Friday was the day of the first mock interview. We set up the living room like an office, with me on one side of the table and Emma on the other. She had her laptop open, a notepad beside her, and a pen in her hand.
She was in full journalist mode, her questions sharp, her demeanor professional, her gaze unwavering. This wasn't my girlfriend. This was Emma Hartley, investigative journalist, and she was here to expose every weakness, every doubt, every crack in my armor.
"Your CV is… unconventional," she began, her voice cool and detached. "You've won a non-league title, but you have zero experience in a professional academy environment. Zero. Some would say you're a significant risk. Some would say you're completely unqualified. Convince me they're wrong."
I took a deep breath. This was it. The moment of truth.
"It's a risk," I said, my voice steady, my gaze meeting hers.
