Chapter 3 - Trials

(Gloria)

A pounding headache greeted me the moment I opened my eyes the next morning.

I groaned, squeezing my temples as the sunlight coming through the curtains burned my retinas. My mouth felt dry, my limbs heavy, and my stomach churned with the unmistakable regret of one too many drinks.

Elena’s guest room was cozy but unfamiliar, white walls, a small dresser, and a floor length mirror that reflected the absolute mess I had become. My hair was tangled, my mascara was smudged, and my dress from last night was twisted in an uncomfortable mess around me.

I cursed under my breath.

“Alive in there?” Elena’s voice rang from the hallway, far too cheerful for my current condition.

“Unfortunately.”

The door creaked open, and Elena strolled in, holding a bottle of water and two painkillers like a savior. “Drink, you look like death.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, snatching the pills and gulping down the water like a parched sailor. The cool liquid soothed my throat, but it did nothing for the exhaustion weighing me down.

Elena smirked, flopping onto the bed beside me. “So… that guy last night.”

I groaned, throwing the blanket over my head. “Not a word.”

“Come on! He was hot in an ‘I own the world and will destroy you kind of way.”

I peeked at her from under the covers. “More like ‘I own the world and will sue you for spilling a drink on me’ kind of way.”

She giggled. “Well, at least it made for a fun night.”

“Speak for yourself.” I said and forced myself upright, ignoring the way my head throbbed. “I have work in an hour.”

Elena made a worried face. “You’re seriously going to serve coffee while hungover?”

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “If I want to afford rent, I don’t have a choice.”

With that, I dragged myself out of bed, showered, and threw on my work uniform, a simple black polo and jeans. It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills. Well, at least it used to, now, thanks to Ethan, I wasn’t sure if I’d even have a home by the end of this month.

By the time I arrived at the coffee shop, the rush hour had already started.

“Gloria, you’re late,” my manager, Mrs. Hendricks, scolded me as I tied my apron around my waist.

“Sorry,” I mumbled as I slipped behind the counter.

The next few hours were a blur of orders, espresso shots, and trying not to pass out on my feet. Every time the door chimed, I forced a fake smile, took the orders, and prayed for the day to be over.

It was during the late morning lull that she walked in.

I didn’t notice her at first. She blended in too well with our usual wealthy customers, polished, elegant, exuding the kind of confidence that only came with lots of money and power. But then she stepped up to the counter, and something about her presence demanded my attention.

“One black coffee,” she said, her voice smooth but firm.

I punched in the order. “That’ll be three dollars and seventy five cents.”

She handed me a twenty.

I moved to give her change, but she waved her sleek manicured hand. “Keep it.”

I hesitated, glancing up. “Are you sure? It’s a lot for just one coffee.”

Curiosity and amusement flickered in her sharp green eyes. “Yes, I’m sure.”

I nodded, dropping the bill into the register and handing her the receipt. She accepted her coffee with a graceful nod before turning to leave.

That’s when I spotted it, the sleek, expensive purse she had left sitting on the counter.

“Ma’am!” I called out, grabbing the bag.

I looked up, but she was already out the door.

Without thinking, i took the purse and darted out the door, my sneakers slapping against the pavement as i chased after her.

The woman was already getting into the back of a black luxury car.

“Ma’am! You forgot this!”

The woman turned just as the driver was about to drive away. Her eyes widened slightly as she spotted me, breathless from the short sprint, holding out the purse toward her.

For a second, she simply stared at me. Then, she opened the car door and stepped out, taking the purse from my hands.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft.

I gave her a small nod, shifting on my feet. “No problem.”

The woman examined me for a long moment before reaching into the purse and pulling out a sleek, embossed business card.

“Miss…?”

“Gloria. Gloria Williams.”

“Gloria, I’d like you to meet me later today. Consider it an opportunity.”

I blinked at the card in my hand.

Eleanor Montclair.

My stomach flipped.

Montclair. As in Montclair Advertising?