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The chandeliers sparkled upon the black-tie event. Among a sea of round tables, Rosie spotted her near the front. Jessica Frost, the woman of her fantasies and also, slight detail, her boss, was standing talking to a group of people. In an elegant black dress with a deep plunge line and killer red heels, she commanded the space with the sheer force of her presence and reputation.

Rosie made her way to her seat, navigating the room in her own dress and high heels. She took a seat at her table, picked up her place card and ran her thumb over the ornate embossing. Rosie Patterson JF Architecture . Working at one of the top architecture companies in the country and now attending the Royal Institute of British Architecture awards for the first time was a major career highlight.

“You look smitten.”

She looked up. Carla, her work best friend, was smirking at her.

Carefully, she put the card back in its place and straightened it up. “I’m happy. That’s all.”

“With a side of lesbian lust,” Carla said, under her breath, an amused grin pulling at her cheeks.

“Would you stop with that, please,” Rosie said, through a strained smile.

“Never.”

Rosie shook her head, regretting her confession after a few too many wines one Friday night after work that she did, in fact, have a crush on their boss and chief executive of the company.

Carla looked over at Jessica. “She looks incredible tonight, by the way. If I wasn’t straight, I’d want her too.”

Rosie followed Carla’s gaze. Jessica was sitting down sipping water now, her back long and her silhouette graceful. Carla was right, Jessica was particularly gorgeous tonight. Her trademark blonde wavy bob looked luscious and thick, styled to perfection. Her lipstick drew attention to her full and perfectly shaped lips. She had the air of a confident woman in her forties who knew exactly who she was and what she was worth, which Rosie found so attractive. Jessica looked so cool, calm and collected for someone who was up for one of the most prestigious awards in British architecture, but then she always came across like that. It only added to the mystery of who she was and what she was like. Rosie picked up her glass of wine and took a quick sip. “We shouldn’t stare.”

“You’re right.” Carla faced her. “So, do you think we’re going to win anything tonight?”

JF Architecture had been nominated for two awards: Small Project of the Year and a National Award for a special contribution to British architecture. “I think we’ve got excellent chances for both. Joe’s little house is innovative and brilliant, and Jessica’s is one of the most extraordinary pieces of architecture this country has seen in the last five years. What about you, do you think we’re going to win?”

“Wow, you do have it bad for her, don’t you?” Carla smiled, kindly, and flicked through the booklet, coming to a stop at Jessica’s building. It was an enormous building shaped like a bouquet of roses. The glass and metal bouquet changed colours with special lighting. The interior’s ventilation system scented the inside with an array of floral aromas, mainly rose. It dominated the London skyline and was already considered a national treasure, with its ode to the much-loved English rose. “The Roses is a beautiful building,” Carla said. “But the competition is amazing too. It’s a tough call.”

“Hmm.”

“Then again, we’ve got Jessica’s magic touch. That woman is formidable. How many of these have we won before?”

“Seven. In different categories.”

Carla laughed. “Of course you know the exact number.”

“It’s on the front page of our website.”

Carla said something to Brian from finance, on her other side. JF Architecture had three tables tonight. Theirs was the table for colleagues who wanted to attend the ceremony but who hadn’t worked on one of the two projects up for an award. As a large company, they always sent a good number of people to the event. There was no way Rosie was going to miss the opportunity to be here this year. The networking alone was priceless.

Jessica’s table consisted of senior leadership including some of the principal architects, and Rich, her second in command. What Rosie wouldn’t give to be sitting at that table as their name was called for a project Rosie had led on. Jessica would look at her with recognition and admiration. Getting that oh-so-elusive nod of approval from Jessica would be the most amazing thing ever. The vision stirred something deep within. Rosie was thirty-five and had seven years under her belt since qualifying as an architect. She’d been at the same level for a while now. Moving up and becoming a principal architect was the next step in her career. She had to prove herself on a big project, and soon. But was she ready for the step up? She wasn’t sure.

The last people took their seats at the various tables as the lights dimmed and the host took the stage. Rosie stilled and focused on the speaker.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the fifty-second Royal Institute of British Architecture awards. We’re delighted to have you with us here tonight to celebrate architectural excellence in the UK and recognise buildings and projects which have significantly contributed to architecture. I have the privilege of hosting the awards for you this evening, and you’ll be hearing from a number of speakers with lots of interesting things to talk about.”

