Corporate Clash

Josh

Connor and Olivia had just pulled away in that ridiculously over-the-top white limo, off to some beachside honeymoon full of sun, champagne, and whatever newlyweds do when they think love is forever. I lingered at the reception with the rest of the bridal party, swirling my whiskey and trying not to look like the only single guy at the table.

The reception was in full swing. Fairy lights glowed like a Pinterest board on steroids. People danced. Someone’s uncle attempted the worm. Michael tossed a peanut at my head and I barely blinked.

I wasn’t fully present. Not really.

Mostly because two hours before the ceremony, I broke things off with Ava.

Ava—smart, gorgeous, expensive perfume and zero chill. What started as a casual fling quickly turned into clingy check-ins and passive-aggressive comments about “where this is going.”

Spoiler: nowhere.

I told her, as gently as I could, that I wasn’t looking for anything serious. She didn’t take it well. There were tears. A shattered glass. Possibly a threat to key my car—unclear. Either way, I’d walked away clean, but unsettled.

So, yeah. Not exactly in the mood for romance.

That’s when I noticed the commotion.

One of the guests—a red-faced guy with more wine in his bloodstream than blood—was trying to grab a waitress by the wrist, clearly thinking he was charming. She stepped back, gave him a warning glance, then—with zero hesitation—kicked him squarely in the groin.

He went down like a puppet with cut strings.

I froze mid-sip.

“No way,” I muttered.

Michael leaned closer. “Isn’t that the girl who kicked you in the nuts at that club a few months ago?”

“Yep,” I said, lowering my glass. “That’s her.”

“What are the odds?” He chuckled. “You gonna go say hi?”

I scoffed. “I like my reproductive system functional, thanks. I’m not walking into round two with psycho girl.”

“You sure? Looks like fate handed you an opening.”

“I’m not suicidal, Michael.”

A few minutes later, as if summoned by karma, the waitress herself appeared beside our table. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, cheeks flushed from the chaos, but her posture didn’t scream “rattled.” If anything, she looked smug.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” she said smoothly. “Can I get you anything else?”

Then her eyes landed on me.

“You!” she blurted.

I raised a brow. “And so we meet again.”

“You’re a guest at this wedding?” she asked, folding her arms like I was violating some cosmic rule.

“What does it look like?” I said, deadpan. “I clean up well.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You should really consider playing for a soccer club. I see you’re still great at kicking balls.”

“Oh, whatever.” She rolled her eyes and moved to the next table—until an older woman in heels and panic energy approached.

“Charlotte!” the woman snapped. “Did I just hear you kicked one of Mr. Black’s guests?”

“That guy was grabbing her,” I interjected calmly.

The woman—Violet, judging by her name tag—whipped her head toward me, visibly annoyed. “Then she should’ve reported it to management. There’s no excuse for violence, Mr…?”

“Ramsey. Josh Ramsey.”

Her expression faltered. Recognition clicked into place.

Charlotte tossed her order pad onto the table and untied her apron. “If that’s the case, I quit.”

“Charlotte, wait—” Violet started, but Charlotte was already storming off toward the kitchen.

Without thinking, I followed.

“Charlotte!” I caught up just before she disappeared through the swinging doors.

She whirled around. “What now? Come to give me a lecture?”

“No, I came to say—maybe don’t quit like that? Your boss didn’t even fire you.”

“She was about to,” Charlotte shot back. “And I don’t need someone like that policing my morals while she kisses up to rich creeps.”

I paused, then smirked.

“You’re still following me.”

“I just think it’s impressive. You have this special talent for chaos.”

She crossed her arms. “I told you before, I’m not interested. I have a boyfriend.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

That made her blink. I waited for the comeback—but instead, she just stared at me, lips pressed together, jaw tight.

“Anyway,” I added, backing off, “I’ll leave you alone now. Good luck with… whatever.”

I turned and walked back toward the reception, forcing myself not to glance back.

But I could feel her eyes burning into me the whole way.

Charlotte

Islid into the back of the Uber, frustrated and emotionally drained. I still smelled faintly like champagne and burnt canapés, and my feet were throbbing from hours of walking in cheap flats. All I wanted was to be wrapped in Carl’s arms, to bury my face in his chest and forget the world for a moment.

We’ve been together for three years.

Three years of me juggling three jobs, keeping us afloat while he chased his computer science degree full-time. I paid the rent. I paid the bills. I stayed up with him while he coded through the night, quizzed him before exams, proofread his assignments until I could practically write a JavaScript function in my sleep.

He finally graduated.

He got a solid job at a startup called Next Tech Solutions, making real money now. And I was proud—so damn proud. But also… exhausted. It was finally my turn to chase my future. That’s why I enrolled to finish my GED. Finals were next month. After that, I could apply to a degree program. With Carl finally stable, I could focus on me.

Still, I kept picking up part-time gigs both online and offline. I liked earning my own money. I’d supported Carl when he needed me—now it was about balance.

And maybe, just maybe… it was time for the next step. We’d talked about marriage before, but he always said, “Let’s wait until I’m financially stable.”

Well, now he was. So why was I still waiting?

The Uber slowed in front of our apartment. My heart picked up with anticipation—not nerves, just that quiet flutter you get when you think you’re coming home to love.

I unlocked the door and stepped inside. It was quiet.

Too quiet.

I frowned.

Then I heard something—soft at first. A noise. A low, rhythmic moan coming from the bedroom. At first, I froze, not wanting to believe what my brain was already piecing together. But as I moved closer, the sound became clearer.

Moaning.

Breathless. Female.

I pushed the bedroom door open.

And my heart didn’t just break—it disintegrated.

Carl was there. Shirtless. And beneath him—God help me, was my best friend.

Time slowed. My vision blurred. I couldn’t breathe.

The woman turned her head to face me.

It was her. Her. Evelyn. The girl who’d wiped my tears when I was broke. The one I trusted with my secrets, my dreams. And now, apparently, my boyfriend.

Tears slipped down my cheeks. Not loud, not dramatic. Just stunned. Quiet.

Carl jumped back like I’d set the room on fire.

“Wait, Charlotte, Why are you so early? let me explain!”

I laughed, bitter and broken. “There’s nothing to explain.”

He scrambled for words, pants halfway on. “What do you expect, Charlotte? I’m a man, I have needs—and all you ever want to do is cuddle.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “Then you should’ve put a damn ring on my finger if you wanted more than cuddles.”

I packed in silence. Just the essentials. A bag full of clothes. My charger. The last of my dignity.

No yelling. No begging. Just… numb.

As I stepped out the door, the full weight of what just happened hit me. I had nowhere to go. No family in the U.S.—I left everything behind in Mexico to build a better life. I thought Carl was part of that better life.

Clearly, I was wrong.

I sat on the curb and pulled out my phone, my fingers trembling.

I called Katherine

Kat and I had become friends at the modelling agency where I worked part-time. I wasn’t a model—just the assistant, running errands, steaming clothes, prepping shoot locations, picking up coffee orders. Kat was one of the few who treated me like a person, not just the help. She was going through her own mess—a nasty divorce from her high-profile husband.

“Hey, Charly?” Kat’s voice crackled through the speaker. “What’s up?”

“I… I need somewhere to stay. Just for a few days,” I said, voice cracking.

Without hesitation: “Of course. Come over. I’ve got wine. And ice cream.”

Fifteen minutes later, I stood in front of her apartment building. She opened the door in a silk robe, mascara smudged from a night in. Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Charly? What happened?”

I didn’t answer.

I just fell into her arms and started to cry.