And Then Came You ebook

And Then Came You

Author: Sarah Jones

Copyright © Sarah Jones & E.Lea, 2025

All rights reserved

Publisher:

E.Lea

62-865 Szczytniki 119a

Translation:

Planet Natives

Cover design and typesetting:

Justyna Kramarz | @studiogoodot

EPUB 3 Conversion and Accessibility Compliance:

Szymon Bolek | @studiogoodot

ISBN 978-83-976184-8-0

1st edition, Szczytniki 2025

Prologue

Saturday, 29 September

Eyes still closed, I fumble for my phone, which is blaring its alarm.

‘What time is it?’ I mutter to myself, squinting at the light forcing its way through the curtains. ‘That night went quickly.’

I roll onto my back and stare at the white ceiling, at the two long cracks right above my head. Lately, all the days are just blurring into one. Work, home, sleep, repeat. I rub my face with my hand and sit up on the bed, pulling my knees to my chest. I study my reflection in the mirror opposite. My pale face and grim expression are not exactly filling me with optimism.

‘I look even worse than usual,’ I sigh heavily. ‘And this hair…’

My long, chestnut locks were, to put it mildly, in a bit of a state. I take a strand in my hand and inspect the split ends.

‘Morning, Amelia. I heard you were up’.

Miranda is standing in the doorway. Her short, black hair shines in the autumn sunlight, and her large, dark-green eyes are half-hidden by her fringe. Dressed in a grey tracksuit, she gives me a wide smile, snapping me out of my thoughts about my appearance.

‘I’ll make us a coffee,’ she says cheerfully.

‘Thanks, Miranda. You have no idea how much I need it’, I reply, my voice hoarse.

‘I think you need more than just coffee; you need a proper rest. I’m starting to think you’re suffering from a severe case of workaholism and chronic sleep deprivation. Slow down a bit, girl, because…’

‘You know I can’t,’ I cut her off. ‘This is my last month of the internship. The last two weeks have been really intense, so much to do because of the changes at the company’.

‘I get it,’ she nods knowingly, ‘but you said everything was ready, so surely you can take it easy now. Besides, you’re only an intern there and you have so much responsibility’. She pulls a face.

‘I can’t take it easy. Not yet’, I say, shaking my head.

‘Oh, give it a rest, Amelia.’ Miranda rolls her eyes. ‘You’re the best one they’ve got. That job offer is practically in the bag’. She folds her arms across her chest. ‘You were the same at uni, you never let up,’ she states firmly, her brow furrowed.

‘Whether I’ll get the job remains to be seen. There’s a lot of competition’.

I hear her familiar sigh, but I ignore her disapproval.

‘Besides, I just want a good evaluation when I finish the internship. It’s important for my CV because, to be honest, I’m not even sure I want to work there’, I say, holding my hands out.

‘I don’t know what you’re worrying about. You’ve already got plenty to put on your CV as it is. With references like yours, you could work anywhere’.

‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’ I rub my forehead, and Miranda rolls her eyes again. At this point, we both know there’s no sense in continuing this conversation.

‘You’ve got something to celebrate.’

‘I don’t, not yet,’ I add, hoping she’ll understand, at least a little.

‘Yes, I’m thrilled I’ve got the job, but you’ll see, everything will work out for you too,’ she says kindly, perched on the edge of the bed.

‘I hope so,’ I reply in a near-whisper, twisting the edge of the duvet between my fingers.

‘It definitely will,’ my friend tries to reassure me. ‘Oh! That reminds me!’ She says, as if suddenly remembering something. ‘Speaking of celebrating, we still haven’t celebrated my new job!’

‘I know, Miranda, I’m so sorry I haven’t had the time, but –’ I start to explain.

‘There’s nothing to be sorry about. We just have to do it! Preferably before I go on holiday’, she says with a wide grin.

‘But you’re already on holiday, and you and Mark are leaving tomorrow. So when do you want to celebrate?’ I ask suspiciously.

‘We’ll think of something.’ The narrowed eyes and mischievous grin are a dead giveaway that she’s planning something. ‘All is not lost. We’ll discuss the details over coffee’, she says breezily, and disappears out the door.

I reluctantly get out of bed and head for the door. Before leaving, I glance one last time at the mirror with a sense of resignation, grimacing at the dark circles under my eyes.

‘I just hope it’s a quiet one, somewhere nice and low-key,’ I sigh to myself, before walking out of the bedroom.

‘That smells amazing, Miranda. You make the best coffee in the world, you know that?’ I smile, walking into the kitchen.

‘I know,’ Miranda winks as she pours the coffee into two mugs. Wisps of steam rise from the kitchen worktop, and the aroma of freshly ground beans fills the entire flat.

‘I’m going to miss this while you’re away,’ I say, leaning over my mug. ‘Not to mention we’re supposed to move out in a month, and you’re moving in with Mark.’ I sit on one of the high stools at the island.

‘It makes me sad too, thinking about it.’ Miranda takes the seat next to me.

‘Yeah, it’s been great,’ I agree, taking a sip of coffee. ‘This is delicious.’ I take two more sips, breathing in the aroma.

‘I’m glad you like it,’ she replies, amused.

‘I always like your coffee,’ I look at her with a wide smile and set my mug down on the worktop. ‘Have you packed yet?’

For the last few days, she’s been saying she needs to get on with her packing, but she hasn’t even got her suitcase out of the wardrobe.

‘Not really. But relax, we don’t fly until tomorrow afternoon, so there’s plenty of time’, she says with a dismissive wave of her hand.

‘It’s great you’re finally going on that holiday.’

‘You have no idea how excited I am. A whole two weeks!’ Her voice is high-pitched, but I can’t blame her; she’s been planning this trip for three months. ‘What about you? Will you get some rest?’

‘I don’t know. The company is preparing to change its systems. An investment from a foreign company. I told you about it, remember?’

‘Yeah, for the past two weeks you’ve been coming home late, always filling in some spreadsheets. And you mentioned some American corporation’.

‘That’s the one. On Monday, the board has an important meeting with their representatives, so the atmosphere will probably be tense’.

‘Well, that sounds like fun,’ Miranda says with a slight smile.

‘Oh, yeah. The whole department is on high alert for a few guys from overseas and some CEO’. I roll my eyes at the thought of Monday.

As an intern at one of the biggest marketing corporations, I’d had a chance to see what these kinds of meetings were like. Everyone gets weirdly on edge. Normally, the atmosphere is pretty relaxed, so the sudden commotion is a bit stressful, especially when all those CEOs and directors from competing firms descend on our department, acting like pompous buffoons. As if they’ve conquered the world and their massive egos can barely fit through the lift doors.

‘I suppose it’s the same everywhere,’ Miranda starts to giggle.

