Phoenix
Sophia entered the office, nodding slightly to the security guard as she passed the lift and headed for the stairs. She always climbed to the fifth floor on foot. Three times a week, she went to the gym—more often, there wasn’t time. Even to her fifteenth-floor flat, she often took the stairs when she had energy left at the end of the workday.
The click of her heels on the tiled lobby floor soon faded in the stairwell, as though she had floated upward. Behind her back, they called her a witch, an ice queen, a maneater. At thirty-six, she looked ten years younger. Only her eyes betrayed her true age—sharp, assessing, the eyes of a woman who had lived through things. Dressed in crisp business attire, her expert makeup accentuated natural beauty.
“Who’s that?” asked a young man who’d approached the guard. The older man gave him a scrutinising look.
“Director of the auditing firm *Phoenix*,” he said with respect.
The woman had long since gone, but the scent of her perfume lingered.
“Unmarried?” the young man pressed, scanning the business centre’s directory for *Phoenix*.
“What’s your business, son?” The guard’s tone turned wary.
“I’ve got an interview at *Norton*.”
“Name?” The guard was already dialling an internal number.
The young man gave it.
“Seventh floor, office 717,” the guard said.
Lucas headed for the lifts, sensing the guard’s eyes on him. He made a mental note—*Phoenix* was on the fifth floor. Riding to the seventh, he doubled back down the stairs. A bold red sign above glass doors announced *Phoenix Auditing Firm*. He stepped inside. A polite smile from the young receptionist stopped him.
“Hello. How can I help?”
“Is the director in?” he asked, as if he’d been there a dozen times.
“Do you have an appointment?” She flipped open the ledger.
“No. But I’d like to see her.”
“I’m afraid she only takes appointments. When would suit?” Her pen was poised, her smile unwavering.
Just then, heels clicked down the corridor. Lucas turned to see a striking woman approaching. He tensed like a predator sighting prey.
“Sophia, this gentleman was hoping for a word,” the receptionist said.
“I had an interview at *Norton*. Thought I’d try my luck here,” Lucas admitted with a guilty schoolboy grin.
Sophia’s quick, piercing glance sized him up.
“Economics degree?” Her voice was low, smooth.
“Law, actually.” He turned on the charm.
“Fine. Follow me.” She led the way back down the hall.
He trailed her, admiring the trim figure in a grey blazer and knee-length pencil skirt, the legs made longer by stilettos, inhaling the trace of expensive perfume.
“Grace, hold my calls for ten minutes,” she told the secretary, then opened an oak door. “Come in.”
Plush carpet muffled their steps. She took her seat at the head of a polished conference table, gesturing for him to sit.
“Which position are you after?”
“I don’t know.” His smile was sheepish.
“Then *Norton* is where you belong,” she said coolly.
“I’ve never worked in auditing. But I learn fast. Give me a chance.” His eagerness was palpable.
Sophia studied him.
“One of our senior staff is retiring. He’ll train you for two weeks. Full salary kicks in after a two-month probation. Agreed?”
“Absolutely. You won’t regret it.”
“Brought your documents?”
He reached for his folder. She waved him off.
“HR will take them. Grace will show you. Just know—security vetting is thorough. Start tomorrow.” She looked down at her papers. Dismissed.
Lucas felt her gaze on his back as he left.
“Strict,” he muttered to Grace, shutting the door.
The secretary didn’t smile. *Well-trained*, he noted.
He considered himself lucky. Landed a job straight off, with a knockout boss. *Easy does it. Don’t scare her off.*
Grace led him through a maze of beige corridors.
“Why leave your last firm?” HR asked, flipping through his records.
“My sister’s in London. Saw your company—liked the name.” He shrugged.
No need to mention he’d seduced his old boss’s daughter back in Manchester. The silly girl got pregnant, and he’d bolted before her father could throttle him.
As he filled out forms, he wondered about Sophia. *Young for a director. Must’ve had help.*
Not far wrong.
