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Chapter Five: Stafford, Present Day
A couple of blocks away from the office, a small bar hid itself away from the chaos of the main London streets. I'd stumbled across it one day, many years back, and hadn't visited another one since.
I liked that it was off the beaten track and didn't attract the usual crowds of tourists, stag dos or socialising office workers. Quiet and unassuming, I could drink there in peace. So, on the nights when I didn't go to the gym, I would head into the bar for one drink—sometimes two if I'd had a tough day. Just like the gym, I did it to switch off. Not that it truly worked, but it was a habit, nonetheless.
On the Friday of Imogen's first week, I stayed longer than normal. The bartender no longer asked for my order, instead pouring the Macallan into a glass as soon as I drifted through the doorway. In a city with millions of people, where I only knew a small handful, there was something comforting about the simple action of a barman being familiar enough with me to pour a drink without needing to ask.
Nursing the drink in one hand, I stared at my phone in the other. My fingers hovered over a number that I'd not yet pressed to dial. I needed advice, even though I knew the answer to my dilemma was obvious. There was only one real outcome to the situation.
After downing the rest of the drink, I jabbed at the screen and raised the phone to my ear.
Typically for her, it rang several times before she answered, her husky voice having an instant calming effect.
"To what do I owe the pleasure, late on a Friday night?"
"It's eight o'clock," I said. "Your social life is clearly suffering if you think this is late."
Sasha chuckled. "You're moodier than usual. Bad day?"
"Bad week."
"I hope you're not expecting me to cheer you up in my special way. Because that ship has sailed for you and me, I'm afraid."
"Sasha, that ship was never even in the port."
I'd met Sasha Henshaw in this same bar, two years ago. Despite her undeniable beauty and calm exterior, I'd seen straight through her.
One of the things that made my company so successful was my ability to keep tabs on competitors. Sasha worked for my biggest rival, a local interior design firm called Montgomery's. It had been no coincidence that she'd ended up in this little unknown bar, sat next to me. I'd called her out on it, and we'd then had a nice evening together, agreeing not to discuss business.
Even though we were competitors, we'd become friends—our taste for candid conversations and intense gym sessions drawing us together. Nothing had ever happened, and nothing ever would happen. But I valued her friendship—probably more than she realised.
"You okay?" Concern replaced her playful attitude and I decided not to waste either of our times.
