Page 12 of A Secret Escape

S pring melts into summer, and summer cools to autumn before I’ve even noticed the seasons changing.

Six months in my own place has given me a sense of peace and ‘adultness’ I’d never experienced before.

The walls are no longer stark white but adorned with a selection of carefully selected prints, and I have a bookshelf filled with some of my favourite photography books along with a few romance novels I’d picked up here and there.

The little wooden block Marcus gave me sits prominently on the bookshelf, right in front of one of my favourite books, which just so happens to be about a couple with a fifteen-year age gap.

Total coincidence. So I have a thing for older guys. So what?

“Did you hear?” Carter says, swivelling in his chair to face me as I walk up to my desk. “Reid’s quitting. Moving to Barcelona, apparently.”

I set down my coffee, the news hitting me with unexpected force. Reid is one of the Project Managers who handles most of the nightlife accounts – the position I’ve been eyeing for the past year.

“When?” I ask.

“End of the month. Harrison says he just handed his notice in today. And -” Carter stands, sipping his iced coffee. “You’ll never guess whose name I heard being thrown around as his replacement for the Sapphire campaign?” He waggles his eyebrows meaningfully.

I stare at him, my jaw dropping. “No. ”

“Yes,” Angela chimes in from her desk opposite mine. “Tell her what else he said,” she waves her hand excitedly at Carter.

“So, Harrison was in on the senior management meeting yesterday, and Stephen was singing your praises. Said your work showed ‘remarkable vision and creativity.’

“Stop! He did not!” I exclaim, my hand flying to my mouth.

“He did,” Carter insists. “The Sapphire account is fucking huge, Lila. If you nail this - ”

“ If being the operative word,” I say, sitting down and logging into my computer, trying not to let myself get carried away with ideas.

The screen beeps with a meeting notification as a pop-up appears: Stephen Ackton – 10:30 AM – Meeting Room 2.

Carter peers over my shoulder.

“Told you,” he gloats, sitting back down in his chair with a proud smirk on his face.

***

“Sapphire Lounge is our biggest account this quarter,” Stephen says, his usually stern face lit up with a rare enthusiasm. “The owner is particular about his vision, but he’s giving us creative freedom within certain parameters.”

I nod, trying to keep my expression poised and professional, though inside I’m practically vibrating with excitement.

“I’d like to give you the lead on this, Lila,” he says, sliding a sleek blue folder across the table toward me. “Reid recommended you before he submitted his notice, and Marcus backed that up strongly. He said you’ve got the instinct and the energy this project needs.”

My heart stutters. Marcus recommended me .

“Thank you so much,” I manage, my voice somehow sounding steadier than I feel despite the rush of adrenaline in my veins. “I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t,” Stephen says, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve got what it takes. I knew that when I hired you.”

As I leave the conference room, clutching the folder to my chest, I feel weightless. Not just from the thrill of being trusted to lead our biggest campaign, but from the quiet echo of Stephen’s words still ringing in my ears. Marcus backed that up strongly.

Almost two years ago, I’d walked through these doors as a nervous newbie, never having worked a professional job in my life, worrying that the corporate world would destroy me. And now I’m going to be leading our biggest campaign?

The thought is enough to nearly make my heart burst from my chest.

I briefly consider going up to the fifth floor with the excuse of needing to get something from the supply closet and make a point of thanking him, but before I can decide, Angela spots me, and her and Carter jump up expectantly, watching me like curious meerkats.

I laugh, jogging over to them, trying and failing to keep a poker face.

“Well?” Angela demands, practically bouncing.

I pause for a moment, grinning at them.

“I got it!” I exclaim, and the three of us erupt, squealing and hugging with excitement, jumping up and down like we’ve just won front row tickets to Taylor Swift.

“I knew you would, babe!” Angela beams. “So fucking proud of you.”

“Thanks,” I breathe, still half in a daze .

Marcus’s words from my second day at Catalyst reverberate in my head. You have good instincts. Don’t let the overwhelm trick you into thinking you don’t.

His quiet confidence in me, even back from that day, has been a constant these past months. He may not have said much – but he’s always seen me. Believed in me.

And now, he’s vouched for me.

I can’t wait to tell him.

But first – I flip the folder open and smile.

I’ve got a nightclub to promote.

***

“I’m thinking we focus on exclusivity and mystery,” I say, gesturing to the mood board displayed on the screen.

“Sapphire isn’t just another nightclub. It’s an experience – something rare and transformative.

When you’re at Sapphire, the ordinary becomes the extraordinary.

Darkness gives way to light. Fantasy becomes reality. ”

Three weeks have passed since Stephen handed me the lead, and now, here I am – standing at the head of the conference table, presenting my concept to a room of colleagues, executives… and Marcus.

