Phoenix
Charlotte stepped into the office, giving the security guard a slight nod as she breezed past the lifts towards the staircase. She always took the stairs to the fifth floor. Three times a week, she made it to the gym—more often, time wouldn’t allow. Even to her flat on the fifteenth floor, she sometimes climbed the stairs if she had energy left after work.
The sharp click of her heels against the marble lobby tiles soon faded, swallowed by the stairwell as though she’d floated upward. Behind her back, they called her a witch, a ice queen, unapproachable. At thirty-six, she could pass for a decade younger. Only her eyes betrayed her—sharp, appraising, the eyes of a woman who had lived. She dressed with crisp professionalism, her makeup enhancing natural beauty rather than masking it.
“Who was that?” asked a young man who’d sidled up to the security desk. The guard gave him a skeptical once-over.
“Director of Phoenix Auditing,” the stocky, middle-aged man said, respect colouring his tone.
The woman had long vanished, yet the scent of her perfume lingered in the air.
“Single?” the young man pressed, skimming the business centre’s directory for Phoenix’s office.
“What’s your business here, son?” The guard’s tone turned wary.
“I’ve got an interview at Norton.”
“Name?” The guard had already picked up the internal phone.
The young man gave it.
“Go ahead. Seventh floor, office seven-seventeen,” the guard said.
James headed for the lifts, aware of the guard’s lingering gaze. He noted that Phoenix was on the fifth floor. So instead of stopping at seven, he rode up, then doubled back down the stairs. The bold red lettering above the glass doors—PHOENIX AUDITING—greeted him. Inside, a receptionist’s polite smile halted him.
“Hello. How can I help?” she chirped.
“Hi. Is the director in?” James asked as if he belonged there.
“May I ask if you have an appointment?” She flipped open the ledger.
“Ah—no. I’d hoped to speak with her.”
“I’m afraid she doesn’t take unscheduled meetings. Would you like to book a slot?” Her smile didn’t waver.
Just then, the rhythmic tap of heels approached. A striking woman strode down the hallway. James tensed like a predator spotting prey.
“Charlotte, this gentleman was hoping to see you—no appointment,” the receptionist said.
James flashed a boyish grin. “I had an interview at Norton. Thought I’d shoot my shot here too.”
Charlotte’s sharp gaze swept over him.
“Economics background?” Her voice was low, smooth.
“Law, actually.” He turned on the charm.
She considered him. “Fine. I’ll hear you out. Follow me.”
He trailed her, admiring the figure in the grey blazer and knee-length pencil skirt, the legs made endless by stilettos, breathing in the scent of expensive perfume.
“Emily, hold my calls for ten minutes,” she told a young secretary before pushing open an oak door. “Come in.”
Plush carpet muffled their steps as Charlotte took her seat at the head of a polished table, gesturing for him to sit.
“What position are you after?”
“I’m not sure,” he admitted with an apologetic smile.
“Then Norton’s a better fit.” Her tone chilled.
“Honestly? I’ve never worked in auditing. But I need a job, and I learn fast. Give me a chance.” He leaned in, earnest.
Her gaze sharpened. “One of our senior staff is retiring. He’ll train you for two weeks. Full salary kicks in after two months if you pass probation. Agreed?”
“Absolutely. You won’t regret it.”
“Documents with you?”
“Yes.” He reached for his folder.
She waved him off. “Take them to HR. Emily will show you. Be warned—security vetting is thorough. Any questions? See you tomorrow.” Her focus dropped to the papers, dismissal clear.
James left, feeling her stare between his shoulder blades.
“Tough,” he remarked to Emily, easing the door shut.
The secretary didn’t smile. *Well-trained*, he thought.
Luck was on his side—landing a job this quick, with a boss like *that*. *Easy does it. Don’t scare her off.*
As Emily led him through the maze of beige corridors, HR fired the usual questions.
“Why leave your last job?”
“My sister’s in London. Thought I’d join her. Saw your company—liked the name.” He shrugged, smooth as ever.
