From Heartbreak to High Society-Chapter 11: The Offer

A week had passed since Drake and Sarah's wedding, and the memory of that day still lingered like a persistent shadow. The morning sun filtered through my apartment window as I sipped my coffee, watching Madison sketch at the kitchen counter.

My phone remained silent—no messages or calls from Damien since that day. His kindness in the limo ride home, the way he'd ensured we got back safely, all felt like a distant dream now. I'd caught myself checking my phone more times than I cared to admit, wondering if he'd reach out.

The bar had changed too. Sarah's absence left a noticeable void in our daily routines. Her section remained empty, her regular customers now scattered among the other servers. No one mentioned her name, but I caught the whispers, the knowing glances when regulars asked about her whereabouts.

"Mom?" Madison's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Staring at your phone." She set down her pencil. "He's probably busy with work stuff."

I placed my phone face down on the counter. "I wasn't—" The lie died on my lips at Madison's raised eyebrow. "Okay, maybe I was."

"The pictures really shook things up, huh?"

"Yeah." I traced the rim of my coffee mug. "Sarah hasn't shown up for any of her shifts. Tony had to reorganize the whole schedule."

Madison returned to her sketch, adding careful strokes to what looked like a cityscape. "Good riddance. After what she did to you..."

"Madison."

"What? It's true." She looked up, her eyes fierce with protection. "She deserved what happened at the wedding. Both of them did."

I couldn't argue with that, but the aftermath felt hollow. The satisfaction I'd expected never came. Instead, I felt oddly disconnected from it all, as if watching someone else's life unfold from a distance.

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The morning light caught the edge of Madison's new art supplies, still pristine and organized on her side of the counter. At least something good had come from all this—watching her talent bloom with proper materials brought a genuine smile to my face.

I glanced at the clock—almost time for my afternoon shift. Madison had spread her art supplies across the kitchen counter, working on what looked like a detailed street scene.

"Here, try holding the pencil at this angle." I demonstrated the technique I'd learned years ago. "It'll give you better control over the shading."

Madison adjusted her grip, and the lines flowed smoother across the paper. Her face lit up. "That's so much better! The shadows actually look real now."

"Your perspective is getting really good too." I pointed to the vanishing point she'd created. "Those buildings have depth."

"Thanks to these new pencils." She held up one of the professional-grade ones we'd bought. "The old ones from school were awful compared to these."

I gathered my work clothes from the dresser. "Make sure you clean up before heading to bed. And don't forget to eat the leftovers in the fridge."

"I know, Mom." Madison didn't look up from her drawing. "I've got homework after this anyway."

In the bathroom, I changed into my black pants and white button-up, tying my apron with practiced movements. The familiar routine felt grounding after everything that had happened.

"I'm heading out," I called, grabbing my keys. "Text me if you need anything."

Madison finally looked up from her artwork. "Love you, Mom."

"Love you too, sweetie." I paused at the door, watching her return to her drawing with intense focus. The sight warmed my heart—she looked so much like I used to, lost in the creative process.

The walk to work was brief—just a quick trip down the stairs from our cozy apartment above the bar. The afternoon sun bathed my face in warmth as I strolled, my thoughts oscillating between Madison's burgeoning artistic talent and the upcoming shift.

Stepping into the familiar setting of the bar, I immediately slipped into work mode. I tied my apron, feeling the soft fabric settle onto my hips as I tied it in a neat bow. Then, with practiced motions, I collected a stack of menus and began straightening the tables, smoothing out the wrinkles from the white linens, and placing the menus just so. The afternoon crowd hadn't arrived yet, and I appreciated the calm before the inevitable rush.

Marcus, our morning cook, was in the back, humming along to the radio as he prepped for the dinner service. The aroma of his signature marinara sauce filled the air, making my mouth water. I smiled to myself as I passed by, anticipating the staff meal we'd share later.

I spotted Tony behind the bar, polishing glasses. "Need any help with the shelves?" I asked.

He shook his head, his sturdy frame looking out of place behind the wooden counter. "I got it, but thanks. Haven't seen you take a break all afternoon. Everything alright?"

I nodded, hoping my forced smile looked genuine. "Yeah, just thinking about Madison and her new art supplies. I bought her a whole set—such a talented kid."

Tony chuckled. "No doubt she gets it from you. You should display some of your old paintings here. Give the place a homier feel."

The idea caught me off guard, and I quickly brushed it aside. "Maybe. I haven't picked up a paintbrush in years, though."

"Well, if you ever do, let me know. The customers would love it."

Lost in my thoughts, I found myself arranging and rearranging the tables, trying to keep my hands busy. Drake's image kept flashing in my mind. Did he really still have those photos? And what did Damien mean when he said he knew all about it?

As I straightened a stack of napkins, the bell above the door jingled, announcing the arrival of our first dinner customers. I straightened my posture and offered them a warm smile. "Welcome to Rivergate Bar & Grill. Grab any table you'd like, and I'll be right with you."

The regulars started trickling in, their comfortable banter and the sound of clinking glasses filling the room. I greeted them by name, taking orders and delivering drinks with the ease of routine. Before I knew it, the bar was bustling, and my worries about Damien and the photos had temporarily faded into the background.

As I delivered a round of beers to a group celebrating a birthday, the door swung open, and a hush fell over the room. My breath caught in my throat as Damien strode in, his confident stride and expansive suit commanding everyone's attention. I felt my cheeks flush at the sight of him.

He removed his sunglasses and scanned the room, his eyes finally landing on me. My heart pounded as he made his way through the sea of tables, his presence drawing stares from the other patrons.

He stopped at an empty seat at my station. With a subtle tilt of his head, he motioned for me to join him. "I have a proposal for you, Ella."

I felt the weight of curious gazes as I pulled out the chair across from him, taking a seat. "What kind of proposal?"

His blue eyes studied me, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of something intense behind his usual calm facade. "An offer," he finally said. "One that I think will greatly interest you."

Leaning forward, he lowered his voice. "I'd like to offer you a job."

I pulled back, my brow furrowing. "A job?"

He smiled, revealing a hint of the playful side I'd glimpsed in the limo. "Yes, a job. With me."

Before I could respond, the dinner crowd's hum of conversation filled the brief silence, leaving me with a surge of questions and a growing anticipation for whatever twist this intriguing man had in store for me.