Romantic Comedy Workplace Drama with Revenge-PART 1

PART 1: MEET-COLLISION

The promise of the morning was answered with the splash of espresso.

It wasn’t Ava Morgan’s fault. She was threading through the full café queue with a to-go latte and the grim recession mood of a Monday. The man in the pinstripe jacket? He rammed into her like a freight train of scowls and caffeine. A blink later, between the burst of hot air from the faux fireplace and the almost obscenely hot espresso from the nearby café, her blouse was soaked while the toasty brown scent of caramel espresso clung to her chest like defeat.

“Excuse me, can you not bulldoze people before 8 a.m.?” she snapped sternly, looking at the damage.

The man – tall, sharp-jawed, corporate disdain palpable – blinked once. “I might ask the same. You were too engrossed texting to notice the line in front of you”.

“I wasn’t texting,” Ava said, standing to full five foot-three fury. “I was checking the time. Some of us have jobs. And meetings.”

“Maybe next time, rise earlier,” he said, looking with contempt darting to the crumbs on the shoulder. ‘Breakfast in your hair’ is a fashion statement, except.

Ava flushed. She extended her arm and, true enough, oyster shrapnel. Fabulous. Much better than when she found a strawberry smear in her bangs during the middle of an all-hands Zoom.

She exhaled sharply. “Whatever. I’m late now. Thanks for the coffee art.”

She was about to turn and leave when the man said, “You owe me £3.80 for the espresso you splashed”.

She didn’t reply. She couldn’t. Her inner dialogue belted at her as she ran to her car, still damp in her blouse, with her pride smashed. The day could only improve—right?

The traffic in London was clogged just like a beast with engine fumes. On the A12 stuck Ava tried to concentrate on her audiobook, Northanger Abbey. She required something Jane Austen-y and unreasonably put together. Catherine Morland’s gothic terrors were oddly reassuring.

At least Catherine never needed to see a client pitch half a latte incriminated.

Ava screeched into Kestrel Creative’s subterranean car park at 8:31. She ran for the lobby bathroom, ripped off her ruined blouse, and buttoned her navy blazer over her bra. It barely closed. The outcome was more of a “fashion intern” and less of a “marketing exec,” but both beggars can’t be choosers.

She shoved the blouse into her tote and took off power, walking to the 4th floor, praying her deodorant stood.

The door leading to the conference room was open. She snuck in like a whisper. But as a matter of course, the only vacant seat in the car was on the other side. And, of course, as she was beginning to move down past the big dogs, a familiar voice now cut across the air:

“For the benefit of the latecomer, I was just explaining why punctuality is important,” the man with pinstripes said without looking up.

Ava froze. No. Way.

He looked up. Their eyes locked. And then he smirked.

No. Actual. Way.

“This is Ava Morgan,” Clara, the project manager, declared with the constricted intonation of someone trying to defuse a nuclear incident. “She’s our senior copywriter.”

“Ah,” the man said, resting his back on the whiteboard. “I had no idea this was a flexi-time role.”

Ava gritted her teeth. “Not usually,” she muttered.

“I’m Sebastian Reed,” he said. “Kestrel’s new Managing Director. We also look forward to seeing you on time within subsequent meetings, thank you.”

Ava said nothing. But in her mind, she added him to an increasing number of names on a list called Enemies, British Edition.