No need to mention Manchester, where he’d sweet-talked the boss’s daughter. The silly girl got pregnant, and he’d barely escaped her father’s wrath.
As he filled out forms, James mused about Charlotte. *Young for a director. Must’ve had help from someone high up.*
Not far off. Charlotte had grown up in a town choked by the stench of a paper mill. Her mother worked there twenty years, lungs ruined by the time Charlotte finished school. With her diploma, she fled to London.
There, she met Edward, an older student who took her under his wing. When she told him she was pregnant, he vanished. Raising a child alone? She terminated it. *Plenty of time later*, she’d thought. But the doctors said *later* might never come.
After that, men were distractions. Then she met Phoenix’s founder—twenty-two years her senior. His marriage proposal came with a partnership. She accepted, though she didn’t love him. She could wait. Ten long years later, his death made her sole owner—ruthless, exacting.
At the retirement party for the company’s longest-serving employee, Charlotte gave a speech, handed over an envelope of cash, and a luxury holiday voucher. The buffet was lavish, the drinks flowing.
She was leaving when James caught her hand.
“Charlotte, dance with me?”
Without waiting, he spun her onto the floor, guiding her effortlessly. As the music swelled, he dipped her low, their eyes locked. Applause broke the silence.
Helping her up, he noted her flushed cheeks, the strand of hair escaping her updo. Her usual icy detachment had thawed—just slightly. She straightened her blazer and left without a word. He ached to follow but held back. *Patience.*
After that, he played it cool—avoiding her, burying himself in work whenever she passed. The indifference only hooked her deeper. Finally, she cracked. Emily summoned him to her office.
“Your probation’s ending,” Charlotte said, voice even. “You’re in. Full salary starts tomorrow.”
He thanked her calmly. A week later, he “ran into” her at the building’s exit.
“Your driver’s late. Let me drive you.”
A pause, then she slid into his car.
At her flat, he walked her to the door, half-expecting her to shut him out. She didn’t.
The silent lift carried them to the fifteenth floor. The flat was a study in monochrome—barely lived in.
In the hallway, he spotted men’s slippers. *So she’d had others.* The coffee machine hummed in the kitchen, rich aroma filling the air.
They drank at the counter, small talk swirling. Then she turned from the sink, and he pulled her into a hungry kiss.
Morning came. He woke first, bringing coffee to the bedroom. She sat up, clutching the duvet.
“Thought you might want this.” He handed her the cup.
Already dressed, he smelled of shower gel and toothpaste. *Edward’s breath always reeked of stomach trouble*, she thought, sipping.
“I’ll go. No need for gossip.”
No kiss, no lingering. Just the click of the door. She sank back, warmth spreading through her. Edward had been clumsy, his successor ancient. But James… She stretched, smiling.
At the office, she surprised the guard with a smile. James kept up the act—cold professionalism by day, whispered tenderness at night.
Two months later, she fainted at work. Emily called an ambulance.
The doctor’s news stunned her: pregnant. After the abortion, they’d said it was near impossible.
“At your age, with the stress… I’d recommend bed rest,” he said.
Overjoyed, she called James. No answer. By evening, she tried again. *Asleep?*
Bribing a nurse for her clothes, she took a taxi home. The smell of frying meat turned her stomach. Then she heard James’ voice:
“Hungry? Steak’s almost done.”
“You’re my hunter,” came Emily’s giggle.
Peeking around the corner, Charlotte saw him in an apron, Emily in his shirt, bare legs swinging.
Her heart shattered. He’d used her—for the job, the flat, everything. And the second she was gone, he’d brought *Emily* here.
Rage burned, but she remembered the doctor’s warning: stress could cost the baby. Silent, she left, crashing at a friend’s.
“Keeping it?” her friend asked.
“Of course. My only chanceShe raised her daughter alone, building a life where love was no longer a gamble but a choice—one she made every morning when her little girl smiled up at her.
