Globetrotter Ingrid gets a fabulous fresh start when her job takes her to Melbourne, Australia. Here she meets wise and sweet Oliver, who makes her forget she doesn't have a heart.
This successful stability prompts Ingrid to accept an invitation to...
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October 2018
Oktoberfest's final weekend was coming up, and after a day full of meetings and presentations, Ingrid was looking forward to the Friday night party one of her buyers had invited her to.
"Is that what you're going to wear?" Oliver asked as she paraded before her laptop during their videocall. He picked up his empty wine glass to refill it.
Ingrid stared down at her burgundy jumpsuit. "What's wrong with this?"
"It's a bit... how to put this..." He gestured vaguely, squinting at the screen, then set his bottle aside and took a sip. "Boring!" he blurted. "It's boring!"
She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Seriously?"
"Yes! It's a party and you're wearing overalls?"
Ingrid couldn't help a smile as she rolled her eyes. "It's a jumpsuit, thank you very much." She adjusted her cleavage using the laptop screen for a mirror.
"Hmm, okay," Oliver mumbled into his glass, "the side-boob makes up for it."
"You know, guys usually want their girlfriends to cover it all up."
"Yeah, well, I ain't no helicopter boyfriend... even though I'm a flight attendant." He punctuated his pun with an exaggerated wink and cartoonish laughter.
"Hilarious," Ingrid retorted.
"Aw, admit it, you loved that, and you miss me."
Ingrid fastened her jumpsuit's black belt and grabbed her earrings off the desk. "I do," she sighed. "Just two more days."
Oliver blew her a kiss. "Go slay. You can call me when you get back, if you want. I got no work tomorrow."
"I'll see how things go tonight. See ya."
"Love ya. Have fun." He winked and mimicked another kiss before closing the call.
*
It had been a long three weeks, two of which Ingrid had spent in business mode during nearly every waking hour. So the small talk and socialising took a quick toll, despite the relaxed atmosphere at the party. The truth of the matter was, Ingrid couldn't afford to relax. As soon as she started to, people usually stopped taking her seriously.
"How are you holding up?" Michelle Evans, her direct superior for the duration of Oktoberfest, asked Ingrid.
They'd run away to the loo together for a break from red-faced men eager to grope them. Ingrid shot her boss a look in the mirror. The vanity lighting gave her glare a weight which Ingrid regretted. It exposed too much.
"Ian told me," Michelle continued. "About your recent bereavement."
Ingrid carefully tapped a tissue to her cheeks, wiping stray flakes of mascara.
