Chapter 5: Out of Options

[KRISTEN]

"Hey, Kristen," my best friend's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. She leaned in, genuine concern in her eyes. "Are you alright? What's the matter?"

I took a deep sigh, meeting her gaze before responding, "Well." I hesitated, wondering if it was right to burden her with my thoughts.

"Come on, tell me."

"I was pondering if I should still take the job I applied to," I admitted with a hint of uncertainty.

"Well, that is for you to decide once you're officially hired."

"I am," I informed her.

"Woah, wait! You're hired?" Her excitement almost filled the room. "This calls for a celebration, my dear," she exclaimed, rising and heading towards the kitchen in search of something to drink.

A few minutes later, she came back, knocking on my door, which initially startled me. It turned out she had brought good news – not from the company, but directly from their CEO. Initially skeptical, I received an email notification, followed by another email specifying that I should commence work tomorrow, 30 minutes before noon.

"How boring!" She complained as she sat across from me, placing two cans of soda on the table. "You didn't tell me there's no alcohol here," she said, playfully rolling her eyes.

Her expression made me chuckle. "You know I would never drink alcohol again."

"Yeah, but at least for me?" She pouted. "You should have it stored somewhere in case I come by."

"But you always come by," I responded, and we shared a laugh.

We continued our conversation into the late hours before finally heading to bed. It was already 1 am, and my best friend was drifting off to sleep.

"So, what are you going to do now?" She asked.

"I don't know, Lynn," I responded, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. My best friend hugged me with her eyes closed.

"Maybe I would just turn the offer down and start again," I mused, but I received no response, realizing she had already fallen asleep.

The next morning arrived, and Lynn was already dressed for work when I woke up. She stood in the kitchen, finalizing breakfast.

"Kristen, good morning. You have to eat now so you'll have all the energy in the world for your day."

"I don't need energy, though," I replied lazily. "Anyway, how about you? Aren't you going to have breakfast with me?"

She smiled, placing a cup of coffee in front of me. "I've already had mine. Look," she said, pointing at the wall clock, "Time for me to leave."

She gave me a kiss on my forehead. "Bye, dear."

I nodded and replied, "Take care."

A few minutes after savoring the meal she had prepared, I reached for my laptop, delving into a search for additional art galleries where I could potentially find employment. Tinkering with my resume, I submitted various applications, hoping for at least one positive response among the multitude of over twenty art galleries currently seeking candidates.

As I awaited any replies, my mind couldn't shake off thoughts of the rejection email I had sent to Everhart Creations, specifically to Marcus Everhart. It nagged at me that I hadn't received any acknowledgment or inquiry from him, not even a curiosity about why I declined the offer despite being the first to express interest. Yet, realistically, I pondered, should I expect a CEO to personally respond? There are likely individuals who are both more interested and more qualified for the job.

Needing to clear my thoughts, I decided to take a walk. Upon returning, my phone inundated me with email notifications, initially dismissed as potential spam. Retrieving my laptop, I discovered that all the emails were, in fact, rejection notices from the galleries I had recently applied to.

"This is unbelievable," I muttered, reading emails explaining they had already filled positions or neglected to remove job postings despite recent applications.

While the situation seemed incredulous, I refrained from complaining. Choosing to call it a day and seek relaxation elsewhere, just as I was about to shut down my laptop, an email from Marcus Everhart caught my attention.

"Are you sure about declining this position? You still have time to decide. Let me know," the email read.

"What a coincidence. How impeccable is his timing? Replying to my rejection just now after receiving a slew of rejections," I remarked to myself.

With limited time for contemplation, as my work was scheduled for 11:30 am, and the clock nearing 10 o'clock, I hesitated for a few minutes. Ultimately, the idea of embarking on a new life, independent of my parents' assistance, compelled me to seize the opportunity.

As for Marcus, I reminded myself that he was my boss, and any other considerations were irrelevant. Our professional relationship did not warrant personal speculation, and I doubted he would harbor any interest in someone like me, just as I had no such thoughts towards him.

Dressed in a comfortable ensemble of beige wide pants paired with a semi-fitted black polo, I navigated my way to the art gallery, opting for my scooter to gracefully weave through the streets, hoping to sidestep any potential encounters with erratic drivers.

Upon reaching the gallery, my punctuality led me straight to Marcus's office, as directed by his secretary.

"Ms. Sterling. Glad you're here," he uttered. "On time," he added.

Uncertain about the tone behind his words, I internally debated whether to interpret them positively or potentially be offended. However, keeping in mind his role as my boss, I endeavored to maintain composure.

"Good morning, Sir," I greeted, offering a confident smile.

In response, he nodded and gracefully rose from his office chair. "Have a seat," he said, gesturing towards a comfortable couch.

Positioning myself on the left side, he took his place in the center, adhering to the unspoken hierarchy.

"I called you to discuss the changes to your job title and description," he informed me.

"Changes? You mean, sir, that I won't be an event coordinator?" I asked, my tone reflecting a blend of confusion and curiosity.

"Yes, you got it right," he responded.

Initially expecting a more confrontational response due to my rejection email, I found myself in a state of uncertainty. Marcus didn't press for reasons or express any visible disappointment, leaving me in a contemplative state.

"So, what will the changes be?" I inquired, the formality marked by a slight pause before the 'sir.'

"You'll be my personal assistant and will work directly under me," he declared