Page 19 of A Secret Escape

Lila

I decide not to tell Angela, Carter or anyone else about the lunch or the upcoming date.

It feels like a little secret, a delicious anticipation I enjoy savouring all on my own.

I’ll tell her about it next week, if it all goes well.

If being the key word. There’s still time for him to cancel, or come down with food poisoning, or be abducted by aliens or – most likely – for the universe to shake me by the shoulders and remind me that this can’t possibly be real.

We didn’t even discuss a time or place. Just ‘Friday.’ Vague enough that he could easily ghost me and claim something came up.

Nevertheless, I spend the rest of Monday afternoon floating on a cloud, making an excuse to leave work a little early so that I can go shopping.

I walk out of at least ten shops, starting to feel disgruntled, before I spot the perfect dress in the window of a small (but very expensive!) fashion boutique.

I swipe my credit card at the till, deciding that’s a problem for future me.

On Tuesday, Marcus comes down to the fourth floor to ask Angela, Carter and me to come up with some content ideas for a new campaign he’s working on.

From the second I spot him stepping out of the lift, my lungs forget how to work and my vision tunnels in on him.

I make a particular point of ignoring Angela’s not-so-subtle smirk as her gaze bounces back and forth between us.

He doesn’t say anything directly to me, but he does look at me with that disarming smile for a moment too long before walking away, and just like that, I forget every word he’d just said.

On Wednesday, he’s in the queue in the coffee shop when I arrive. We exchange a smile and a quiet, “Morning, you alright?” And then silence. We ride the lift together, standing so close our hands almost touch, and when the lift stops at my floor, he gives me a soft smile and says, “See you later.”

It’s simple, casual, but promising, right? Yet it feels more distant than I would have hoped, like all the times we’ve taken the lift together before. I try not to let the disappointment sink its claws in too deep. He’s probably just tired. Or busy.

Or maybe this whole thing was just a figment of my imagination.

Oh well. At least I can get my money back for the dress.

Then Thursday morning brings the worst of the UK’s wintry weather, my hopes having well and truly blown away with the billowing snow.

I stop for coffee again, lingering near the back of the queue and allowing others to go ahead of me while I enjoy the warmth of the fan heater.

Nearly ten minutes later, there’s no one left behind me, so I order my usual caramel latte and am just picking it up from the counter when the bell above the door dings, and my heart leaps at the sight of him.

Snow dusts the shoulders of his coat, and the creases in his eyes as he squints from the blustery wind make him look somehow even more handsome, as if that’s possible.

When he spots me, his whole face lights up with a smile .

“Morning, beautiful,” he says, pulling me into a quick one-armed hug, his cheek brushing mine. A mischievous look in his eye makes me forget all about the snow outside, turning my insides into molten lava.

“Morning,” I reply, aiming for casual and nearly succeeding.

“We still good for tomorrow?” he asks.

I nod, my heart soaring at the confirmation of the date, and smile as casually as I can manage. “Yea, absolutely.”

“Great. Alright if I pick you up at seven?”

My brain short-circuits at the thought of him standing at my front door. “Yea, seven is good. Do you need my address?”

“Nope. I remember it.” He winks and turns to order his usual black Americano like it’s no big deal. Like my insides haven’t just liquefied into goo.

How does he do this to me?

Finally, Friday rolls around. I’m trying to act as normal as possible but Angela definitely knows something is up because she keeps asking if I’m okay. When I turn down an invitation to join her and Carter for after-work drinks, her concern intensifies.

“You sure you feelin’ okay, babe?”

“I’ve just got a headache,” I tell her in my most reassuring tone. “Just want to get home, you know? I’ll catch up with you guys next time.”

Angela shoots me a suspicious look but doesn’t question it further.

Carter doesn’t miss a beat. “She’s probably got a hot date,” he announces to no one in particular.

Angela laughs. “Oh please, if she did, you know we’d know all about it!”

“No date,” I insist, giving them both the most innocent look I can muster.

“Sure,” Carter says, winking. “Whatever you say, babe. ”

My heart stutters. Does he know? Did Marcus tell Harrison? Surely not.

No, I decide. There’s no way he knows. He would have said.

By 4:55, I’ve tidied my desk and shut down my computer. The second the clock ticks over to 5:00, I practically jump out of my seat.

“See you later!” I call as I head to the lifts, waving goodbye to Angela and Carter who are both still focused on their computer screens.

“Hope you feel better!” Angela calls back.

“Enjoy your date!” Carter’s voice carries across the office.

“Not a date!” I shout over my shoulder, already grinning as I press the button for the lift. The second the doors close and I’m alone, I let the smile take over. I’m not sure that I’ve ever looked forward to anything more.

***

An hour and a half later, I’ve showered, blow dried and curled my hair and finished my make-up to perfection.

In my bedroom, the dress I bought on Monday lays waiting for me on the bed.

My entire body feels like it’s vibrating with anticipation.

It’s perfect. If this dress doesn’t get him into bed, then nothing will.

I slip into it, pulling it down over the new set of black lace underwear and matching bra I’d bought especially for tonight.

It hugs every curve just right, dipping low at the front, cinching in all the places I want it to before fanning out to a short, flirty skirt that falls at my thigh.

I smooth it down with my hands, heart thudding against my ribs like a drum .

Just as I’m about to put on my boots, the intercom buzzes, making me jump.

He’s here.

I press the buzzer and let out a long breath, trying to steady the wild flutter in my chest.

A moment later, there’s a gentle knock on the door.

With one final glance in the hallway mirror, I take a deep breath and open the door. And he’s actually there.

Marcus Andersson. Standing in my doorway.

That same immovable smile from Monday’s lunch spreads across my face, impossible to contain.

He looks fucking incredible.

His hair is a perfectly tousled mane of dark waves, streaked with hints of grey that catch the hallway light like silver threads - effortlessly stylish and irresistibly masculine. His eyes gleam with excitement and flirtation, heat pooling between my legs just from the sight of him.

His black wool coat rests on his broad shoulders, framing a charcoal grey shirt, unbuttoned just enough to reveal a glimpse of the toned chest underneath. A silver chain holding a black gemstone rests lightly against his skin. His black jeans fit him as though they were custom made for his body.

He’s holding a bottle of wine and smiling like I’m the only thing in the world worth looking at.

“Hi!” I exclaim, noticing his eyes drifting down my body with no attempt at subtlety.

“Wow,” he says. “You look…wow.”

My heart does a full rollercoaster loop inside my chest. The dress works.

“Thank you,” I say, stepping back to let him in. “Come in.”