Page 1 of Surprise Me Tonight (Claimed on Sight #1)

Callum

M y feet hammer the treadmill as if I’m trying to outrun my own life. The speed’s up to fourteen but I’m still not feeling the burn.

The gym in my office building is all glass, chrome, and that faint scent of overpriced eucalyptus. Everything about it says you’ve made it, Wright . Except I’m not so sure I give a shit anymore.

Two hours ago, I was sat across from some slick-haired government rep with a clipboard and a condescending smile, trying to talk me into handing over my new SRT valve.

Of course they’d like my sustainable pressure regulator that could cut industrial water waste by sixty percent.

And they want it for free. For the greater good.

National interest. Public bloody service.

I didn’t crawl my way up from an RAF bunk to the thirty-eighth floor of a building with my name on half the companies in it just to be guilt-tripped into handing it over for free. I'm not a bastard, I support my share of charities, but I'm not stupid either .

I push the speed up. Fifteen. My calves burn and sweat trickles down my spine, but it's not enough. The tension from that meeting still coils tight in my chest.

I’m so bloody tired. Not physically. Physically I could run for hours. It's everything else. The meetings. The politics. The polite power games wrapped in smiles and networking lunches. The endless grind that’s meant to be success.

This city used to excite me. Now it feels like it’s choking me.

By the time I hit cooldown, my lungs are dragging in air like I’ve run a half-marathon, not five bloody miles. I towel off, ignoring the curious glance from some city boy in designer gym kit who’s barely broken a sweat. He’s probably here for the selfie.

I head to the showers, scrubbing off the slick of frustration along with the sweat. The hot water helps, a bit. Doesn’t fix the gnawing feeling in my gut, but it takes the edge off.

Back upstairs, the office is quiet. Late afternoon lull. Most of the team’s either working from home or out on meetings with clients. Sometimes I wonder if it’s time to downsize the office to match the modern way of working.

After all, I’m about to swap the office for home working myself, and I can’t wait for the quiet. It gives me space to think. Or brood, depending on the day.

Jess, my PA, pokes her head round the door as I’m sifting through specs for a new cooling system we’re trialling in Ghana.

“Movers are all confirmed for Friday, just so you know,” she says. “They’ll be there from eight. ”

“Cheers.” I nod, resisting the urge to sigh. “Remind me what time Luciana’s call is tomorrow?”

“Ten sharp. She’s already sent over the agenda.”

Luciana. Best bloody decision I’ve made in the last year. Hiring her as General Manager was a gamble, but she’s exceeded every expectation. Sharp. Strategic. Doesn’t take shit from anyone—including me. Which is exactly what I need.

She’s the reason I can do this… this being partial retirement at thirty-three, which sounds ridiculous every time I think about it, but here I am. Moving to the countryside like some burnt-out city exec who’s had an epiphany after one too many green juices.

Little Hadlow. Quaint village in Kent, small enough that the postie greets you by name. Close enough to London that I can be in the office if I really need to. But far enough that maybe, just maybe, I can finally breathe.

I glance up from the screen. “And the PA interviews? Still lined up for tomorrow?”

Jess steps fully into the room now, tablet in hand like she’s ready for battle. Always efficient, always ten steps ahead… honestly, I’ll miss her more than I’ll ever admit.

“Yep,” she says. “Two candidates. That’s it. Apparently the supply of personal assistants in and around Little Hadlow is… limited.”

“Shocking,” I mutter. “Not exactly a corporate hotspot, is it?”

She gives me a flat look. “You’re the one moving to the countryside.”

“Midlife crisis,” I correct. “Just arriving early.”

Jess snorts. “Right. Anyway, both interviews are virtual for now. One’s based in Tunbridge Wells, the other just outside Maidstone. Neither is exactly around the corner, but it’s manageable.”

I nod, leaning back in my chair. “They’d need to be able to come to the house every day.” It feels a bit mean to make my PA travel in while I work from the comfort of home, but what’s the point of having an assistant if she’s not here to make a coffee or welcome visitors?

“Understood. I’ll make that clear.” She pauses, looking at me for a beat too long. “You sure about this, Callum? You don’t do ‘quiet’. You do ninety-hour weeks and meeting marathons and stress-fuelled brilliance.”