‘I’m just glad I don’t have to be part of that horror show. It’s moments like these that I’m grateful I’m only an intern. To be honest, I almost feel sorry for my boss, having to deal with all those stressful meetings’.

‘I don’t feel sorry for mine.’ The smile vanishes from her face.

‘Is he still being horrible?’

‘Horrible is putting it mildly,’ Miranda says, giving me a knowing look. ‘It’s Saturday morning and we’re talking about work.’ My friend rubs her face with her hand. ‘Anyway, tell me, how are things with your new flat?’

‘Good. I’ve just got the last few documents to sign’, I say, turning my coffee mug in my hands.

‘Okay, just make sure you read everything twice before you sign anything,’ she instructs me.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ I giggle.

It’s a shame we’re moving out after four years. I’ve grown used to this place. As soon as we started working part-time, we decided to move out of the halls. The flat is tiny, but we were lucky to get it. We each have our own room, and the open-plan kitchen and living room provide us with some extra space. I hope I’ll be happy in the new place. The studio flat I’ve chosen is closer to the city centre and has a lovely view.

‘So, do you know what you’ll be doing while I’m away?’ Miranda looks at me over the rim of her mug.

‘Not yet, but don’t worry, I’ll find something to do… if I don’t pick up some extra work’.

I hear that familiar sigh of hers when I mention working overtime. Miranda has just realised that I have no intention of relaxing or working any less while she’s gone. I know exactly what she thinks about my commitment to my job, but I’m focused on the internship, which ends in a month, and then I’ll have to decide what’s next.

If I receive a job offer, I’ll have to consider it seriously. I never planned on a career in marketing; I only got this internship because their recruitment process was later than the finance companies, and I hadn’t graduated yet. The thought of the marathon of sending out CVs and going to interviews makes my stomach churn. I know that the top firms in the banking sector are highly sought after, and the competition is fierce.

‘I really hope you’ll see sense. I’m genuinely worried about you’.

‘You don’t need to be.’

‘I don’t know about that. But if I can’t convince you to rest, then let’s at least make the most of tonight. Let’s go out and celebrate my new job. Marek still has a few things to sort out before the trip, so we can let our hair down. The next chance we’ll get won’t be for another two weeks’, she stresses.

‘Tonight? But how, and where?’

‘Anka and Julka recommended a new club. Said it’s got good music and the décor is amazing’.

‘Clubbing,’ I pull a face.’I was hoping you’d choose somewhere a bit less… loud’, I suggest gently.

‘Oh no, you don’t.’ She jumps up from her seat. ‘First, I finally want to celebrate this job, and I plan on doing it with my best friend. Second, I’ve already arranged it with the girls, and I want to go dancing. And third, when was the last time you went out anywhere, eh?’ She rattles off passionately.’You’re twenty-six, you should be living your life. Come on, it’ll do you good to let off some steam’. She gives me a provocative smile. ‘Maybe you’ll meet someone handsome,’ she adds, as if it were an afterthought.

‘Ha ha!’ I burst out laughing.’You mean some horny guy looking for a one-night stand? No thanks, we’ve been through that before, remember?’

‘Yeah, I know,’ she winces at the memory of our last night out. ‘But you haven’t dated anyone properly since you and Norbert broke up. How long has it been now?’

The mention of Norbert makes me feel sick. Norbert Gradowski, the physiotherapist. Tall, slim, with dark blond hair, blue eyes, and an oh-so-sincere smile. Always sociable, funny, and confident. The opposite of me. We’d been together for almost four years. I thought he was the one, and then one day, out of the blue, he told me it was over, that there was someone else. I shudder at the very thought of it, how he left me for that girl he met when she came in for a few appointments with a bad shoulder. What more is there to say? He broke my heart. Bastard.

‘Oh, Miranda, you know it’s not that simple,’ I sigh loudly.

‘Are you thinking about that wanker?’

‘Sometimes,’ I shrug.’But there’s nothing to talk about.’ I wave a hand dismissively.’That chapter’s closed.’

‘Then let’s go out and have some fun,’ she insists.

‘You know, I don’t think a crowd of wild party-goers is the right place to meet someone decent.’

‘I get the feeling that idiot has put you off all men,’ I hear her sigh in exasperation.

‘There’s some truth in that. He taught me to be cautious, as you would say’.

‘Do you know what I’d do to him if I saw him now?’ Miranda threatens theatrically.

‘I know, I know, you’ve told me a thousand times,’ I reply, amused, and finish my coffee.

‘Anyway, back to the subject at hand…’ Impatient, she taps her nails on the worktop, waiting for my answer about tonight. An affirmative one, preferably.

‘Alright, I’ll come with you.’ With a smile, I hop off the stool at the island and start clearing away the mugs.

‘Brilliant!’ My friend jumps for joy.’I’m texting the girls right now.’ She grabs her phone. ‘It’ll be great, you’ll see,’ she adds, a sparkle in her eyes.

* * *

‘Ready to go?’ I hear the click-clack of heels in the hallway. ‘The taxi’s waiting.’

‘Coming, coming,’ I reply, quickly trying to fix my hair one last time in the bathroom.

Wow, look at you, all dressed up’. Miranda looks me up and down as I walk out.

‘What?’ I glance at myself in the mirror. ‘Should I change?’

‘No! God, no! You look stunning’, she says with a genuine smile.

The black, shimmering, strappy dress has a modest neckline, but it’s quite low-cut at the back. It’s fairly short, and its loose fit hides my figure a bit.

As for my figure, I’m not that different from most women my age. I’m slim, but not skinny. A typical pear shape. Slender arms and shoulders. I don’t have any extra inches around my waist, and even my boobs are okay. But my hips… I’ve always hated them. They’re too big, too wide – just, no. I usually choose outfits that don’t draw attention to them. Straight-leg trousers, maybe jeans, or looser-fitting skirts. With dresses, I try to go for ones that are slightly flared.

I slip on my heels and fix my hair one more time in the mirror by the door. Damn it, not a single strand is behaving, I think, smoothing the pieces along my face.

‘Come on, the taxi driver will get impatient.’ Miranda takes my hand and pulls me out onto the landing.

The club Miranda chose is already packed, even though it’s still early. At the entrance, we’re joined by Julia and Anka, Miranda’s colleagues from work. A friendly blonde with hazel eyes and a short brunette with a warm smile tell us excitedly about the place. The modern interior is genuinely impressive. The combination of exposed brick, steel, and white décor creates an incredible effect. Two dance floors on two levels and a perfectly tuned sound system make you feel like you’ve stepped into another world the moment you walk through the door.