The host was a tall and slim older man with a refined English accent. It was hard not to feel a bit out of place in such a classy venue surrounded by very posh and important people in the industry. She hadn’t grown up in the halls of power by any means. She’d forged her career through hard work and a passion for architecture she sometimes didn’t understand in herself. She was curious about the world, and getting to design things that became permanent structures was always a heady thrill. But the truth was, she still felt like a bit of an imposter at events like these and in her job sometimes too.

Carla leaned towards her shoulder, keeping her voice down. “Strap in, this is going to be a long night.”

For the next hour she clapped accordingly as awards were introduced and received. In the House of the Year category, a private home built almost entirely out of glass on the Isle of Wight caught her eye. It was a delicate steel-frame structure, similar to a glasshouse in a Victorian garden, except it had rooms in it like a house. A high school in East London that been thoughtfully redesigned with a huge central atrium and student garden captured her imagination too. Her own school, thrown up in the early seventies, was an urban eyesore. It could probably do with a similar revamp.

JF Architecture won Small Project of the Year. She clapped her hands as their colleagues at the next table fist pumped the air or hugged each other. She knew how hard they’d worked and what it meant to the team. Seeing her own company win an award filled her with pride.

Joe, the principal architect, walked up to the stage and collected the award. Jessica clapped gracefully.

At the break, people stood around the tables, mingling. Rosie went to get another drink at the bar with Carla, which was busy with people stretching their legs and waiting in the queue. Rosie tried not to stumble as she walked. She was wearing four-inch heels and wasn’t used to them. She turned to Carla, steadying herself on the bar. “I’m loving hearing about all these different projects. It’s inspiring.”

“I know but my hands are getting sore from all this clapping,” Carla said.

“Imagine winning one day.”

Carla tilted her head. Her olive skin was glowing tonight. “You will, I know it.”

“And so will you. You’re brilliant.”

“We’ll win together then, how about that?”

“Yes!”

As Carla ordered drinks, a few of their colleagues joined them at the bar, smiling, buzzing from winning. Joe held the trophy as if he was never going to part with it.

“Congratulations,” Rosie said, nodding at the trophy. “How does it feel?”

Joe shook his head and blew out what looked like a dumbfounded breath. “Can’t fucking believe it. Jessica even raised her glass and gave me the nod.”

“Forget the RIBA award. You’ve achieved.” Rosie smiled.

Joe laughed. “I know. I honestly don’t know which one I’m more excited about, the award or the nod.”

“The trick” —Rich pulled up beside them holding a glass— “is to find the right balance between working hard to get these accolades, but at the same time, not needing them because you know what you do is good. That’s when your work takes off. The awards are a nice bonus. Even a nod from Jessica. Only kidding. Her stamp of approval is everything.”

Rosie stood up a bit straighter. It wasn’t often he stopped by for a chat, whether in the office or at socials but every time he did, he was always charming and friendly. He was also the closest person to Jessica in the whole company. He was wearing a well-fitted burgundy and charcoal suit which went well with his dark carefully styled hair.

“Congratulations, Joe.” Rich tipped his glass towards him. “It takes a lot of talent to do what you did. We’re all very proud of you.”

“Cheers, Rich.” Joe beamed. “It all came together in the end. It was touch and go for a while there.” He was handed a drink and turned away to speak with his team.

Rich turned to Rosie and regarded her for a second. “I think you will have an excellent shot at a RIBA award one day.”

Rosie smiled, keeping her mouth shut. When was one day going to be though? In truth, Rich had the power to decide who worked on what, and most importantly, who got promoted and who didn’t. Everything went through the senior leadership and then Jessica, of course, but people listened to him. She wasn’t sure she was ready, but it was better to appear more confident than she was. “I do too. But in order to do that I need something big to sink my teeth into, and to lead.”

“You like plants and gardens, right?”

Rosie suppressed a frown. In a company of mostly commercial architects, her background in landscape architecture was almost a hindrance. She did like plants. Had them all over her desk and at home. That didn’t mean she couldn’t design important buildings like the rest of them. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Interesting.”

Rosie shifted her weight to stand equally on both feet. These heels were really killing her tonight.

