02~Drunken Mistake

[Emily]

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was the pounding in my head. The second thing was the empty bed beside me.

For a moment, I just lay there, blinking at the ceiling, as all the memories from yesternight flashed through my mind. I pulled the bedsheet to cover my face as though it could hide the blush on my face. For all my inexperience, this was the best sex I had ever had. The room smelled faintly of cologne and alcohol, a weirdly expensive mix that didn’t belong to me. I rolled over, expecting to see someone, him, but the sheets were cold. The other pillow looked barely touched.

Just then, a knock on the door echoed through the room. They were loud and persistent, like whoever was behind the door had zero patience.

I pulled the blanket around me and stumbled toward the door, muttering, “Hold on, I’m coming!”

When I cracked the door open, a hotel staff member stood there, “Ma’am,” he said, “checkout was thirty minutes ago”

I blinked, then blinked again. “Check…out?”

“Yes, ma’am. Would you like us to arrange a car for you?” His tone was professional, but the tiny flicker of judgment in his eyes made my stomach twist.

My face went red. “No,” I croaked. “I can manage.”

He gave me a stiff nod and walked away, leaving me alone with the growing pit in my stomach.

It now dawned on me that the man I had slept with was gone. No note, no phone number, no goodbye. Nothing but a headache, a hangover, and a memory so blurred it felt like a dream.

What kind of woman did this? What kind of idiot slept with a stranger and didn’t even ask his name? The sad part was that his face was a blur among the many faces I’d seen last night. The only thing that I recalled was his eyes.

“Nice going, Emily,” I muttered to myself. “Real classy.”

I dragged myself to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, and stared at my reflection. My mascara has done a disappearing act, my hair looked like a crow’s nest, and my eyes, well, they looked just as lost as I felt.

I didn’t even know why I wanted to cry. It wasn’t like we’d had some grand romance. It was one night. One stupid, alcohol-fueled night.

I packed up what little dignity I had left and left the hotel.

°°°

Two weeks later…

If job hunting were a sport, I’d have qualified for the Olympics by now. Every morning I woke up, opened my laptop, and drowned in rejection emails. “We’ve decided to move forward with other candidates.” “Unfortunately, your qualifications do not meet our needs.” “Thank you for your time.”

The thank-yous were the worst. Like they were patting me on the head for trying.

I’d eaten so many instant noodles I could probably build a noodle sculpture of my old boss and punch it.

So when I got an email from Lockwood Enterprises, my brain short-circuited.

“Dear Ms Matthews, we were impressed by your application and would like to invite you for an interview…”

I must have reread it ten times. Lockwood Enterprises wasn’t just any company— it was the company. The global leader in biochemical research. The kind of place where people wore sleek suits and talked about changing the world.

Me? I was the woman who once got locked out of her office bathroom because she forgot her key card.

Still, this was my shot. My last one.

The morning of the interview, I woke up with my nerves doing an interpretive dance in my stomach. I’d ironed my best outfit which was saying something since most of my clothes had been living out of laundry baskets. My hair looked halfway decent, and I’d actually put on lipstick, which felt like some kind of miracle.

When I arrived at the main office of Lockwood Enterprises, I swear I almost turned around and went home. The skyscraper loomed over the city like a monument of success, its mirrored windows catching the morning light. The lobby alone looked like something out of a luxury magazine. Everything in there probably costs more than my old salary.

I checked in with the receptionist, “Good morning, please, I’m here for a scheduled interview.”

She gave me a once-over, a look of disdain crossing her face before she began typing on the computer. Was my dress inappropriate? Was there something on my face?

After five minutes of her ignoring me, she finally gave me her precious time and said, “Take the elevator to floor 8, and join the queue.”

I didn’t bother to give her a reply and headed to the elevator. After five years in marketing, dealing with snobby clients like her, I’d learned it was better to just not care.

When I reached the floor, I was shocked at the number of people waiting there. There were so many, and everyone looked so professional, polished, confident, and put together. It kinda brought down my self-esteem. I fiddled with my portfolio, trying not to sweat through my blouse.

Minutes turned to an hour, and finally my name was called, “Ms Emily Matthews?”

My heart turned toward the direction from which my name had been called. A woman stood in front of the open door to the interview room, a friendly smile on her face. “It’s your turn.”

I nodded, trying to return the smile. I started walking towards her when suddenly, the world tilted.

A wave of dizziness suddenly hit me. I blinked hard, trying to shake it away.

I shouldn’t have skipped breakfast this morning.

My heart began to race, and the air felt thick. I heard someone calling my name repeatedly, but now my mind was too messed up to actually care.

My body gave out, and I felt myself falling, but then strong arms held me in place.

The scent of a man's cologne enveloped me just before everything went dark.