**Phoenix**
Charlotte walked into the office, nodding slightly at the security guard before bypassing the lifts and heading straight for the stairs. She always climbed to the fifth floor on foot. Three times a week, she hit the gym—any more than that, and work got in the way. Even her flat on the fifteenth floor was often conquered by the stairs if she had any energy left after a long day.
The sharp click of her heels against the polished lobby tiles soon faded into the stairwell, as if she’d floated upstairs. Behind her back, they called her names—witch, ice queen, ruthless. At thirty-six, she could pass for a decade younger. Only her eyes gave her away—sharp, assessing, the eyes of a woman who’d lived. She dressed with crisp professionalism, her makeup subtle, enhancing natural beauty.
“Who was that?” asked a young man who’d sidled up to the security guard. The guard eyed him skeptically.
“Director of the auditing firm *Phoenix*,” the middle-aged man said, respect creeping into his tone.
The woman was long gone, but the lobby still carried the faintest trace of her perfume.
“Not married?” the young man pressed, scanning the business centre’s directory for *Phoenix*.
“What’s your business, son?” The guard’s suspicion was rising.
“I’ve got an interview at *Norton*.”
“Name?” The guard picked up the internal phone.
The young man gave it.
“Go ahead. Seventh floor, office 717,” the guard said.
James—who’d once been called Alexei—walked towards the lifts, feeling the guard’s eyes on his back. He made a mental note: *Phoenix* was on the fifth floor. So after riding up to seven, he took the stairs back down to five. The firm’s logo—bold red letters—was impossible to miss above the glass doors. He stepped inside, only to be met by the polite smile of a young receptionist.
“Hello. How can I help you?”
“Hello. Is the director in?” James asked, as if he’d been here a hundred times before.
“Yes. Do you have an appointment?” She flipped open the ledger.
“Well, no. I just wanted to speak with her.”
“I’m afraid she only sees people by appointment. Would you like to schedule something?” Her smile never wavered.
Just then, the sharp rhythm of heels echoed down the corridor, and James turned to see a striking woman approaching. His entire body tensed—like a predator spotting prey.
“Charlotte Elizabeth, you have a walk-in,” the receptionist said.
“Honestly, I was here for an interview at *Norton*. Thought I’d try my luck with you instead,” James admitted, flashing a boyish, almost sheepish grin.
Charlotte Elizabeth studied him with one swift, piercing glance.
“Do you have a background in finance?” Her voice was low, smooth.
“No, law,” he said, turning the full force of his charm onto her.
“Well, I’ll hear you out. Come with me.” She led the way back down the corridor.
He followed, admiring the way her fitted grey blazer and knee-length skirt hugged her frame, how her legs seemed endless in those heels. The scent of expensive perfume lingered in her wake.
“Sophie, hold my calls for ten minutes,” she said to the young secretary at the desk before pushing open the oak door.
Inside, plush carpet swallowed the sound of their steps. She took her seat at the head of the long, polished table, gesturing for him to sit.
“What role are you applying for?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, flashing an apologetic smile.
“Then perhaps you should return to *Norton*.” Her tone was ice.
“Truth is, I’ve never worked in auditing. But I need a job, and I learn fast. Give me a shot. I’d like to try,” he said earnestly.
Charlotte studied him again.
“One of our senior employees is retiring. He’ll train you over the next fortnight. Full salary kicks in after a two-month probation—if you make it. Agreed?”
“Absolutely. You won’t regret it.” His grin was all sincerity.
“Brought your documents?”
“Yes.” He reached for his folder.
She waved him off. “Take them to HR. Sophie will show you. Be warned—security vets everyone thoroughly. No questions? See you tomorrow.” She looked down at the papers on her desk, the dismissal clear.
James walked out, feeling her gaze on his back.
“Tough one,” he muttered to Sophie as the door closed behind him.
The receptionist didn’t even smile. *Well-trained*, he noted.
He figured he’d lucked out—landing a job so fast, and with a boss like *that*. “Patience,” he told himself. “Don’t scare her off or you’ll be back on the streets.”
The HR manager flipped through his employment history. “Why did you leave your last job?”
“My sister kept telling me to move to London. Saw your company—liked the name,” he said smoothly.
No need to mention how he’d seduced his old boss’s daughter back in Manchester, how she’d wound up pregnant, how he’d barely escaped her father’s wrath.
She slid a form across the desk. As he filled it out, James wondered about Charlotte. *Young for a director. Bet she had help climbing that ladder.*
He wasn’t far off. Charlotte had grown up in a grim factory town where the air always smelled of pulp and smoke. Her mother worked there twenty years before the fumes killed her, just before Charlotte finished school. With nothing left, she’d come to London chasing better luck.
She found it—briefly—in Daniel, an older student at her university. He’d taken the pretty girl under his wing until she told him she was pregnant. Then he vanished. A baby, alone? She couldn’t. The abortion was clinical, impersonal. *You’re young,* they’d said. *You’ll have others.*
But she never did.
After that, men barely registered. Then, at a business meeting, she’d met the director of *Phoenix*. Twenty-two years her senior, he’d offered marriage and partnership. She’d accepted without love, biding her time. A decade later, widowhood made her the firm’s sole owner—ruthless, calculating.
Two weeks in, they held a farewell party for the retiring veteran who’d been with *Phoenix* since its founding. Speeches were made, envelopes handed over, a trip to the Maldives gifted. Then came the buffet, the dancing.
Charlotte was heading for the exit when James caught her wrist.
“Charlotte Elizabeth, dance with me?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, sweeping her onto the floor. He moved with effortless confidence. As the music faded, he dipped her low, holding her gaze until applause broke the silence.
She was flushed, a strand of hair loose, her usual ice thawed. Without a word, she straightened her blazer and left. He ached to follow but held back. *Patience.*
After that, James avoided her at work, burying himself in tasks whenever she passed. It intrigued her. Finally, she cracked. Sophie came to fetch him.
“You’ve impressed your colleagues,” Charlotte said coolly when he entered. “Your probation ends tomorrow. You’re hired.”
He thanked her evenly and left. A week later, he “accidentally” met her outside, holding his car door open.
“Your driver’s late. Let me drop you home.”
A pause. Then she slid inside.
At her building, he escorted her to the lift, heart pounding. Would she shut him out? She didn’t.
The penthouse was sleek, sterile—a place to sleep, not live. He noted the men’s slippers by the door. *So she wasn’t always alone.*
The coffee machine hummed in the kitchen. They drank in silence until she turned to the sink. Then he pulled her close, kissing her hungrily.
Morning came. He brought her coffee in bed, already showered and dressed.
“I thought you’d want this.”
She sipped, remembering how her husband’s breath had always reeked of stomach troubles.
“I’ll go. Best we’re not seen together.”
No lingering kiss, just a quiet exit. The door clicked shut. She sank back into the pillows. It had been years since she’d felt like this. Daniel had been a boy; her husband, an old man. James was neither.
That day, she smiled at the security guard for the first time. James kept ignoring her—maddening, thrilling. Only at night did the ice melt.
Two months later, she fainted at work. The hospital called it a miracle—pregnant, despite the odds. She tried calling James. No answer. By evening, she gave up, bribed a nurse for her clothes, and took a taxi home.
The smell of frying meat turned her stomach. Then she heard James’ voice:
“Hungry? Steak’s almost done.”
“You’re such a *hunter*,” came Sophie’s giggle.
Charlotte peeked around the corner. James stood at the stove in swimming trunks and *her* strawberry-She closed the door softly, walked away, and never looked back.
