The Sweet Poison Of Revenge. Victory Storm

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      "Great job, Miss Larson," Peter Anderson mumbled quickly, seeing me run back to the kitchen to take yet another order to take to the table.

      “Thanks,” I whispered excited for the compliment, before leaving for the elegant dining room of the prestigious restaurant, my hands loaded with dishes.

      "I cannot believe it. Anderson just complimented you. You can now consider yourself hired! Congratulations, Audrey!” My colleague Sharon exclaimed in a low voice, as I was trying to avoid running into her, moving towards the tables assigned to me.

      That day Prestige was full.

      All the tables were taken, except one.

      The bar counter was crowded and everywhere there were people coming and going in every direction.

      The risk of colliding with someone was extremely high.

      A risk that I absolutely could not afford.

      That was my third day at work as a waitress for Prestige and it would have been my last trial day before deciding whether to hire me permanently or let me go if I was not suitable for the job at the restaurant.

      Actually, I never wanted to be a waitress.

      I was a Marketing graduat e with a concentration in Administration and Public Relationship.

      In addition, I had studied advertising.

      That had always been my world.

      I had worked for advertising agencies all my life, until my divorce and my transfer to Gatesville to be near my father, who ended up in a wheelchair after a terrible stroke that had paralyzed him from the neck down.

      Now I was back in Chicago, that I considered my city, the place where all my dreams had always come true.

      However, I had soon discovered that, due to the four years I spent far away, many doors were now closed to me.

      After years in Gatesville to take care of my only parent who was still alive, Chicago had changed.

      Now requests, experiences, and competitiveness had reached levels that made my reintegration into what had always been my job almost impossible.

      Seemingly, nobody cared if I had planned and organized prestigious advertising campaigns. The only thing that everyone stopped to look at was that four-year-old interval during which I had been cut off from the working world.

      And now, here I was, being a waitress in a luxury restaurant, surrounded by buildings that gathered the offices of some of the largest advertising and IT companies in the city.

      I had looked for work desperately after my father's death, overwhelmed by healthcare costs yet to be paid.

      All my savings and money inherited from my father were gone.

      The only thing left for me to do was to go back to work in Chicago, the only city I knew and that could offer me job opportunities that a small town like Gatesville could never give me.

      Because of my financial problems, I had not been able to wait to find the perfect job, so I had to really search and in the end I had decided to find a job that would allow me to get in touch with the upscale world, without showing it .

      Being a waitress at Prestige meant this to me.

      It was not only the beautiful uniforms that made me feel at ease, but it was the possibility to meet the new owners of the advertising world that had aroused my interest.

      Now the only thing I had to do was pass the three-day trial period and get that job, in order to pay the house rent, I had three-months in arrears, and I needed to start probing the ground for my future.

      That day I knew that I had made the right choice.

      While serving drinks as well as elaborate and tasty dishes, I overheard extremely interesting conversations: a certain Savannah, annoyed by the advertising work she had requested for her cosmetics line, a creative director who had resigned leaving the Marshall Company in a difficult situation, since they did not know now how to satisfy the requests of new customers, a certain Farlight who was discussing with a woman his desire to revamp his liqueur’s brand logo ...

      In short, in front of me, I had infinite possibilities of getting a hold of the right customer and getting a job in public relations of an advertising company in exchange for some of the tips I had learnt.

      I knew very well there were those who would pay handsomely for that information.

      I felt in seventh heaven. Despite the effort of that large and demanding clientele, always in a hurry, I had not slowed down or wished for a break.

      "Bring this to table seven," Anderson suddenly ordered, handing me a tray full of appetizers.

      That was the last of the free tables.

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