KEEPING IT PROFESSIONAL
The dream was vivid: New York, wealth, and Racheal Miller, a business leader. Then, a shout.
"Late!" Her mum's voice cut through the comfort, ripping away the warm covers.
Reality hit with a splash of mouthwash. Her flight, her one-way ticket to a new life, left in an hour. As her dad loaded her hefty suitcase, her brother Adam, ever the opportunist, rummaged through her purse.
"Drop my purse, Adam!"
He snatched a twenty and vanished. Her mum pressed a disposable coffee cup into her hand, a daily ritual, now a farewell blessing.
"For luck."
Blowing kisses, Racheal dashed out the door, the car already waiting. The drive to the airport was a blur of her dad's droning advice about train routes and thanking her rich uncle. Ten minutes to check-in, she blew kisses again, her coffee sloshing.
Gate 8. An airport worker tried to stop her about the coffee, but Racheal hurried on, turning to explain she'd trash it. Too late. A heavy collision, a gasp, and her coffee, her laptop, and a man's extra suit were all drenched.
"Oh my God! I am so sorry!" She looked up, ready to grovel, and froze. Deep blue eyes, slicked-back black hair. A god. An angel, with coffee on his cheek. She pointed, her hands shaking. "You – you have something..."
"How dare you?" His voice, smooth with a faint Italian accent, dripped venom.
"Are you deaf?" This time, she snapped out of it.
"I am sorry. Here's my number." She scribbled quickly, the final boarding call echoing. "Please text me the price for dry cleaning."
His look of disgust deepened. "Uhmm... of the two suits." He said nothing, his glare a physical weight. Despite the shame, she had to go.
"I'm really so sorry." She hurried towards her gate, glancing back at the man who clearly thought she was the worst. The gate was closing. A desperate plea, and they let her on, her luck already running thin.