We squeeze through to the bar and order drinks, and when we manage to find an empty booth, we quickly claim it. The lower dance floor is filling up fast. For a moment, I watch the people who have come out to have fun tonight. The strobe lights flash to the beat of the music, and the bass is so loud you can feel the blood pulsing in your veins.

‘Let’s go dance!’ Miranda orders, and she’s the first one on the dance floor, carving out a space for us.

We sway and jump to the rhythm of the tracks the DJ mixes into one continuous stream. Miranda was right; it feels good to let off some steam and relax. The drink has already gone to my head, and I start to feel wonderfully light, as if I have no bones, brain, or muscles. I love dancing. It’s a shame it took me so long to realise it, and now I rarely take the opportunity to go out and just live like everyone else my age.

A few guys start circling us, but we quickly give them a clear signal that we’re not interested in their company.

‘I’ll go and get us some drinks,’ I offer as we collapse, tired, into the booth. The girls nod, their faces flushed.

When I get to the bar, I feel like I’ve hit rush hour. I wait for the bartender for what feels like an age, and making our drinks seems to take an eternity. Everyone’s shoving their way in, so there’s no room at the bar.

Through the throng of impatient customers, I finally spot the bartender and my four chilled cosmopolitans. At last! The moment I turn to leave, a man who has just walked up to the bar bumps into me, making me drop one of the glasses on the counter. The drink spills everywhere, and the bartender gives me a bewildered look.

‘I’m sorry, it wasn’t my fault –’ I start to explain, as the man standing next to me moves closer.

‘My apologies. This mess is my fault’, I hear him say to the barman in English, in a deep British voice.

I love a British accent. The six months I spent on a student exchange in London, supported by a scholarship, made me very well acquainted with the city. To this day, I’m glad I took the chance to go. It was one of the few good things that came out of breaking up with that idiot.

‘I bumped into the lady by accident,’ he adds, leaning over the bar, his deep voice vibrating right by my ear. I shiver slightly.

The bartender nods and immediately starts cleaning up. I slowly turn towards the man who made me lose a drink. I don’t have the patience to wait for another one.

Brown eyes stare at me from under thick, dark eyebrows. An uncontrollable blush spreads across my face. The handsome brunette looks quite young, despite his sharp features, high cheekbones, and a strong jawline. He smiles slightly, and two charming dimples appear in his cheeks.

My stomach does a sudden flip.

‘Again, I’m sorry. It’s so crowded in here’, he says with a smile and a friendly sparkle in his eyes.

‘It’s nothing. It’s usually like this on a Saturday,’ I reply, switching to English. ‘Or so I’ve heard,’ I add quickly, flustered.

The man stops leaning against the bar and stands up straight.

Damn, he’s tall.

My eyes travel up. At five foot seven, even in my nearly four-inch heels, he’s taller than me by at least half a head. He’s wearing a perfectly tailored suit, and his shirt makes it clear that he’s well-built and very attractive, although I have to admit, he looks a bit strange, being so overdressed for a club.

‘How’s your night going?’ He asks casually, brushing a few stray strands of dark hair from his forehead. He moves closer to let a couple of guys pass him.

The movement and his closeness release the scent of his cologne, which hangs in the air between us. I can smell bitter orange, lavender, and sage with a hint of mint and musk, but mostly, it’s the scent of his skin. The combination is a heady mix of adventure, summer rain, and warm wind. It hits me, and a pleasant shiver runs down my back.

‘Not bad… I mean, it’s good,’ I say, staring at him.

Not bad? Come on, Amelia, get a grip.

He suddenly leans down towards me.

‘I saw you dancing,’ his breath ghosts over my earlobe.

A wave of heat rushes through me, and my blood runs hot.

What does he mean, he saw me? Has he been watching me? I’m not usually susceptible to cheap pick-up lines like, ‘Hey baby, nice moves,’ but what he said, and the way he said it, has a very strange effect on me. I don’t know if I should be scared, but what I’m feeling right now is more a strange excitement than terror.

He’s studying me. I can feel a deep blush creeping up my neck and across my chest. His gaze follows it to where my skin is burning, and I see his lips twitch. Great.

I reach for my drinks, intending to get away from the bar as quickly as possible, but as I hear someone complain about the way being blocked, some obnoxious guy literally shoves in next to me, pushing me closer to the stranger. He is now looking at the glasses I’m holding.

‘I’m sorry about the drink.’ He gestures to the barman.

‘It’s fine. I should be getting back anyway’, I say, suddenly realising how long I’ve been gone.

‘What’s the rush?’

‘My friend’s celebrating her new job,’ I reply, rooted to the spot.

‘Are you having a good time?’ I see a playful glint in his eyes.

Is he flirting with me?

‘Yes. So you said’, I tilt my head to the side and smile slightly.

Damn it, am I egging him on?

‘I did’, his smile widens, ‘and I hope you’ll dance with me’, he whispers into my ear.

I feel another rush of heat.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ I reply with a surprised laugh, taking a step back to put some space between us.

‘How about you at least tell me your name, then?’ He’s still smiling, leaning on the bar.

It’s at this moment that I realise this isn’t just some innocent flirtation; this man didn’t just appear at the bar by chance. He probably didn’t mean to knock my drink over, but I know this conversation isn’t just the result of a little accident.

‘I don’t give out personal details to strangers,’ I say curtly, wondering what this is all about.

‘But we’re not exactly strangers anymore,’ he leans in again, and my stomach does a somersault.

My body is completely betraying me.

The barman comes over to us, so for a moment the stranger’s attention is on him. I feel a sense of relief when his eyes are finally off me, but also a strange pang in my chest that they are. He raises his voice slightly and orders a whisky. The deep, low timbre of his voice cuts through the thumping music with ease, reaching the barman clearly.

There’s that shiver again.

‘I really have to go back now.’

Not waiting any longer, I hurry down the small steps and skirt around the edge of the dance floor. I sneak a glance back at the stranger I abandoned at the bar. He looks just as good from a distance as he does up close, and it’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything like this. No man has been able to spark the slightest interest in me, until tonight.

‘What took you so long?’ Miranda pulls a pout.

‘It was mobbed at the bar.’ I hold my hands up helplessly as I set the glasses down on the table.

‘Why have you only got three drinks?’ Julia asks, frowning at me.

‘There was a bit of an accident. You guys drink these, I’ll get myself one later, when the crowd dies down a bit. It’s so packed,’ I say, sitting down opposite them.

Before my friends can take their first sip, a waiter brings a cosmopolitan over to me. All their eyes go wide, and I nervously glance towards the bar, where the stranger is still standing. He raises his glass to me.

‘Who’s that from?’ Miranda asks, looking around.

‘A guy at the bar knocked one of the glasses out of my hand. It’s from him’, I say nonchalantly, though shivers are running down my spine, a faint tingling, like touching a live wire.

