I shot the assistant an annoyed look, lowering myself back into the chair. "Sorry, I don't quite follow. What do you mean by that?"
The HR manager didn't even bother holding back a laugh. She walked over and laid down onto the table the papers she'd been holding all this time.
With an icy tone, she said, "It was stated clearly in your contract from the beginning that, should you cause any damage to the company—whether to its assets, the aircraft, or the operation itself—you are liable to compensate for the damage you cause."
A cold shiver crawled up my spine. I stared nervously at the thick document laid neatly in front of me, then at her, before picking it up to read.
Of course, I didn't read the whole thing—it was filled with tables, charts, and legal jargon that would take hours to get through. But what it demanded was crystal clear.
I dropped the document the moment I realized what they were asking for.
S$200,000 in compensation.
I shot up, slamming both hands on the table. "Are you fucking kidding me? Why am I the one who has to pay all that? Wasn't it that drunk maniac who opened the damn door?"
At that point, I honestly had zero patience left for politeness.
S$200,000—on top of the S$60,000 debt already hanging over my head? I didn't even know if selling every organ in my body would cover that much.
The manager sneered. "I thought you were better trained than that, dearie. You should know the aviation law of our nation only requires the passenger to pay the fine. The airline must absorb the rest of the damage. And, as per the contract, whoever caused that damage must bear the compensation—and that person is you, Kaija."
My knees gave out. My body dropped back into the chair with a heavy thud.
"The airline only accepts bank transfer for this amount, by the way," the manager added coolly. "No cash accepted. If I were you, I'd start gathering resources now. You have one year. If you can't make the full payment within that time, we'll bring the case to court."
With that, they kicked me out of the room—not before slamming that thick document back into my hands to "look into the details further."
Good God. I didn't need to look into any of those dizzying numbers. I needed to look into how the hell was I supposed to make S$200,000 in just one year!
I didn't even feel like taking a taxi home anymore after stepping out of the building. I pulled out my phone and checked the map. One hour and thirty minutes estimated time on foot. No problem. If that'd save me S$30, I'd walk.
All the way home, I reached out to all of my old contacts for singing gigs, but they all gave me vague answers. Most had already booked new singers after I quit. The desperation just piled up higher with each call.
By the time I was about to reach home—completely spent and sweating like a pig—my phone rang.
Some stranger's number again. I answered, my voice dragging with pure exhaustion, "Who's this?"
No answer came from the other end. Just faint rustling and the sound of someone breathing softly.
I raised my voice. "Listen, I don't have time for—"
"It's me," came a familiar steely voice. "Charles Kosonen."
I pressed my lips together tightly. No wonder the number looked familiar.
What does he want now? The other day, he'd mentioned he'd be on the same flight I was supposed to be working on that morning. But the situation had completely changed.
I let out a weary exhale. "Mr. Kosonen, sorry, but I must inform you that I'm no longer with Starlight Airlines."
"I know," he said flatly. "I asked around. I heard what happened, Kaija."
My brows drew together. "Then why are you calling? There's nothing else I can help you with, Mr. Kosonen."
"Like I said," he replied, calm as ever, "I'd hoped you'd change your mind about my offer."
My finger hovered in the air before I could press the elevator button to my apartment.
I smack my forehead hard. Right—how could I forget this guy had offered me a job over that weird dinner night?
"Besides," he added, his tone nonchalant, "S$200,000 is barely what I paid for my ugliest sports car."
Needless to say, I was speechless. Did this guy just offer to settle that godforsaken debt for me?!
Still, the thought of having to face all those ultra-famous people if I worked for him already drained the life out of me. I had no place in that glamorous world.
"Mr. Kosonen," I said hesitantly, "my singing is nowhere near the level of the artists at KE."
For a while, he didn't respond. When he did, his tone softened.
"Then maybe you've never listened to yourself properly."
I fell silent. Heat crept up my neck, and my cheeks started tingling uncontrollably.
As if sensing my flustered state, Charles went on, "How about we discuss this in detail when I'm back in Z City? I'm already in V City now."
"When will that be?" I asked.
"In three days," he said. "I'll call you."
"Okay." I didn't know what else to say.
"One more thing though, Kaija," he added, his tone dry. "Do me a favor—save my number."
Then he hung up. Just like that.
I stared at the phone, still stunned. The guy definitely had a thing for calling out of nowhere and hanging up just as abruptly.
But was it just me, or did he sound a bit annoyed before he hung up?
Well, maybe he had a point. He did say he'd call again. I'd better not answer with "Who's this?" next time.
I swiped open my contacts and started typing in his name.
Hmm, what should I put?
Mr. Kosonen? Too weird.
Charles Kosonen? Too long. Besides, who even does that these days?
Oh, I know.
Mister Snow Leopard.
I hit save.