The cursor on my Mac screen blinks at me, impatient and accusing.

I sigh, staring at the half-finished Formula 2 article I've been wrestling with all morning. Writing about the Valencia Grand Prix should be easy, but my brain feels like it's moving through quicksand.

It's been a week since the breakup, but it still feels like he left yesterday. One perfect Valentine's dinner, followed by a breakup over coffee the next morning.

My enthusiasm is about as stale as the half-eaten croissant lying next to my laptop.

The room around me is a comfortable mess. My desk, cluttered with papers, coffee mugs, and an assortment of pens, looks like a tornado tore through it.

A stack of books and magazines sit precariously close to the edge, along with an open planner filled with social media schedules.

I'd promised myself I'd clean up, but every time I try, I remember why my boyfriend left, and my motivation fizzles.

Across the room, my duvet is crumpled at the foot of my bed, and a flash of pink peeks out from underneath—a Satisfyer I swear I bought on a dare but which has become a surprising comfort.

In the corner, my oversized gray tabby, Sir Purrcival the Third, stares at me with unrestrained judgment from his perch on a pile of old racing magazines, his gaze saying, "This is your life now?"

My phone buzzes beside me, snapping me out of my thoughts. It's a message from Sanne: Please tell me you've showered today.

With a smirk, I swipe to open FaceTime, propping the phone against my empty coffee mug. The screen fills with Sanne's face, bright-eyed and polished as always. Her voice comes through, teasing but warm.

"Good morning, piñata girl," she says, raising an eyebrow.

I roll my eyes, pulling my old Ferrari blanket closer around my shoulders. "Don't start. I've already had a long day, and it's only ten."

"Does that explain why you look like a rejected contestant from The Bachelor?"

I snort, adjusting my glasses. "Some of us are recovering from tragic Valentine's Day breakups."

Sanne laughs, brushing her hair back. "At least you have work to distract you. Are you finishing that Formula 2 piece?"

"Trying to," I say with a sigh. "But it's hard to focus when everything reminds me of him. My couch, my coffee machine. Even my cat is judging me."

"Well," she says, shrugging, "you have a million other clients you could focus on. Not to mention the fact that you're literally my social media manager. Think of my jewelry, Isa!"

"True," I chuckle. I'd been managing the social media for Sanne's jewelry brand for a year now, and thanks to our endless brainstorming sessions and social media pushes, it had picked up traction. "But do you have any viral content planned for today?"

"Nope. That's why I keep you around. You're the queen of turning my random ideas into something worth scrolling through," she says, smirking.

I snicker, but just as I'm about to reply, a loud ding interrupts us—a notification on my laptop.

FaceTime Call from: Ferrari PR HQ.

I blink at the screen, frozen in disbelief.

Did Ferrari just... FaceTime me?

"Oh, crap," I mutter, my eyes wide. "Sanne, I gotta go. Ferrari's calling me."

Her eyes widen with excitement. "Wait what?"

I feel my pulse speed up.

Ferrari's PR team, calling me?

I've emailed back and forth with Maria Castillo before—after all, my articles on emerging drivers in F2 and F3 often involved a quote from her or her team.

Plus, I've got a decent portfolio from managing a few well-known Dutch influencers—Eva De Vries, Mila Jansen—and my recent work with Sanne.

But a video call, out of the blue?

I hastily pull my blanket tighter around my shoulders, hyper-aware of the coffee stain on my pajama shirt and my disheveled hair.

"Okay, here goes nothing," I say, taking a deep breath and clicking "Accept."

The screen fills with the poised, polished face of Maria Castillo. Every bit as glamorous and put-together as I remember, Maria's sleek brown hair is pulled back into a neat bun, and she's wearing a white blazer that radiates effortless confidence.

Behind her, Ferrari's bright red logo gleams from the wall, a stark contrast to my cluttered background. I suddenly wish I'd spent less time mourning and more time cleaning up my desk.

"Isa!" Maria greets me with a warm smile, her voice as smooth as ever. "Thank you so much for picking up!"

I clear my throat, trying to sound professional despite my appearance. "Hi, Maria! I wasn't... expecting a call. Is everything okay?"

Her smile widens, and I see a spark of excitement in her eyes. "Everything is more than okay, Isa. Actually, I wanted to reach out with some exciting news. Our team has been following your work, and we're incredibly impressed by your insight and dedication."

My cheeks flush, and I fight to keep my smile contained. "Thank you, that really means a lot. I've loved covering F2 and F3 and... well, you know, being part of the motorsport world."

Maria nods, her expression sincere. "We've all noticed. Your articles for Formula Hub bring such a unique angle. And from what I've seen with your other clients—Aella Jewelry, Eva de Vries, Mila Jansen—you bring an incredible attention to detail and creativity to everything you do. Not to mention your Management degree from Amsterdam. We'd love to have that on our team."

My heart skips a beat. I've been in calls with Maria before, but usually for a short quote or press release.

I never expected Ferrari's PR manager to read my articles, let alone keep track of my side projects. "Wow, I'm really flattered."

Maria leans in, her smile widening. "I was wondering if you'd consider joining us as our new Social Media Manager."

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, I'm sure I misheard. My jaw drops slightly. "Wait? Me? For Ferrari?"

She laughs, clearly amused. "Yes, Isa. We think you'd be a fantastic fit. Your understanding of F2 and F3, your background in Management, your voice—everything about your work stands out. And we'd like you to start at the first race of the season in Bahrain. Everything's covered—flight, hotel, meals."

I blink, trying to process what she's saying while also hoping she doesn't notice the abandoned croissant or Sir Purrcival, who has now perched himself right in front of the screen, staring at her with disdain.

"Bahrain, that's amazing. I just...wow, thank you! I didn't expect this at all."

Maria's eyes flick to my blanket, and she chuckles softly. "Is that a Ferrari blanket?"

I look down, feeling my face heat up as I clutch the red fabric. "Um..."

"Well, it looks like you're already part of the team," she says with a wink. "Get your things packed, Isa. We'll see you in Bahrain."

The call ends, and I sit there in stunned silence.

Ferrari. Social Media Manager. Bahrain.

The words swirl in my mind, and slowly, a grin spreads across my face.

Sir Purrcival meows, unimpressed, and bats at my phone. I grab it, dialing Sanne back with trembling fingers.

The moment she picks up, I scream, "You're not going to believe this—I'm going to Bahrain with Ferrari!"

She squeals on the other end. "You're kidding! Isa, that's insane!"

"Yeah," I say, glancing around at my blanket and the chaos of my room. "Guess it's time to ditch the PJs and get packing."