Three days after the eviction notice, Ava had applied to forty-seven jobs.
She knew the exact number because she'd started keeping a spreadsheet, color-coding rejections in shades of red that reminded her uncomfortably of their landlord's preferred stationary. Bright red for immediate "no." Maroon for "we'll keep your resume on file" (translation: no, but politely). Crimson for the places that didn't even bother to respond.
The spreadsheet was mostly red.
"You're going to burn a hole in that laptop screen," Talia said, looking up from her stack of student artwork. She was grading at the kitchen table, their tiny space transformed into a makeshift classroom with crayons and construction paper scattered across every surface.
"I'm being thorough." Ava didn't look up from the job board she was scrolling through. She'd burned through CareerBuilder, LinkedIn, and Glassdoor — even dipped into Craigslist and shady forums like 'QuickHire,' which probably sold user data for sport.
She was past caring.
"When's the last time you ate something?" Talia asked.
"I had coffee."
"Coffee isn't food."
"It is if you can't afford food."
Talia's marker stopped moving across the paper she was grading. "Ava-"
"I'm fine." Ava clicked refresh on the job board for the hundredth time that morning. "Just focused."
The same listings populated the screen. Customer service representative - rejected. Data entry clerk - rejected. Part-time retail associate - rejected. She'd memorized them all, these digital breadcrumbs leading nowhere.
Her phone buzzed. Text from unknown number.
Thank you for your interest in the cashier position at Murphy's Deli. We've decided to move forward with other candidates. Best of luck in your job search!
Rejection number forty-eight. She updated her spreadsheet with mechanical precision.
"Maybe it's time to expand the search radius," Talia suggested gently. "Look outside Chicago?"
"With what money? I can't afford to move, and I can't afford to commute two hours each way." Ava's voice was flat, worn thin by three days of systematic rejection. "Besides, everywhere else is just as bad. At least here I know which bridges are warmest to sleep under."
"Don't joke about that."
"Who's joking?"
They fell into silence, broken only by the scratch of Talia's marker and the quiet hum of Ava's laptop. Outside, the world continued its relentless march toward the holidays. Christmas lights blinked in windows across the street, cheerful and oblivious to the financial disasters unfolding behind closed doors.
Ava was about to close the laptop when a new posting appeared.
**Executive Assistant - Cross Industries**
_Chicago, IL - $50,000/year + benefits_
Her cursor hovered over the link. Fifty thousand. That was more than she'd made in the last two years combined. Enough to pay off their debt, catch up on rent, maybe even save a little for emergencies.
Too good to be true, in other words.
Her finger hesitated. Fifty thousand. She clicked anyway.
The job description was sparse, almost aggressively minimal:
Cross Industries seeks dedicated executive assistant for CEO. Discretion required. Long hours expected. Previous experience preferred but not required for exceptional candidates. Competitive salary and benefits package. Male candidates only.
There it was. The catch that made the impossible salary make sense.
"Male candidates only," she muttered.
"What?" Talia looked up.
"This job posting. Fifty thousand a year, full benefits, but they only want men." Ava turned the laptop so Talia could see the screen.
Talia frowned, reading over the sparse description. "Cross Industries... why does that sound familiar?"
"Probably because they own half of downtown." Ava had googled the company while Talia read. "Real estate development, mostly. Some tech investments. The CEO is..." She clicked through to the company website, looking for leadership information.
And there he was.
Damon Cross. Professional headshot against a sterile white background, but even corporate photography couldn't diminish the impact of that face. Sharp cheekbones, steel-gray eyes that seemed to look directly through the camera lens, dark hair perfectly styled. He wore a charcoal suit like armor and a gaze sharp enough to cut glass.
He was beautiful in the way that dangerous things often were.
"He looks like he eats assistants for breakfast," Talia observed.
"Probably why he can't keep them." Ava scrolled through the search results. "Look at this - 'Cross Industries CEO Seeks Fourth Assistant This Year.' 'Damon Cross: The Hiring and Firing Machine.' 'What It's Really Like to Work for Chicago's Coldest Boss.'"
She clicked on the last article, a brutal exposé from a disgruntled former employee.
"He expects perfection from day one. No training period, no adjustment time. You either keep up or you're gone. I lasted three weeks, which was apparently above average. The man has no patience for human weakness and no interest in treating his staff like actual people. Save yourself the humiliation and look elsewhere."
"Charming," Talia said dryly.
Ava kept reading. More articles, more horror stories. Damon Cross had built his company from nothing in less than a decade, turning a small construction firm into a multi-billion dollar empire. He was ruthless, brilliant, and apparently impossible to work for.
He was also thirty-one years old and married to a woman who looked like she'd stepped off the cover of Vogue.
"Why only male assistants?" Talia asked, peering at the screen.
"Who knows? Maybe he thinks women are too emotional for high-pressure jobs." Ava closed the laptop with more force than necessary. "Doesn't matter. I'm not a man, so I'm not qualified."
"Good. You don't want to work for someone like that anyway."
But Ava was already thinking. Fifty thousand dollars. Benefits. A chance to prove she wasn't completely useless. The job description said "previous experience preferred but not required for exceptional candidates." What if she could convince them she was exceptional?
What if she could convince them she was male?
The thought was so ridiculous she almost laughed. Almost. But then she remembered the eviction notice, the color-coded spreadsheet of rejections, the way Talia's shoulders had sagged when she thought Ava wasn't looking.
"I'm going to take a shower," she announced, standing up.
"Good idea. You'll feel better."
In the bathroom, Ava stared at herself in the mirror above the sink. She'd always been what people politely called "androgynous." Narrow hips, small chest that could easily be hidden with the right clothing. Her face was angular rather than soft, with a strong jawline and straight eyebrows. Her hair was shoulder-length now, but it had been short before. Could be short again.
She grabbed a section of hair and pulled it back, tucking it behind her ears. Studied her reflection with new eyes.
With the right clothes, the right posture, the right attitude...
"This is insane," she whispered to her reflection.
But insane was relative, wasn't it? Was it more insane than ending up homeless? More insane than watching her best friend sacrifice everything to keep them afloat? More insane than accepting that she was destined to fail at everything she touched?
She thought about Damon Cross's cold gray eyes, about the assistant position that paid more than she'd dreamed of earning. About the power bills and the empty refrigerator and the thirty-day deadline hanging over their heads like a sword.
Maybe insane was exactly what she needed to be.
When she emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, her hair was still damp and her mind was racing with possibilities. Talia had moved to the couch, grading papers while a Christmas movie played quietly on their ancient TV.
"Feel better?" Talia asked without looking up.
"Yeah," Ava said, settling beside her. "Much better."
She didn't mention that she'd spent the entire shower planning how to become someone else. How to walk like a man, talk like a man, convince the world that Ava Carter had never existed.
Instead, she picked up her laptop and opened it again. The Cross Industries job posting was still there, still impossible, still offering everything she desperately needed.
Male candidates only.
She started typing her application.