‘Which one?’ Anka cranes her neck towards the bar.

‘He’s standing over there –’ I turn to look, but I can’t see him anywhere. ‘He’s gone,’ I reply, trying to sound casual, but a pang of disappointment hits me.

We finish our drinks and head back to the dance floor. Every so often, I scan the room, in the quiet hope that I might see him again. I wonder if he’s watching me again, maybe standing somewhere secluded and dark. I strain my eyes, carefully studying every corner, but I can’t see his silhouette anywhere. My face falls a little.

‘I need the loo!’ I yell to Miranda, who’s dancing wildly next to me.

‘What?!’

‘The loo!’ Her short hair is flying everywhere as she nods energetically to show she heard me.

We’ve been dancing for a while now, and the latest drink has gone to both my head and my bladder, so I bounce my way to the toilets. I do my business, fix my tousled hair in the mirror, and pull down my dress, which had ridden up dangerously high while I was dancing. I take a few deep breaths and reapply my lip gloss.

I’m walking back down the narrow corridor to the dance floor when I see the stranger from the bar just by the exit.

He’s leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets. Certain that I wouldn’t see him again, I now slow down. He smiles widely as I walk towards him. The corridor is dimly lit, but I can still clearly see the glint in his eyes. A few longer strands of hair have fallen onto his forehead. I feel my stomach muscles clench.

‘So, how are you enjoying yourself now?’ He says.

‘Very much. Thanks for the drink’, I reply, tipsy and dazed.

‘I can see it served its purpose. You’re dancing even better than before’. He takes a step towards me.

It’s true. After two drinks, I’m in a blissfully festive mood, and the thought that the stranger has been watching me all this time is making my head spin even more.

‘So how about that dance now?’ The man moves closer. The narrow corridor leading to the toilets means we are once again standing close to each other. Too close.

‘I still think that’s not a good idea‘, I say, shaking my head.

‘Just one dance. Come on’, he whispers into my ear, intensifying the spinning in my head.

I don’t get picked up by guys in clubs; I’m not interested in flings. After a four-year relationship and an emotional break-up, I was single for a long time, not letting any man get close. There was one guy, a charming assistant bank manager who was helping me gather material for my master’s thesis, but when it turned out I wasn’t the only one he was’helping’, I got out of that situation at the speed of light. So I don’t understand why I’m now actually considering this stranger’s offer.

‘Another drink, then?’ He tries another tack, smiling again. The charming dimples reappear in his cheeks, and his lips part, revealing their deep red colour. I watch them for a moment. They’re full, well-defined and… tempting. I shake my head to clear it.

‘Alright, a drink would be good,’ I say finally, looking at him with a dazed expression.

‘My pleasure,’ he says with a smile, gesturing towards the bar on the other side of the dance floor.

I turn, and a moment later I feel his hand on my bare back.

A pleasant warmth spreads through me. I know I should pull away, create some distance, but his large hand and long fingers send a pleasant tremor through my body.

It’s definitely the alcohol, my subconscious reassures me.

We squeeze through the crowd of writhing bodies. The music is loud, and the lights flash in different colours, creating beautiful mosaics on the white walls. We finally make it to the bar. For a moment, I take in my surroundings and the man beside me. Dressed in a suit, enveloped in his seductive cologne, there was also the faint scent of amber liquor on his breath. He didn’t fit in with the other men at the bar at all, who were sweaty, doused in cheap aftershave, and in some cases so drunk they could barely stay on their feet.

‘Sex this time?’

‘W-what?’ I blink rapidly, my legs giving way beneath me.

‘The drink,’ he explains, amused, while I’m still standing there with my mouth open.

‘Oh. Yes, that would be fine’, I nod more times than necessary, and for reasons I don’t understand, my pulse quickens.

But he only offered me a drink, and I know what a Sex on the Beach is. Still, hearing the word ‘sex’ from him sounded very, very strange, so much so that for a moment, I found myself wondering what he’s like in bed, how he treats women. Whether he’s a gentle lover, or if he prefers rough, fast sex that leaves women remembering his touch for a long time after.

Damn it, it’s just a drink. You’ve had too much, Amelia.

The man orders another whisky for himself and a Sex on the Beach – the drink, of course. I watch him, strangely flustered by the double entendre and my own runaway thoughts.

‘You ordered a cosmo last time, so you must like those sweet, sticky juices,’ he says teasingly.

‘Sticky juices?’ I ask, pretending to be offended, though I want to laugh.

‘What else would you call those colourful drinks?’

‘They’re very good cocktails. Much better than the bitter taste of whisky’.

‘Bitter?’ He interrupts.’Women rarely appreciate good alcohol.’

I nod. Normally, I would probably get into a debate with him about what women really like and how wrong men are on that subject, but these unruly thoughts are still running through my head, making it hard for me to think straight.

‘And you? Are you having a good time?’ I ask, changing the subject.

‘It’s alright. If I had the night off, it would probably be better’, he replies evasively, handing me my drink.

‘You’re at work?’ I don’t hide my surprise. Who works on a Saturday at this time? Maybe he’s a bouncer? I look around, trying to spot any other security staff in the club. I don’t see anyone, so I size up the stranger again. His suit looks expensive and tailor-made, so I’m not sure. Maybe he’s the manager.

‘Unfortunately, my work rarely ends on a Friday afternoon and starts again on Monday morning.’ He smiles mysteriously and raises the glass of whisky to his lips.

Now I’m even more intrigued. But before I can come up with a hundred different theories about his life, my attention is fixed on his deep red lips as they close around the thick rim of the glass. He tilts it back and takes two long pulls of his whisky. At the sight of his damp lips, I swallow hard.

Damn it.

‘Are you nervous?’ He stops smiling, but there’s still a friendly glint in his dark eyes.

‘No, why would I be nervous?’

Good question.

‘I don’t know. You just don’t seem like a regular clubber’.

‘I already told you, I’m celebrating with my friend,’ I say, looking at him, confused.

Is it that obvious I don’t fit in here?

‘You did, but you don’t come here often, do you?’

Now I really feel like I should check my forehead to see if the number of times I’ve been out on a Saturday is written there.

‘I’m having a really great time,’ I assure him.

‘You seem tense, so it can’t be going that well,’ he observes, tilting his head to the side.

‘Excuse me? I am not tense’, I say indignantly. It’s been ages since I’ve had this much fun on a night out. It’s only around him that I feel this tension, and I have no idea why.

‘Then dance with me,’ his words sound like a challenge.

‘Out of the question,’ I say, nervously shaking my head more times than I should.

‘My point exactly,’ he says calmly.

‘Are you provoking me?’

