Chapter 3 - The Morning After
At 8:00 AM the following morning, the bell above the door of my coffee shop chimed violently.
I was standing behind the counter, wearing my apron, wiping down the espresso machine. I didn't flinch. I had been waiting for them.
Patricia and Celeste stormed into the empty shop, bringing the freezing morning air and a toxic wave of entitlement with them. Celeste was wearing a massive pair of designer sunglasses to hide her swollen, furious eyes. Patricia looked absolutely lethal, clutching a designer handbag tightly against her pristine white coat.
"Close the shop," Patricia hissed, marching directly up to the counter. "Lock the door right now, Willow. We are going to have a conversation about the disgusting, humiliating spectacle you caused last night."
I calmly set my rag down. I didn't lock the door. I simply crossed my arms and looked at her. "I didn't cause a spectacle, Patricia. I was asked to dance."
"You manipulated him!" Celeste shrieked, ripping her sunglasses off, her face twisted in an ugly mask of pure rage. "You played the pathetic, broken victim to get his attention! He felt sorry for you. That is the only reason a man like Giovanni Campone would ever look at a dirty little barista in a borrowed rag!"
"That is enough," Patricia snapped at her daughter, though her eyes remained locked on me. "Willow, you have crossed a line I will not tolerate. You embarrassed this family in front of the most important investors in the city. Because of your stunt, Giovanni Campone left the gala early, and Celeste lost her opportunity."
Patricia reached into her handbag and pulled out a crisp, legal envelope, slamming it onto the counter.
"I am done playing the gracious stepmother," Patricia stated coldly. "I own the commercial lease to this building, Willow. I have tolerated this pathetic little coffee shop out of charity. That charity ends today. This is a thirty-day eviction notice. You are going to pack your things, leave this city, and you are never going to speak to anyone with the last name Campone again. If you refuse, I will freeze the shop's operational accounts by noon."
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Two years ago, that threat would have broken me. Two years ago, I would have cried, begged, and submitted.
Today, I reached into the pocket of my apron, pulled out a sleek black USB drive, and placed it gently on top of her eviction notice.