Sophia had grown up in a grimy factory town, where the paper mill belched sour smoke. Her mother worked there twenty years before the fumes killed her. Diploma in hand, Sophia fled to London.
Then came Oliver. A final-year uni student when they met, he took the pretty new girl under his wing. When she told him she was pregnant, he vanished. A child alone? She terminated it. *Plenty of time later*, she’d thought. There wasn’t.
After that, men were irrelevant. Until a business dinner introduced her to *Phoenix*’s founder. Twenty-two years her senior. His proposal—marriage and partnership—required no thought. She didn’t love him. But she could wait. Ten long years. When he died, *Phoenix* became hers.
Two weeks later, the office threw a retirement party for its longest-serving employee. Sophia gave a speech, an envelope of cash, a holiday voucher. Music played, food circulated.
She was leaving when Lucas caught her wrist.
“Dance with me?”
Before she could refuse, he swept her onto the floor. Spun her expertly. As the song ended, he dipped her low. Applause broke out.
Helping her up, he saw something new in her eyes. Interest. Flushed, she smoothed her blazer and left without a word. He resisted chasing her. *Patience.*
After that, he avoided her. Feigned intense focus whenever she passed. It worked—she cracked first. Grace summoned him to her office.
“Your probation’s nearly up. Starting tomorrow, you’re permanent.”
He thanked her evenly. A week later, he “accidentally” met her leaving work.
“Your driver’s late. Let me drive you.”
After a pause, she got in.
At her building, he walked her to the door, half-expecting refusal. The silent lift ride to the fifteenth floor was agonising. Her flat was all cool tones—barely lived in.
In the kitchen, the coffee machine hummed. They exchanged small talk over espresso. When she turned to the sink, he pulled her into a hungry kiss…
He woke first, brought her coffee in bed.
“Thought you might want this.”
He was already dressed, smelling of soap and mint. *Oliver’s breath always reeked of stomach trouble*, she thought, sipping.
“I’ll go. No need for gossip.” No kiss. Just gone.
Alone, she stretched. The first time in years she’d felt… alive.
At work, she smiled at the guard—his confusion was priceless. Lucas kept ignoring her. It thrilled her. Only at night did tenderness surface.
Two months later, she fainted at work. Paramedics were called.
“Tests show nothing wrong,” the doctor said. “Congratulations.”
She couldn’t believe it. After the termination, they’d said *unlikely*.
“At your age, with the stress, I’d recommend bed rest.”
Overjoyed, she called Lucas. No answer. By evening, she grew impatient. Had he fallen asleep?
Bribing a nurse for her clothes, she took a taxi home. The smell of frying meat turned her stomach. Then she heard Lucas:
“Starving? Steak’s nearly done.”
“My hunter,” came Grace’s giggle.
Sophia peeked in. Lucas, in boxers and her strawberry apron, stood at the hob. Grace lounged in his shirt, swinging a bare leg.
Her heart shattered. He’d used her. Promotion, money, her bed—then brought her *secretary* here while she was in hospital.
Rage choked her. *Storm in. Scream. Throw them out.* But the baby… The doctor’s warning echoed.
She left silently, went to her friend’s.
“Keeping it?” Imogen asked.
“Of course. My only chance.”
“And him?”
“I’ll never forgive him.”
Next morning, soft flats replaced her usual heels. The office buzzed—director absent, rumours flew.
Grace and Lucas froze when she entered.
“They said you weren’t coming in.” He recovered fast. “Grace messed up the—”
“Grace. My office.”
The secretary scurried in.
“Draft Lucas’s termination—voluntary resignation. Today’s date. Then promote Antonia Gleeson to his role.”
Grace scribbled, head down.
Lucas appeared in the doorway.
“Firing me? Why?”
“You didn’t answer.She turned away, watching golden autumn sunlight gild the city below, knowing that from the ashes of betrayal, she—like the Phoenix—would rise again, this time unbroken.