‘Maybe a little,’ he leans in, his deep red lips just inches from mine.

A strand of his hair falls playfully onto his forehead, and I instinctively shift my position, pressing my knees together. Why does he affect me like this?

I want to come back with a witty retort to his flippant behaviour, to put him in his place, but instead, I finish my drink in silence, thinking about what he said. I watch him as he leans casually against the bar, sipping his whisky. He’s handsome, magnetic, and the night will be over soon. The lewd thoughts I had when he offered me the drink are still circling in my head, and I have a genuine desire to let go, to throw all caution to the wind. I want to dance for him. I want him to watch me, just like he was doing before. The desire makes that strange pang in my chest travel down and settle just below my ribs.

Could I do it? Dance for him? We don’t know each other and we’ll probably never see each other again, so why not? But is it the right thing to do?

I give the stranger a once-over.

‘Stay here.’ The words are out of my mouth before my brain can catch up.

I step onto the edge of the dance floor, my heart hammering and my legs feeling like jelly. I turn to face him and start to move gently to the music. His sparkling brown eyes are fixed on me. I take a deep breath. The music changes. Calvin Harris and Sam Smith,’Promises’. Ironically, it’s perfect. No promises, just one dance. The sensual voice immediately pulls me onto the floor. The man from the bar watches my every move intently, so I close my eyes and raise my arms above my head, running my fingers through my hair every so often. I feel my dress ride up, but I don’t care, because right now, I’m dancing for my stranger. Despite the few metres between us and the dim light, I know he’s watching me, and I’m spurred on by the knowledge that I’ve had his attention all evening. I feel no self-consciousness at all. In fact, it’s a revelation: I have never felt more sexy. It’s a little strange, dancing so freely for someone I don’t even know.

Lost in the moment, I don’t notice when the stranger joins me. I feel his closeness, and that shiver runs down my spine again.

He puts one arm around my waist, and I brush my hip against him.

I draw a sharp breath, but I don’t pull away. The fingers of his other hand trace the hem of my dress. For a split second, I want him to pull it up even higher, but I quickly push the thought away.

Easy, Amelia. It’s just one dance… and the alcohol.

His fingertips gently brush against my thigh as he holds me around the waist. He presses his body to my back. I tilt my head back, resting it against his chest. I can hear his steady breathing and smell his cologne. I close my eyes again, swaying sensually. I don’t think I’ve ever danced like this before. I reach a hand back to brush his cheek.

‘You’re a really good dancer,’ he whispers, his voice vibrating next to my ear.

‘I know,’ I reply nonchalantly, though I don’t believe it for a second. ‘You’re not a bad dancer yourself.’

I hear him chuckle, and I can feel the muscles in his chest contract beneath his clothes. The hairs on my arms stand on end. I pull his face closer to mine.

‘So I can let loose after all, can’t I?’ I ask teasingly.

‘Yes. Especially when you’re dancing just for me’, he whispers against my neck. My head is spinning from his words and his warm breath. ‘But I don’t like an audience.’

I open my eyes and glance at a few guys standing by the bar. They’re looking our way, deep in some animated discussion.

Damn it.

‘Are you finally going to tell me your name?’ His breath is sweet, laced with whisky, and my head spins again.

‘It’s just a dance,’ I remind him.

Another chuckle.

‘You’re stubborn.’

‘Sometimes.’ He slides his hand along my thigh, his index finger drawing tiny circles on my skin.

‘Can I count on another dance?’ A fire ignites low in my belly, and goosebumps prickle on the back of my neck. I press back against him. It would be wonderful to dance again, but as the song ends, the reality of where I am and what I’m doing comes crashing back.

‘I have to go,’ I say, dazed, and slip out of his arms. I dash across the dance floor towards my friends without looking back.

‘Where have you been?!’ Miranda looks annoyed when I find her near the table where we were sitting.

‘Nowhere. There was even a queue for the loo’, I reply quickly, a stupid smile on my face.

‘You’ve been gone for half an hour, don’t bullshit me.’ She moves closer, her green eyes studying me, clearly curious to hear my excuse.

‘I ran into the stranger from the bar. You know, the one who bought me the drink’.

‘And?!’ She demands, giving me an inquisitive stare.

‘And nothing. We exchanged a few words, that’s all,’ I brush her off.

I don’t want to admit that I was just dancing an incredibly erotic dance with a stranger and that I’m still in a bit of shock. Yes, that’s definitely it. I’m in shock. My body is tense, my heart is still beating at an unnaturally fast pace, and the deep blush that’s now spreading across my cheeks is the best proof. What a night.

‘Shall we get going?’ Julia joins our conversation.

‘Yes, we can go now,’ I nod eagerly, hoping to leave this place as soon as possible and avoid accidentally running into him again.

Sunday, 30 September

The alarm rings in my ears, so I quickly find my phone and switch it off.

I ache all over as I get out of bed. I think I used every single muscle last night. I carefully shuffle to the edge of the bed. When was the last time I exercised? Ages ago. I do a quick calculation in my head as I walk into the kitchen. I hear Miranda groaning in the hallway.

‘Morning, Amelia. You won’t believe what’s happened’. Miranda appears in the doorway, grabbing the frame for support. ‘Our flight’s been changed. We’re leaving in three hours’. She slumps onto a stool at the island. ‘My head is splitting, I’m exhausted, and I haven’t even packed.’

‘Morning. Well, this is a mess’, I say, amused, but my friend just gives me a forced smile and clutches her head, resting her elbows on the worktop. ‘You’re having a really rough morning, aren’t you?’ I take two mugs from the cupboard above the sink.

‘A very, very rough morning,’ she groans.

‘How much did you drink last night to be this hungover?’ I slide a mug full of coffee under her nose.

‘I don’t know. Another two drinks, I think. You were gone for ages, and the dance floor was so packed we decided to go to the upstairs bar’.

Was I with the stranger for that long?

‘Speaking of which, who was that guy?’ Miranda watches me closely. ‘Do you know him?’

‘No,’ I deny it immediately. ‘I’ve never seen him before. No idea who he is. I think he was English’, I say, nervously rubbing my forehead.

‘I see.’ Miranda slowly lifts her head and brings it back to a normal position. ‘Are you sure you were in the toilet that whole time, and that you were only talking to him?’ She asks suspiciously.

‘Yes, of course. I already told you’, I say, frowning.

What’s with the interrogation first thing in the morning? Could the girls have seen me? Dancing…

My pulse quickens, and I feel my stomach clench.

‘Alright.’ My friend takes a sip of her coffee. ‘I’m only asking because you looked like you’d been doing something else. You know, you were flushed and sweaty, and you were out of breath’.

I choke on my coffee.

