Baby’s First Day

{ Abraham Kent }

So... yes, I fell from grace, all the way down to Rock Bottom City, let's get that out of the way real quick. I'm a sob-story, a has-been and a current-loser.

But just one year ago, my life was perfect.

I was living every man's dream. I had it all: the fame, the money and the glory. I felt powerful.

I was playing for the Vancouver Seagulls, one of the best teams in the country. In the world, to be honest. I got paid millions of dollars to play the sport I love, surrounded by guys that I considered my brothers.

I was getting invited to red carpets, fundraises, dinners with celebrities and I had models texting ME first. I was somebody.

Then, it happened.

I was riding my Ducati, flying down the highway while also flying on coke. I thought I was invincible. Untouchable.

Next thing I remember, I woke up in a hospital bed with my left leg, left shoulder and left arm broken. The doctors said the injuries weren't career-ending, that I'd probably recover enough to play again. But 'probably' isn't good enough for the NHL, especially when the accident created such a terrible scandal for them. Me being on drugs during said accident was the cherry on the cake of shit.

They put me on leave, basically. Unpaid. And since my injury happened off the ice, they didn't feel the need to help me out financially. At all.

Now they're just waiting for their medical team to dictate my sentence, to let me go completely or let me in the team again. Either way, I'm not getting any fucking money unless I'm actually playing.

You'd think I'd be fine, right? I was a millionaire for many years. But no, I'm also a very stupid man.

As soon as any money touched my hands, I spent it all. Over the seven years I played on the league, I travelled all around the world with my friends or my mom—luxury travel only—and I bought everything I could get my hands on: an apartment, a mansion for my mom, sports cars, that damn Ducati and a lot of designer stuff I never even wore. Not to mention the immense amount of random, useless shit I bought just because I could.

For seven years, I spoiled myself and my mother rotten. I don’t regret it, I’m just angry at myself for being so stupid about it.

Because I made a lot of money… but I also didn’t invest for shit and I spent it all recklessly like the checks would never stop.

Then they fucking stopped.

For the past year, I've been selling everything I can and it's still not enough to sustain the lifestyle I got used to. Not even close, not even a little bit.

The medical bills are still stacking and there's no way to see the end of it, not when I still need physical therapy once a week, with the best PT I could find. On top of paying for rent, food and other shit.

So, that's what led me here, to the man I am today. A man that desperately needs a job.

When I told my coach I was thinking about starting an OnlyFans or turning into a male prostitute, he slapped the shit out of me. Really, he almost knocks me out. Then he told my mom what I had just said and instructed her to slap me too. She did, less hard but just as angry.

And then, Coach called one of his oldest—and richest—friends and asked for a favor: to give me a job.

I was excited, right until I heard who that friend was: the CEO of Bloom Beauty. A fucking makeup brand.

This job is the last thing I want, but I have to do it.

I need the fucking money.

➿➿➿➿

My first official day at Bloom Beauty began with me making a fool of myself with the woman in charge. My new boss. Anastasia Blomqvist, the daughter of the CEO.

I don’t know why it took me so long to figure out who she was, but I had seen a bunch of HR people already and I was confused.

And I guess it also caught me off guard to come inside that fancy office and see her there.

She looks like an over-worked university student. Or maybe even a high school student, to be honest.

She's short and has a severe baby-face, with round high cheekbones and wide blue eyes that are maybe a little too big for her face. She was wearing a UBC hoodie, for fucks' sake, with jeans and dirty sneakers. That's not how a boss looks in my head and I swear I almost asked where her mom is.

But no. SHE is the boss.

And I only realized why when she started talking and trying to make me understand what one does in a marketing department. She sounds smart and confident, like she's been here for many years.

"Time to meet the rest of the team," she says once she’s done explaining and stands up, motioning me with her head. I stand up too and just look down as she walks in front of me.

The girl's head only reaches my pecs. And she's also one year younger than me. She's totally not what a boss looks like, but I keep my mouth shut and follow her outside.

We walk into the open office area filled with plants, colorful sticky notes and people who look like they're on a set for an office show. All of them are dressed perfectly, even the oldest ones. They're all very flashy and it makes me wonder why the boss looks so... unkempt.

I guess when your dad is the CEO and richer than ninety percent of the population, you can afford to not give a shit.

Anastasia introduces me to everyone here, then she takes me to the desks closer to the big windows looking out to the city. That’s where I’m going to spend the next few months, I guess. It’s not that bad.

"This is going to be your direct team. The project management team," Anastasia says when we reach the last three people in here. They stand up to greet me.

The first guy is Tyler. He has a sharp jaw and he’s the only person here wearing an actual full suit. Then there’s Logan, whose fingers are all covered in rings and is wearing eyeliner. And then there’s Savannah… my new favorite coworker. She’s hot as hell. Long black hair, a banging body and she’s wearing a short skirt with dark thighs underneath. I really like that.

So, I guess this is not that bad, after all. I can definitely spend a few months here.