“Exactly,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’ve been doing that for ten years. Thought I’d try something mad like… not burning out.”

Jess raises an eyebrow. “Radical.”

“I like to keep you on your toes.”

She grins, taps her tablet, and heads for the door. “Well, let’s see if one of these two unicorns is up to the job. God help them.”

Jess has barely left my office when the door swings open without a knock.

“Word is you told the government to piss off. Again.” Jasper laughs.

I don’t bother looking up. “Takes them longer to write a bloody memo than it does for that to get round.”

He drops into the chair opposite mine, casual as you like.

Jasper’s got that kind of presence. No urgency, no chaos, just calm.

Always has. He’s eight years older than me, but that gap’s never felt like a divide.

If anything, it’s been a bloody advantage.

He’s the reason I even got my invention off the ground.

Took a chance on me when no one else gave a toss.

Invested when all I had was a scribble on a napkin and too much caffeine in my system.

Over time, the business partnership turned into something more. Mentor, friend… he’s one of the only people who’ll tell me I’m being a stubborn arse and get away with it.

“They wanted the SRT valve?” he asks, though he already knows.

“For free.”

He lets out a low laugh. “Public service and all that?”

“Apparently.”

He leans back, eyes on me, reading more than I’m saying. He does that. I used to find it annoying. Now I’m just used to it.

“Still on for the move?”

“Yeah. Movers are booked for Friday.”

“And Jess?”

“She’s staying with the company, but she made it very clear she has no desire to commute to Kent five days a week.

Not even for the best boss ever—” Jasper snorts at that.

I know I can be tough, but Jess and I had a system, and it’ll be hard having someone new looking after me.

“She’ll work more closely with Luciana now,” I add.

“New PA then?”

“Yeah, I’m interviewing two candidates tomorrow.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What, two total?”

“That’s the list.”

“Blimey. What’s wrong with village life, eh?”

I shrug. “Apparently not enough Pret and too many tractors.”

He grins. “You’ll terrify them first day. Show up all sharp edges and military efficiency. ”

“They’ll manage.”

He watches me a beat longer. Doesn’t say anything straight away. Then, “You think this’ll help? Getting out of London?”

“I don’t know. But staying here’s not helping either.”

He nods. “You’ve been running full tilt for ten years, mate. You’re allowed to stop.”

“I’m not stopping. Just… changing pace.”

“Right,” he says, smirking. “Changing pace. Into a converted barn with underfloor heating and a wine fridge.”

“It’s not a wine fridge.”

“You researched it for three weeks.”

I give him a look. He doesn’t blink.

He gets to his feet, stretching slightly, jacket falling back into place. Always looks like he’s just come from a photoshoot for retired men who have their life sorted .

“I’ll be there Friday,” he says. “Someone’s got to make sure you don’t throw your back out pretending you don’t need help.”

“Thanks.”

“Text me if anything goes tits up. And don’t hire anyone who puts ‘people person’ on their CV.”

He disappears through the door, leaving behind that faint trail of reassurance he always carries with him.

The silence that follows is louder somehow. I glance back at the screen in front of me, but the specs have blurred into shapes I’ve looked at too many times. I shut the laptop with more force than necessary.

It's not that I don't want the move. I do. I need it. I’ve built everything I was supposed to build—patents, profits, partnerships. Offices in three countries. But lately it all feels like noise. Like I'm stuck inside a life that no longer fits but I can’t quite shrug off.

I used to wake up already thinking about what I could build next. Now I just wake up tired.

Everyone keeps telling me I’ve earned the quiet. Like there’s some manual out there that says once you hit a certain number of zeros in your account, you stop chasing. But I don’t know who I am without the chase. Without the pressure. Without the fire.

Maybe that’s the point of moving. Strip it all back and see what’s left.

I lean back in the chair and let out a slow breath.

Am I ready for a change? I’m not sure. I haven’t felt this uncertain about a decision in a long time.

But it’s happening. Friday. One more meeting. Two interviews. Then it’s boxes, vans, and a new postcode.

I run a hand over my face.

A few more days in the city. Then whatever comes next.

Whatever this is.