He’s seated halfway down the table, arms resting loosely on the table, his expression soft.

I’ve presented my work in meetings with him before, but this is different.

The stakes are higher. I’m in charge. And even though I’m not alone with him, I still feel the electricity of his presence like static in the air.

Angela gives me a subtle thumbs-up from her seat .

Lauren, the PR rep, straightens up in her chair. “The client wants to emphasise the VIP experience. How do we incorporate that without seeming elitist?”

I smile. This is the key part of the campaign.

“By making everyone feel like a VIP. Our campaign emphasises the transformation – walking into Sapphire changes you. You become the star, the focal point. It’s not about who you are when you arrive.

It’s who you become once you’re inside. We’re not selling exclusion; we’re selling inclusion into something exceptional. ”

There’s a pause, then a few nods. Someone murmurs ‘Nice’ under their breath. I allow myself a quick glance at Marcus. His mouth widens into an approving smile and my chest tightens.

The rest of the meeting flows easily, ideas bouncing around, building on each other. Everyone seems energised, connected to the vision. By the time we wrap up, we’ve divided tasks, set timelines, and even colour-coded the spreadsheet that outlines all of it.

As chairs scrape and laptops snap shut, Angela and Carter hang back.

“Great job up there,” Marcus says, smiling at me as he walks toward the door, his notepad in his hand.

“Thank you,” I say, swallowing a lump that’s instantly formed in my throat.

He lingers by the door briefly, his gaze on mine, but when he sees Angela and Carter are staying behind, he smiles once more before turning and walking out, the glass door closing softly behind him.

“Look at you, taking charge,” Carter says, his voice full of pride. “Reid who?”

I laugh. “I don’t know about that, but that did feel good,” I admit .

“You were made for this,” Angela says, her eyes bright. “That was fucking brilliant.”

As I pack up my things, a surge of gratitude swells within me for how my life is unfolding.

The job I once thought would break me is becoming a career I’m excited to build.

The girl who used to panic over writing the subject line of an e-mail just led a pitch in front of the Senior Creative Director.

And not just any Senior Creative Director.

Marcus. The one who told Stephen I could do this. The one who told me I could do this, back when I barely believed it myself.

Could it be possible, in some reckless stretch of the imagination – that he could just be… the one?

***

NOVEMBER 2024

The next few weeks fly by in a blur of meetings, design reviews, and content creation. I throw myself into the work with everything I have, often staying late into the evening.

Eric, the owner of the club, has asked to meet me, saying he’s impressed with the direction of the campaign. Stephen has arranged for me to visit the venue ahead of the opening and get some footage for the key opening night video.

“You must be Lila,” Eric says, extending a hand as he comes up to me. “Welcome to Sapphire. ”

The building is impressive from the outside, but inside, it’s breathtaking, even without the finishing touches in place. The large dance floor is surrounded by raised seating areas and intimate private booths – exactly the immersive, elevated vibe we’re aiming to capture.

“We’ve spared no expense,” Eric says, leading me through the space as I take it all in, already framing shots in my head. With his permission, I spend the next two hours gathering footage, my iPad catching the shifting light and angles as I move through the space.

By the time I step back out into the crisp November air, the entire video has begun to take shape in my mind.

Start with the slow reveal – shadows, pulsing, flickering.

Then building anticipation – the edges soft, silhouettes of bodies moving.

Then – colour – the transformative moment when darkness gives way to light.

The dancefloor reveals. Tease transforms to impact.

Not just a place. A feeling. A transformation.

The Sapphire campaign will be my masterpiece, the project that defines my career. The grand opening, and with it, the presentation of the final materials to Eric, is just weeks away, and I’m determined to provide something unforgettable.

And as for everything else – perhaps those things just take time. Or maybe… they’re never going to happen at all.

It’s been two years of polite smiles in the hallways, and not-so-accidental run-ins at the coffee shop.

Two years of making excuses to go to the fifth floor to pass by his desk on the way to the supply closet.

Volunteering for projects just because his name is attached to them.

Staying late when I know he is in hopes of catching the lift at the same time.

And now, his belief in me leading this campaign.

Two years of moments almost realised – at client events in dimly lit bars and elegant restaurants, where his eyes meet mine across crowded rooms with an intensity that makes my pulse hammer against my throat.

So many times, I’ve come close to convincing myself I’m imagining it all – a fantasy constructed from tiny nothings, little moments stitched together into something bigger, because I want them to mean more.

But then he looks at me – like I’m the first bit of sunshine after a week of rain – and I wonder.

It’s been two years of wondering what might happen if either of us ever dared to cross the line.

But now – with Stephen trusting me with this project – with a promotion to full-time project manager on the line if I succeed – maybe crossing that line isn’t brave.

Maybe it’s reckless.

And for once – I’m starting to think I can’t afford to be reckless.