‘Miranda, have you gone mad?! What are you accusing me of?!’ I gasp, trying to catch my breath.

‘Nothing! I just wanted to make sure. But it’s not like it would be a bad thing if… well… you know…’ she trails off, trying, in her own delicate way, to tell me she wouldn’t have minded if I’d gone for a quickie with him.

‘You’re either completely mad or still drunk,’ I say, cutting the absurd conversation short and glaring at her.

‘Possibly both, but I don’t have time to think about it now because I have to pack. Will you help me?’ She asks, looking at me with pleading eyes and clasping her hands together.

‘Of course,’ I say with a laugh.

The morning flies by as Miranda tries on practically her entire wardrobe. Together, we decide what makes the cut and what definitely doesn’t.

It’s nearly ten o’clock by the time we’ve tidied up the mess and are sitting in the living room.

‘So, have you thought about what you’ll do with your evenings while I’m gone?’ My friend asks, pulling her knees up and resting her feet on the armchair’s edge. She massages her temples for a moment.

‘Not yet. And I don’t know why you keep asking me, hmm? That’s the third time since yesterday’.

‘I’m just asking,’ she shrugs.

‘“Just asking”?’ She never ‘just asks’.

‘Yes, just asking,’ she sighs. ‘I’m just worried, that’s all.’

‘Just worried?’ Yesterday, I might have believed her, but today I don’t think it’s just about concern.

‘Yes, worried. And I was thinking… maybe you should go on a date with Kuba?’ She starts tentatively. ‘Seeing as your little flirtation yesterday didn’t go so well,’ she winks, ‘he doesn’t leave until Friday, so you’d have time to meet up,’ she adds quickly.

I knew she wouldn’t be able to hold back for long. The topic of Kuba has been coming back like a boomerang for weeks.

‘Is it just me, or are you trying to force a boyfriend on me?’ I ask rhetorically. ‘And for the record, yesterday was not a “flirtation”’, I add, shooting her an angry look.

‘Alright, alright. I just don’t want you to be alone while I’m away’.

‘Oh, thanks, but I’ll be fine.’

‘I know you’ll be fine, but you could at least meet up with him, couldn’t you?’ Her persistence is honestly incredible.

‘I don’t know,’ I reply, my voice lacking conviction.

‘Kuba is a really great guy. Give him a chance. You two should see each other’, she insists.

Miranda thinks Kuba is perfect, especially for me. He’s calm, kind, and reliable. He’s a graphic designer at the publishing house where Miranda just started in the accounts department. He travels a lot, and, as she likes to point out, he’s single.

‘We’ll see. I’m not promising anything for now’, I reply evasively.

I like Kuba, especially when he tells stories about his travels. We have a few things in common, but I see him more as a friend than anything more. I’ve always believed that there has to be that ‘spark’ in a relationship. Like most women, I wanted to find ‘the one’ and experience a true, romantic love. To feel butterflies in my stomach and be on a total love high. I knew it was naive thinking, especially since in my recent experiences with men, I haven’t felt even a fraction of what I secretly dreamed of. Besides, I currently need to focus on my internship, career, and moving house. Romance, which could just end in heartbreak, is the last thing on my mind. I’ve trusted a man once before, and I don’t intend to make the same mistake twice.

‘Okay, I won’t push it,’ Miranda finally backs off. ‘Will you come to the airport with us?’

‘I’d love to’, I agree. ‘We should probably get read.’ I glance at the clock. ‘Marek will be here soon.’

‘I agree with you there,’ my friend says with a wide smile as she gets up from the armchair.

I take a quick shower before we leave. The warm water from the rainfall shower cascades over my body. I squeeze some shampoo into my hand and wash my hair, its pleasant scent filling the small bathroom. I lather my skin with shower gel and slowly rinse it off. Ten minutes later, I’m standing in front of the mirror, trying to comb out my wet hair. My blue eyes are staring at my reflection when I hear rustling outside the door.

‘Hurry up a bit, we’re leaving in fifteen minutes!’ I hear Miranda’s voice in the hallway.

‘Alright!’ I shout back.

I dry my hair and put on some light makeup – a bit of foundation and a touch of mascara. In a rush, I pull on a white T-shirt and dark blue jeans. When I walk out of the bathroom, Marek is already waiting in the hall.

He’s a really friendly guy of average height, with short brown hair, a receding hairline, and a nice smile. He and Miranda met during a language course at uni. Dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, he’s holding a black bag.

‘Hi, Amelia,’ he greets me, then eyes the suitcase Miranda has dragged into the hallway. ‘Let’s hope we don’t have to pay for excess baggage,’ he says dryly, and Miranda shoots him a look.

I can barely hold back a laugh. Well… that’s reality for you.

‘Hi, Marek,’ I reply, amused.

‘All set. The taxi’s waiting,’ he announces, carrying the suitcase out the door.

‘Okay, we’re coming,’ my friend replies, packing the last few bits and pieces into her hand luggage. Dressed in comfortable trousers, a loose-fitting shirt, and summery shoes, she follows Marek out.

I grab my trainers from the cupboard, stand in front of the mirror and fix my hair, which is falling in soft waves, though a few unruly strands still refuse to behave. I put on a short, brown jacket, grab my small handbag, and close the door behind me.

It’s Sunday morning as we drive to Chopin Airport. After a slow half-hour journey, the taxi drops us off at the main entrance. The terminal isn’t too busy, though the queue for the Crete holiday package desk is starting to get longer. Miranda gets out their tickets and the necessary documents, which means it’s time to say goodbye.

‘Have a great time,’ I say to them, then pull my friend into a hug. ‘Look after yourselves,’ I add.

‘We will. You too’, she replies, hugging me tightly.

‘Of course I will,’ I assure her.

‘And think again about meeting up with Kuba, okay?’

I can’t help but roll my eyes. I know she means well, but sometimes she really overdoes it.

‘Fine, I’ll meet up with him,’ I finally give in, just for some peace.

‘Brilliant!’ She replies, overjoyed, and hugs me again.

‘Let’s go,’ I hear Marek’s urgent voice. ‘See you, Amelia.’ He waves goodbye.

‘See you!’ I reply as Miranda lets me go and joins the queue for the gate.

I stand there for a moment, watching as my friends disappear into the line of people waiting for check-in. I give them one last wave and turn to leave.

I step outside onto the street. The warm air envelops my face. I take a deep breath, completely ignoring the people passing me. I stand in the middle of the pavement for a long moment with my face tilted up to the sky, as if wishing I could be transported to a completely different place.

The club… the dance floor… the stranger? My subconscious recalls the events of last night.

I open my eyes and start walking, trying to shake off the irrational feeling.

