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Yet, I'm feeling more hopeless than I've ever felt in my entire life. My last paycheck was barely enough to cover the rent. Next month's rent is due next week, so that gives me less than seven days to find another job. And even then, I'll somehow have to beg my landlord to let me be late in paying it because I'll have to wait until I get my first check—and that's even if I can find a job to begin with. Jobs are scarce enough in the city. I was lucky to get that one—and look at how I've fucked it all up.
My brows furrow as I consider the strange occurrences of the past three days. I still don't understand how none of my alarms went off. I know I set them. IknowI did.
But then I think back to that night that I don't remember coming home and how I woke up with my bra on and my clothes placed where I don't usually place them, and doubts creep into my mind.
Do I seriously have something wrong with me that's causing me to lose my memory? Am I going crazy? Did I just mistakenly think I set my alarms? The thought is frightening.
"What's wrong, miss?" I jump, startled at the voice.
I look up to see a kind-looking older gentleman staring down at me. His silver hair is perfectly styled, and he's wearing an expensive-looking suit.
I sniff and try to wipe my tears away, my cheeks flushing at being caught sitting in the park crying like a five-year-old who dropped her lollipop. I must look ridiculous.
The man pulls the handkerchief from his breast pocket and offers it to me as he sits on the bench next to me.
I choke out a laugh at the gesture. I didn't even know men still carried around handkerchiefs nowadays, much less offered them to damsels in distress—and that's surely what I must look like to this kind gentlemen.
"Thank you," I mumble as I accept his handkerchief and begin dabbing at my face with it.
He nods sympathetically and makes a humming sound. "Now then, do you want to talk about what all these tears are about?"
I glance over at him and feel my cheeks flushing deeper. "It's nothing," I tell him before looking away. I've never shared my problems with anyone else, and why ruin this kind man's day by casting all my problems on him?
"Come now, it can't be nothing to have you so distressed that you're sitting here with tears rolling down your cheeks looking like your life is over," he prompts me gently.
I glance over at him and let out a sigh. Oh, what the hell? My world is falling apart anyway. Who cares if I embarrass myself further?
"I lost my job today," I tell him grimly.
He just blinks at me like he doesn't understand why that would warrant such tears. Well, of course he wouldn't understand with his expensive suit and perfect hair. I, on the other hand, have an unwashed rat's nest on top of my head, and I look down and see a coffee stain on my white blouse, and that makes fresh tears well up in my eyes.
"Did you love your job?" he asks me curiously.
I pause. "Well, I wouldn't say that, but it was a job, and it paid my bills, and I don't know what I'm going to do now."
I frown when a tiny smile pulls at the corner of his lips. My back stiffens. Is he taking pleasure in my plight? Maybe I completely misjudged him after all. He's not a kind old gentleman. He's an asshole.
As if he can read my thoughts, he's quick to assure me, "Oh, don't think I delight in your misfortune. I'm merely marveling at how perfect all this is."
I look at him quizzically and a little apprehensively. How is any of this perfect? Maybe this guy is off his rocker.
"You see, my employer is looking for a new assistant," he explains.
My breath catches, and I sit up straighter as I sniff and look over at him hopefully. If he's going where I think he is with this, he might have just solved all my problems. Maybe things are finally starting to look up and go my way.
"Assistant?" I repeat.
He nods. "Yes, and I just so happen to be the hiring manager." There's a twinkle in his eyes now. "So, if you're willing, miss?" he raises his eyebrow in question, and I rush to supply him with my name.
"Martin," I say as I wipe hastily at my eyes and sniff again. "Elena Martin."
He nods. "Miss Martin, if you're interested, I can offer you the position."
"Are you serious?" I ask him with wide eyes. This man sees me crying in the park and just offers me a job out of the blue? How the hell does something like this even happen? It seems much too good to be true.
"Quite," he assures me.
"You don't need a resume or application or—" I ask him, but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand.
