I finished not knowing what position I was fighting for yet.

Without a word, he glanced through the open book on his desk, his gaze ever returning to mine but I refused to back down, I am in need of money and this job is my ticket to having that and I would not stop until I have what I wanted.

"What's your name?"

"Araceli Sir." He raised his eyebrows at me

"Araceli Willson."

His eyes danced on the book again

"I can't find your name here, when was you interview slated for?"

I chewed the inside of my lips before replying

"I wasn't aware there's an interview going on here, I just walked in."

An expression crossed his face for a second but it was gone before I could comprehend it.

"So not only are you not qualified for this job, you also don't have an appointment with me. Do you know what position you are applying for?"

"No sir." I answered honestly.

He ran his hand through his thick black hair, his blue eyes glued to my brown ones.

I swallowed, my voice strong and audible "I need this job Mr Zayn, and I promise not to disappoint." My mind went blank as I had nothing else to say.

"Your lack of qualification makes handing this job to you an impossible fit, I suggest that you attempt other companies as I have a set standard for my employees and you are way below that." His voice was cold and almost held cruelty.

Feeling, tongue-tied and discouraged, I walked out of the office without bothering to pick the document on the table.

When I finally left the building, my head hung low, the rejection echoing in my ears like a closing curtain. Stepping out onto the bustling street, the city lights blurred as I pushed my tears.

Back in my apartment, I collapsed onto my bed, tears stinging my eyes. The stark reality of my situation washed over me, leaving me feeling utterly defeated. As I buried my face into the pillow, my tears stained the sheets, carrying with them the weight of a broken dream and the bitter taste of poverty.

I only had to wallow in my self-pity session for an hour because my phone dinged as a notification, an email, popped on the screen.

"Be in my office at 8:00am on Monday morning."

WHAT.