My phone rings. I instinctively pull it from my jacket pocket and swipe the green ‘answer’ icon.

‘Hello? Hi, Amelia’. A loud voice on the other end of the line snaps me out of my jumbled thoughts.

‘Hi, Blanka,’ it takes me a moment to reply.

‘Is everything okay?’

‘Yes, of course it is.’ Of course, everything’s fine. It’s just the intense emotions from last night still lingering, that’s all. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Are you sure? You sound a bit off’.

‘Honestly, everything’s fine,’ I say, taking a deep breath.

‘I’m just calling to see how you are. We haven’t spoken in ages’.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t called. I’ve been a bit snowed under with work this week’, I say, rubbing my forehead with my hand.

‘Oh, I know! Could you please tell me how the internship is going? Have you had an offer yet? Have you been looking for anything else?’ Blanka peppers me with questions, and I wait patiently for her to finish. I know from experience that there’s no point in interrupting her monologues.

‘I don’t know. I haven’t had any offers yet. And I haven’t made any decisions myself’.

‘I see. But you are going to look?’

‘Yes, I still have a bit of time.’

‘Right, right, of course you do’, she murmurs. ‘What are you doing next weekend? Maybe I could come and visit, if you don’t have any plans?’

‘Next weekend?’

‘Yes. We haven’t seen each other in ages, and Mateusz has his final project meetings, so I’ll be in Warsaw’.

‘No – I mean, yes. I mean, I don’t have any plans, so it’s a great idea for us to meet up,’ I reply, my words all jumbled.

‘Amelia, are you sure everything is alright?’ Blanka asks firmly, demanding a proper answer.

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ I assure her, only now realising how incredibly distracted I am.’How are things in Wrocław?’ I ask, changing the subject. We’ve seen each other a lot less since she moved.

‘Good. Mateusz is really happy with his job, and now that he’s got this big project, he’s absolutely thrilled’. Right, I remember now, the plans for Munich.

‘And you?’

‘I’m happy too. Work is fine’, she says briskly. ‘But I miss Warsaw… and I miss you, sis.’

I smile widely. I haven’t seen her in so long, and talking on the phone just isn’t the same. The thought that we might not see each other for a whole year makes my stomach clench.

‘I miss you being here too,’ I reply honestly. I can hear her smiling on the other end.

‘So, are we on for next week?’ She asks again.

‘Of course we are.’

‘We’ll have a proper catch-up when I’m there. See you then’.

‘Bye, see you.’

I hang up and put the phone back in my pocket.

After the call, I go for a long walk, hoping this strange excitement I feel whenever I think about last night and the stranger will finally fade. No such luck. My thoughts keep returning to our encounter: his stunning appearance, his electrifying touch, and that wild dance. By the end of the day, I find myself genuinely regretting that we never introduced ourselves, that I don’t even know his name.

Chapter One

Monday, 1st October

Josh

‘Shit, not another traffic jam,’ I mutter, glancing around at the cars crawling along with me. ‘At this rate, I’m going to be late.’

I look at the watch that’s been dictating my frantic pace for years. ‘Good thing Jonathan, Ralph and Scott had an easier run from the airport. The flat I rented is nowhere near as close to the city centre as I’d expected’.

I look at the route on the sat-nav. We’re at a complete standstill now. I glance at my fellow commuters in the other cars. I tap my fingers rhythmically against the steering wheel, but the low growl of the Audi’s engine does little to soothe me. ‘I’ll call Jonathan, let him know I might be late.’

The brief call is a relief; at least they’re already there. Being late would be bad form, though the CEO of Product Market seems decent enough. He’s a straight-talking business partner, someone I’ve got to know over several visits to London and the video conferences where we hammered out the final details of the deal. It’s been a solid few weeks of hard graft. There is absolutely no time for relaxation or fun. Not even casual sex. Then again, I haven’t really felt the urge lately. I don’t know where this lack of enthusiasm has come from. I used to be fine with casual flings, messing around with women whose names I can’t even remember. Some of them were so wild, they probably had just as much trouble remembering my name, and others have likely forgotten me completely. I’ve been the one-night stand, the rebound after a break-up, the escape from a boring marriage, and to be honest, I was happy with every one of those roles. This must just be a temporary slump.

The phone cuts through my thoughts.

‘Hi, Josh.’

‘Shawn, hi.’

‘Can you send me last month’s stats from London for tomorrow, please?’

‘I’ll try. If not, I’ll get Steve to do it. Not sure I’ll have time to get to it myself.’

‘Right. And how are things in Warsaw?’

‘Everything going to plan, I take it?’

‘Yes, the meeting on Saturday went without a hitch. I think we’ll have no problem acquiring a stake in the building in the city centre – the one with the club. We’re starting with Product Market today, but I’m also in negotiations with two other firms, as well as talks with one more in Gdańsk. I sent you the profiles early last week’.

‘Right, I read them. Good prospects. You’re not wasting any time, I see. It’s going to be a lot of work’.

‘You know me, I jump at every opportunity,’ I reply, pleased.

‘That I do know. Anything interesting happening outside of work?’

‘No,’ I say flatly. Well… apart from a stunning brunette I met at the club. She caught my eye straight away. She had bright blue eyes, full, glistening lips and long, chestnut hair that smelt of flowers. Her flushed face was flawless, her features delicate and refined. Slim and quite tall, about five feet seven. Her short dress revealed enticing thighs as she lost herself on the dance floor.

Just the memory of her makes my cock give me a hard-on. Christ, she was incredible. Whenever I remember how sensuously she moved, the softness of her skin… I feel every muscle in my body tighten.

‘Hello? Josh?’

‘I’m here,’ I mutter.

‘What were you daydreaming about?’

‘Nothing. Look, I’ve got a lot to get through, and yesterday’s unscheduled flight to London threw my schedule out a bit. Can we cover the rest tomorrow?’

‘You’re going to burn out one of these days, you’ll see.’

‘Don’t you worry about me. I can handle it. Say hello to Kate for me’.

‘Will do. Take care. Speak soon’.

I arrive just as Jonathan sends me a message: everyone is waiting, and the meeting is about to start. Jonathan is my advisor; he’s always present at the initial meetings. He’s a brilliant negotiator, great at de-escalating when things get tense with the board, as I’ve seen more than once. I’m glad I had Ralph and Scott come over as well while they were in London. They’re my analysts, with a sharp eye for the finances and potential of any company we’re looking to acquire. Although someone from Product Market is meant to handle the presentation today, it’s good to have people who can clarify any ambiguities that may arise.

