Chapter 1 - Perks of the Job

Clara smoothed her blazer nervously as she stepped through the revolving doors of the office tower. The glass gleamed under the morning sun, catching the city’s restless energy and funneling it into the lobby. She paused for a breath, not because she was winded, but because the moment felt important. This was the start of her career.

Her badge still felt strange against her chest. Consultant. The word carried weight, like a title that made her a little older, a little more serious. She tugged at her sleeve, adjusting it out of habit, and told herself she looked the part.

And she did. Clara had the kind of beauty that drew second glances without effort. Tall and striking, she carried herself with an athletic grace, the product of years spent running in the early mornings before classes. Her dark hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, framing sharp cheekbones and a smile that lit easily. She was not lacking in the curves department either. The curve of her perky C-cup breasts was unmistakable, no matter how hard she tried to hide it under her professional appearance. Her butt, sizable yet firm, brushed against her navy pants.

She was fit in the way that came from discipline. A trim waist, strong legs, and the quiet confidence of someone who had always felt comfortable in her own skin. On her first day, in a tailored navy blazer and crisp white blouse, she looked every bit the image of polished ambition.

Her striking looks had never gone unnoticed. In college, Clara had found herself at the center of more than a few romances, some fleeting, others more serious. People were drawn to her, first by her sharp cheekbones, her fit frame, her easy smile, and then by the confidence she carried into every room. But though she never lacked for attention, the relationships often burned out quickly. Clara’s discipline and ambition, the same qualities that made her so enviable, also set her apart. She had never let herself be distracted for long, not when she had goals to chase.

The firm’s offices occupied three entire floors near the top of the building. As the elevator climbed, she glanced at the other young faces inside, some equally wide-eyed, others already masking their nerves behind polite small talk. Everyone was dressed smartly, pressed suits and polished shoes, but there was a current of anticipation in the air that made Clara’s stomach flutter.

Orientation was a blur of names, slides, and acronyms that slipped past her as quickly as they appeared. Partners introduced themselves with firm smiles, speaking of “excellence” and “client focus” in ways that sounded rehearsed, though not insincere. Clara scribbled furiously in her notebook even when she wasn’t sure what to write. She didn’t want to look like the one who wasn’t keeping up.

But the first thing that truly caught her attention wasn’t a presentation or a handshake. It was the smell.

At 10 a.m., when the orientation group was led into a communal lounge for a coffee break, the air was thick with the scent of butter and sugar. On the long central table sat plates piled high with croissants, danishes, muffins still warm from the oven. Next to them, bowls of fruit glistened as though someone had carefully arranged each grape. And behind it all, an espresso machine hissed, steam curling upward in graceful ribbons.

“Help yourselves,” their coordinator said with a smile, as though it were nothing at all.

Clara hesitated for a moment, then reached for a croissant. The pastry flaked perfectly under her fingers, scattering delicate crumbs onto the napkin. She hadn’t eaten much breakfast (nerves had dulled her appetite) but now, sitting among her new colleagues, the buttery taste grounded her in a way that slides and speeches hadn’t.

“Not bad, huh?” said a voice beside her.

Clara turned to see a man about her age with sandy-brown hair that refused to stay perfectly in place, even under fluorescent lights. He had the kind of broad-shouldered frame that filled out a suit well, but there was an ease in the way he stood, as though he hadn’t spent an hour fussing with his tie like she had. His jawline was sharp, but softened by a grin that came easily, and his blue eyes carried a spark of humor that made the tension in her shoulders relax.

“I heard they do this every morning,” he continued, balancing a danish and a coffee cup on one plate as though he’d been working here for years.

“Every morning?” Clara asked, surprised.

“Yeah. Pastries, fruit, sometimes bagels. And Fridays they bring in catered lunch for the whole floor. Kind of ridiculous, honestly.” He grinned, already mid-bite. “James, by the way. We met earlier, right? The name game?”

“Clara,” she said, returning his smile.

James had the kind of charm that didn’t feel forced. Where Clara was wound tight with nerves, he seemed perfectly at home, joking lightly with the others, eating as though he had no reason to be self-conscious. She found herself both envious of his ease and strangely drawn to it.

Clara laughed politely at his comment, but as she picked at the edges of her croissant, a flicker of unease crept in. She’d always been disciplined about her diet: meal prepping on Sundays, balancing proteins and greens, carving out time for runs no matter how packed her schedule became. It was part of how she maintained her polished, athletic frame, and she was proud of it. But now, with long work days looming ahead of her and free food practically everywhere she turned, she worried how easily those habits might unravel. Would she really have the time to shop and cook? To slip away to the gym after fourteen-hour days? The thought lingered at the back of her mind, even as the warm pastry melted on her tongue.

It was going to be fine, she thought as she patted her toned stomach

The day rolled on in a tide of icebreakers, IT setups, and meet-and-greets with people whose names blurred together by the hour. By lunchtime, Clara was exhausted, but also curious. She wandered back into the lounge and found trays of sandwiches laid out: thick slices of bread, layered meats, creamy spreads. Again, no one seemed to think twice about it. People grabbed plates, chatted in clusters, and returned to their desks with easy familiarity.

James was there too, leaning casually against the counter, chatting with two others while reaching for seconds without hesitation. He caught Clara’s eye, raising his sandwich in a half-salute before turning back to his conversation.

Clara found herself taking two sandwiches, telling herself it was practical. After all, she wouldn’t have to worry about dinner until late, with all the work they had lined up.

By the time the day ended, her mind was buzzing with details: her client assignment, her team lead’s expectations, the dizzying pace that already loomed ahead. But one thing lodged itself firmly in her thoughts, tucked between worries about PowerPoint templates and travel schedules: the food. Always there, always free, always inviting.

She hadn’t expected that. And though she didn’t know it yet, the discovery, and James’s easy influence, would come to shape her days in ways she couldn’t have imagined.


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It 's been a while! Wanted to start with a fresh story after such a long break, but if you really want to see one of my old stories revisited, please let me know in the comments. Thanks y'all!