CHP 1

Carmen's POV

“Not again!" I groaned, burying my head in my palms. 

This morning, some people woke up to the smell of fresh coffee but me, I woke up to the ping of another rejection email.

Lying on my couch still in my pajamas, I was glaring at my laptop screen like if I stared hard enough, the words would magically rearrange themselves into Congratulations, you’re hired.

Spoiler, they didn’t.

“We appreciate your interest in the Marketing Coordinator position, but…” I filtered off, slamming my laptop shut. 

There was always a but in every email and now it was the word I detested the most. 

“I should apply for a Guinness world record. Six rejections in a row in just one month.” 

Snapping my head backwards, I leaned back, allowing my head to flop over the arm of the couch. 

I was staring at my ceiling as my bank account balance whispered ugly things in my ear. My rent was due in two weeks, and apparently I was unemployable.

I was going to let out an ear splitting scream when the front door burst open. I didn't have to look at the door before I knew it was Millie, my best friend and part time roommate like she called herself.

“You look like roadkill,” she says cheerfully, tossing her bag into the armchair before plopping on it.

Rolling my eyes, I lifted one finger in a lazy salute. “I appreciate the support.”

“No, really,” she says, searching her bag. “You know, the good thing is, I’m here to save you.”

“Is it with cash?” My eyes lit up as I leaned forward. 

“Something better than cash.” She smacked her lips only to shove a glossy printed ad into my face.

PERSONAL MANAGER WANTED – HIGH PROFILE CLIENT – COMPETITIVE PAY — Those were the highlighted words on the advert.

Squinting, I asked, “What is this?”

“Your ticket out of financial misery,” she chirped, plopping down next to me.

Scanning through the advert, I was going to say something when my eyes fell on the name, “Chase Maddox?” I gasped, shifting my gaze to her. 

Millie was grinning like she had been waiting for me to notice.

Chase Maddox wasn't just a random figure. He was the star forward of the Seattle Storm and NHL golden boy. 

He was known as the Ice King.

Least I forget, he was so beautiful that even the men admired him. His squared jaw could probably break a bottle and his cheekbones were so sharp that they were supposed to come with a warning label.

The one feature that sets gossip columns ablaze was his different colors of eyes; he had heterochromia. 

Every time a sports magazine does a close up, highlighting his amber and ocean blue eyes, social media loses its mind.

But his personality was a whole different story.

He was a perfectionist, short tempered and impossible to work with. Rumor has it he had employed a lot of personal managers more than I had celebrated my birthdays.

Rolling my eyes, I shoved the ad aside, “No, thanks.”

Millie snatched it out of my hand before it could even land on the coffee table. “Excuse me, did you see the salary?”

With pursed lips, I glanced at the number again. 

My stiff jaw almost unhinged at the large sum attached to the job.

Gulping, I mumbled, “This… this is three times what I’ve made in the last three years.”

“Exactly.” She shoved it at me again. “You would be insane not to apply.”

“And you would be insane to think I would be able to survive more than five minutes with him.” I retorted, rolling my eyes.

Crossing her hands on her chest, Millie groaned, “Carmen come on, you handled that lunatic boss at the PR firm for two years without murdering him. You’re practically a saint.”

“That’s simply because he doesn’t have the body of an Olympic god and an ego which equates to the size of Texas,” I counter.

“So you're finally admitting Maddox has the body of an Olympic god.” She grinned, nudging my side but I kept a straight face.

“That’s not the point.”

Feigning not to understand the point I was trying to make, Millie intertwined her hand with mine. 

“Here’s the deal, if you apply and get called in for an interview, you owe me…” She darted her eyes around, clearly searching for the most outrageous item she could think of. 

Snapping her fingers, she mouthed, “A new leather jacket.”

“You already have a leather jacket.”

“A new one,” she replied with a broad grin.

“And if I don’t get called in?”

“Then I will buy you sushi.”

“So basically, either way, you win.” I huffed while she nodded with a grin. 

“Yep.” She mouthed, tapping my laptop. “Now open your laptop.”

“I haven’t even had coffee yet.”

“Apply now, caffeine later.” She was relentless, inching closer like she was going to apply on my behalf. 

“You’re impossible.” I sighed, pulling my laptop close.

“Thank you.” She laughed while I rolled my eyes in anger. 

The application itself was absurd. 

The background checks, work history and personality questionnaires were as if they were trying to trick you into revealing if you’re secretly a serial killer. 

When I was done, I slammed the laptop shut. “There, are you happy now?”

Throwing her hands into the air with a beam, she said, “Ecstatic. Now, about that leather jacket…”

Before she could complete her words, I threw a pillow at her head.

That night, sleep didn’t come easy. It wasn't because I was nervous, I actually had zero expectations that I would be among the shortlisted candidates. 

“If Chase Maddox’s team even glance at my application, I’ll eat my favorite sneakers.” I huffed.

“Ugh!" I groaned as my brain won’t shut up. 

It keeps replaying Millie’s smug grin, the way the salary figure burned itself into my retinas, and the thought of standing in the same room as the Ice King himself.

To keep myself busy, I began to scroll through my phone. Curious, I decided to look more indepthly into Chase. 

Articles about him were endless, game highlights, heated interviews. 

Paparazzi shots of him striding out of airports in tailored suits, looking like he was walking off the cover of GQ flooded my screen.

I caught myself zooming in on a photo where one amber eye and one ice blue eye was staring straight into the camera. 

“Cocky,” I muttered, dropping my phone on the pillow beside me. “Cocky and cold. No, thanks.”

Just when I was going to drift into sleep, I was jolted awake by my phone buzzing violently against the nightstand.

Groggy, I swipe to answer. “Hello?”

“Good evening. This is Valerie Craig, CEO of Maddox Management Agency. I wanted to personally reach out and let you know we’d like to invite you to an interview… tomorrow morning, if you’re available.”

My brain, still fogged from lack of sleep, took three seconds to process her words. 

“An… interview?” I repeated.

“Yes,” she affirmed. “For the personal manager position for Mr. Chase Maddox. Can I confirm your availability?”