I park quickly in front of the office building. I hate being late. It shows a lack of respect, and I respect anyone who works hard to achieve their career and success. Mine included. If all goes to plan, we will have the opportunity to invest in at least three companies. Saturday’s dinner brought us even closer to acquiring the property in that prime location, complete with the club, and the manager was kind enough to show me around. Again, my mind drifts to the girl from the party. Long legs, a beautiful face… I catch my own stupid grin in the lift’s reflection. ‘Get a grip, Warren. The lack of sex is clearly getting to you’, I mutter, taking pity on the bloke in the reflection.

And here I am. Twelfth floor. I look around for a moment. Straight down the corridor, according to the directions I got from a lad in the small lobby. Through the large glass doors, I can see that everyone is already waiting. I brush my hair back from my forehead, fasten the button on my suit jacket, and walk in. Quite a large board. I mentally tally the number of people I greet. I spot Jonathan, Ralph and Scott at the far end of the table. I give them a subtle nod and turn my attention to the CEO of Product Market. He’s smiling broadly, but he looks nervous. Fair enough. I would be too. I walk over to him, offering a reassuring smile. As I pass him, I notice a woman gathering scattered notes from the floor. I bend down and pick one of the pages up for her.

The moment our eyes meet, I recognise her. It’s the girl from the club.

Shit.

Amelia

‘Come on, move! Do mornings have to be like this? Especially this one?’ I grip the steering wheel, shifting in my seat as if that could somehow make the traffic move faster.

The clock on the radio display indicates that everyone is expected to be at work in half an hour. Including me. Did the traffic on Jerozolimskie Avenue have to be this awful, today of all days?

I hate being late. It always makes me flustered and embarrassed.

Amelia, where are you? It’s Zuza.

Traffic. I text back quickly, waiting for the lights to change.

Now I’m even more on edge, my stomach twisting into a tight knot at the thought that I might actually be late. The cars finally begin to move, and ten minutes later, I reach the entrance to the underground car park of the tall office building in my red Suzuki Swift, a graduation present from my parents. The barrier greets me with a large, black ‘Produkt Market’ logo. I drive down, find a space, grab my things and head quickly towards the lift. A moment later, I see the doors opening and practically break into a run to catch it. These bloody shoes. I glance down at my ten-centimetre heels, which are certainly not designed for speed.

What possessed me to wear them? My pencil skirt isn’t helping, either. I get into the lift, press ‘12’ on the panel, and hastily shrug off my jacket, smoothing down my blouse. The grey, high-waisted skirt hugs my waist and hips. Of course it does. It was the only suitable thing I had in my wardrobe. I wince slightly at how the fabric clings to my bum, but there’s nothing for it, so I just smooth it down with my hand. I check in the mirror behind me to make sure my makeup hasn’t smudged. I pull a comb from my handbag and run it through my tangled hair, scolding myself once again for not having been to the hairdresser.

When I get to the twelfth floor, I head down the wide corridor towards the door to the interns’ office. Inside, I find Zuza and Aga.

‘Morning,’ I say, putting my files down on my desk.

‘Mornin’,’ they reply almost in unison.

‘The boss was looking for you,’ Zuza adds.

‘Me?’ I ask, startled. What could he possibly want with me now?

‘Yes, he was here asking for you. Said we were to send you to him as soon as you got in’, Aga explains with a serious look.

‘Alright then,’ I reply hesitantly, wondering what the boss could need.

I leave the room, cross the lobby and walk down the corridor to the director’s office. I turn left, passing through his PA Karolina’s office, and I’m surprised to see she’s not there. It seems she hasn’t made it to work yet, which is unheard of for her.

I knock on the director’s door and walk in.

Mr Dubień, the director of our entire division, is sitting at a large oak desk, intently studying some papers.

‘Good morning. You were looking for me?’ I ask, intrigued.

‘Good morning, Amelia.’ He puts the documents aside and looks at me. ‘Yes. I have a bit of a situation. My PA, Karolina, has called in sick. She rang this morning to say she wouldn’t be coming in, and we have a meeting in half an hour’.

As he says this, he pulls back the sleeve of his jacket to check the time.

‘I need someone to fill in for her,’ he continues. ‘Your English is excellent, and you’ve already been over the analyses and prepared reports, so you’ll be accompanying me. Alright?’

‘Me?’ I can’t hide my shock at this turn of events.

‘I don’t know if I can manage,’ I add, a note of panic in my voice.

The boss takes off his glasses and gives me a reassuring smile.

‘I’m sure you’ll manage just fine. You’re one of my best trainees, you have a lot of experience, and this is nothing difficult. During the meeting, you’ll take detailed notes for the report, and you’ll do the translation afterwards’.

‘I don’t know…’ I say quietly, though the anxiety is building inside me with every passing second.

‘Amelia, it’s really not that difficult. You’ll be fine’.

Go on, show them what you’re made of! Ambition suddenly kicks in, urging me to get a grip.

‘Alright,’ I nod, understanding the gravity of the situation.

‘Excellent,’ the boss replies, clearly relieved to have solved his pressing problem. ‘The company profile is on Karolina’s desk, if you’d like to familiarise yourself with it. I know it wasn’t mandatory for the trainees, so if you haven’t done so, you can look through those documents’.

‘I’ve read some information,’ I reply, remembering a short corporate brochure we’d looked at while working on the changes in previous weeks.

I decide that’ll be enough information for now. I’m more worried about the meeting, but the boss seems to read my mind, quickly briefing me as we walk out of his office and stand by his assistant’s desk. He opens the drawers and shows me where everything is. I switch on the computer, and he explains the most important things. I know the software inside out, so that’s not an issue. He glances at his watch and speaks quickly.

‘I’ll explain the rest after the meeting. The representatives from the investment firm will be here any minute, so grab a notepad and we’ll go to the conference room’.

‘Alright,’ I reply, with far more calm than I actually feel.

I can see he’s getting nervous himself, so I try not to make the atmosphere any worse.

I sit down at the desk and pull a notepad from the drawer. My eyes are drawn to a navy-blue folder with a white ‘Warren Company’ logo. Beneath it, a note scrawled in black marker declares it contains a detailed company profile. I ignore it when a red folder labelled ‘Filip – Analyses’ catches my eye, and for a moment I wonder why our department’s analyst would be keeping his things in the director’s PA’s desk.

I look around the office, a room I know quite well, though I’m seeing it now from a completely new perspective. The desk faces the door, with a large window behind it. The south-east aspect means the room is well-lit. To the left is the door to the boss’s office – the director of the entire division – with two comfortable chairs standing beside it. Along the right-hand wall, tall filing cabinets and shelves are filled with all manner of folders and binders, in every colour and thickness imaginable. The cabinets, desk and chairs are all made of a light-coloured wood, giving the space a cosy feel. Opposite the door I came through, on the other side of the corridor, is the conference room, which features large glass doors. It’s still empty.