Job Hunting Hell

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• Beneath the Shades    Too Many Questions and Not Enough Answers

  MarinaBy the time I finished wiping down the counters, the kitchen smelled faintly like lemon and garlic — a scent that felt safe. Normal.Unlike everything else in this house.I plopped down on the little stool by the pantry door, pressing the back of my hand to my forehead like some kind of tragic heroine in a bad play.Because honestly?That’s exactly what this week was starting to feel like.“Marina, what have you gotten yourself into?” I muttered under my breath, eyes flicking toward the big, sleek fridge like it might answer me.Two men.Both dangerous.Both quiet in different ways.And neither of them acting like normal employers.I mean — who pays ten grand in one go just for cooking pasta and cutting vegetables?I shook my head, chewing my bottom lip.And then there was the other thing.Domenico.Always in those dark, expensive shades, even inside the house where the light was soft and golden.Who does that?Movie stars? Maybe.Men with secrets? Definitely.And the way he mo

• Beneath the Shades    Names and Tiny Buttons

  Balancing the heavy tray wasn’t exactly part of the job description.But, well… there hadn’t exactly been a description, had there?Just: cook the food. Get paid. Come back tomorrow.And now here I was, shuffling nervously down a marble hallway like some lost intern delivering takeout.The double doors to the office loomed ahead—tall, dark, and terrifying.I paused, trying to will my heart to calm down.It didn’t.Okay, Marina. You can do this.It’s just lunch. For two very intense men. Who may or may not be criminals. No big deal!I knocked once—too softly.No answer.I knocked again—louder this time—and the door creaked open just a little, enough for me to peer inside.They were both there.The one with the dark glasses—seated behind the massive desk—and the other one, standing off to the side, his phone in one hand, a scowl on his face like it was permanently carved there.Both of them turned toward me at the same time.It was… unnerving.Like two predators suddenly noticing a rabb

• Beneath the Shades    Blood and Diamonds

  DomenicoThe office smelled faintly of leather and old cigars, even though no one had smoked in here for years.I sat behind the massive desk, fingers drumming against the oak surface, listening as Alessandro rattled off the numbers."Thirty-two crates moved through Athens last month. Two went dark."His voice was clipped. Efficient."Either stolen or intercepted."I leaned back in the chair, sightless eyes focused on the patterns behind my lids.The world was dark, yes. But in here? In my mind?Everything was sharp."Athens is your side," I murmured. "Fix it.""Already sent men to check. But-"His tone shifted, cold as steel."-our next shipment is bigger. And Lenkov's crew is sniffing around again."Lenkov. That bastard.Always hungry. Always stupid enough to think he could bite at our heels.I let out a slow breath, fingers curling into a fist."We move before he does," I said. "Set the heist for Antwerp. Hit the De Vries vaults before they even know we're in the city."Alessandro'

• Beneath the Shades    Breakfast with the Bosses

  MarinaI finish cooking with my heart still somewhere up near my ears.The eggs are fluffy, the veggies are perfectly maybe too perfectly diced, and the pancakes are golden like I actually know what I’m doing.But then I hit a wall.Because — uh — how exactly am I supposed to let them know that breakfast is ready?There’s no little bell to ring. No staff swarming around.Just me, standing in a kitchen that costs more than my entire neighborhood, with a stack of pancakes and zero clue what comes next.I glance around like the walls might answer me.They don’t.Just me and my overcooked anxiety.“Do I…? Do I just…?” I mutter to myself, wiping my hands on a towel. “Yell? Knock? Send a smoke signal?”But before I can spiral into full-on panic, I hear it.Footsteps.Two sets.And then they appear.Both of them.voice — walks in first.His steps are… different.Measured. Like he’s counting them.His hand grazes the back of a chair as he passes, subtle but there. Like he’s making sure of his

• Beneath the Shades    Morning Shift with Mister Mysterious

  MarinaI’m not gonna lie — I barely slept.Every time I closed my eyes, I saw dollar signs and dark suits and that folder snapping shut like a mousetrap.But here I am.7:58 AM. Standing in front of that mansion again like some culinary tribute to the mafia gods.The same driver gives me the same silent nod when I get in.The same gates swallow us whole.And my stomach does this fun little somersault as I clutch my cheap tote bag like it’s a lucky charm.What am I even doing?But it’s too late to back out now.Because $10,000 says I’m showing up.And apparently, when scary rich people say “8AM,” they mean 8AM.So when I’m dropped off at the side entrance again, I make a beeline for the kitchen — shoes squeaking, heart hammering, and already mentally planning breakfast.Eggs. Pancakes. Nothing fancy. Keep it safe, Marina. Keep it simple—I freeze halfway through the door.Because he’s there.The man from the office.The one in the shades.Mister too-perfect face. Mister silent authorit

• Beneath the Shades    Upstairs, Where the Air Gets Thin

  MarinaBy the time I finish plating, my nerves are fried.I went with something simple — lemon herb pasta with grilled chicken — because simple is safe, right? Simple is honest. And also, simple doesn’t require me to accidentally blow up the spaceship kitchen.The voice from the speaker crackles back to life just as I’m wiping down the counter.“Bring the tray upstairs. Second floor. East wing. The office.”No please. No thank you. Just a command.Because apparently, in this place, manners are optional.I balance the heavy tray in my hands, trying to ignore the way my palms are sweaty. My shoes squeak on the marble again as I follow the long, silent hallways, feeling like I’ve wandered into a fancy hotel where I absolutely don’t belong.The stairs curve up, wide and dramatic, and by the time I reach the landing, I’m breathless in a way that has nothing to do with the climb.Office. East wing. Right.My heart thuds as I count doors — one, two, three — and then stop at a pair of tall, d