Carla handed her a drink.

Rich raised his. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He stepped a foot away among the busy bar area, before looking back at them. “Have a good evening, both.”

Carla checked her watch. “I think they want us back soon.”

“I’ll join you in a second. I have to sort out my heel.” Rosie winced, trying to ignore the pain.

“Do you need any help?”

“No thanks. I have some plasters in my clutch.”

“The price of beauty, my friend.”

“It’s awful. I don’t see any men slashing their feet to look pretty.”

“Wear a suit next time?”

“I will. Or how about they hand out flip-flops for people in heels when it all gets too much.”

Carla laughed. “Here, give me your drink, I’ll take it back for you.”

They parted ways. Rosie would have to hurry. The last thing she wanted was to be late.

The fancy bathroom was empty. She stood by the thick marble sinks and placed her clutch bag on the counter. Leaning to one side, she wobbled on one foot as she slipped her shoe off and got a plaster out of her bag. The skin on her heel was red raw. It stung as she pressed the plaster down. Her foot wobbled. She fought for balance. She stumbled before falling to the ground and landing hard on her ass.

Pain reverberated around her body as she flailed about on the thankfully pristine floor with a twisted dress that had ridden up her leg and only one shoe on. Her wrist had hit the floor hard as she fell, causing her bracelet to fall off. The chain was beside her, but the pendant was nowhere to be seen.

She picked up the chain, distraught. Her grandmother had given it to her not long before she passed away. The pendant, a little silver key, symbolised an abundant and successful life. That was all her grandmother ever wanted for her.

Crawling on all fours searching around, Rosie couldn’t find it. Desperation gripped her chest as the prospect it had fallen into a crack in a tile, never to be found, increased.

The door opened behind her. “What are you doing down there?” The velvety voice was familiar.

Oh sweet Jesus fuck. It was Jessica Frost. Of all the people to come into the bathroom at a time like this, it had to be her. Rosie’s cheeks burned as she scrambled to form words. “I’m…”

“If you’re drunk, you should leave.” Jessica’s voice was firmer than usual.

“I’m not drunk. I was just putting a plaster on my heel, and I fell over.” Rosie straightened out her dress feeling like a total idiot while her boss towered above her.

“Can I help you up?” Jessica held out a manicured hand.

“No, thank you. My bracelet broke when I fell. I can’t find the pendant.” She held up her hand to show the now bare chain. “My grandmother gave it to me.”

“Ah, I understand. Let me see if I can help you find it.” Jessica knelt beside Rosie, her knees gracefully together as she did so. She began crawling around on the floor with her to look for it. The awards would be starting again soon. To think Jessica was taking the time to help her in this mess was mind-boggling.

“Is this it?” Jessica held up the small silver key and handed it back to her.

“Yes! Thank you so much!”

“It was camouflaged at the edge here.” Jessica pointed at where she’d found it.

Instead of examining the destination of her pendant, Rosie’s eyes fell on the skin of Jessica’s cleavage, teasingly visible right in front of her. A hot rush of desire shot through her core, momentarily destabilising her.

Jessica effortlessly got to her feet. She brushed down her dress and stood up straight, adopting her oh-so-sexy power pose.

Rosie could only sit on her knees and stare, still suspended in her attraction to this unique, powerful and beautiful woman.

Jessica held out her hand again.

Heat spread through her body as she took Jessica’s soft and warm hand. Time slowed down. She became aware of her breath and got to her feet as gracefully as she could. Her leg and wrist still throbbed in pain.

Jessica hovered as if waiting in case Rosie fell again, only disappearing into a cubicle at the far end once Rosie was safely upright and stable.

Rosie missed her presence instantly. Being up close and personal with Jessica had felt so perfect for a few seconds. She found her rogue heel and slipped it on, clinging to the sinks to ensure she remained on her feet after this monumental fuck up in front of her boss. She threw the wrapping from the plaster into the bin and placed the pendant and chain in her clutch bag, snapping it shut. Rosie felt so gross having been on the floor. Flicking on the tap, she washed her hands then soothed her wrist with some cold water. She’d jarred it pretty hard using it to break her fall. Her left butt cheek was sore. Her ego hurt the most.

Heels clicked towards her. She looked into the mirror to see Jessica’s gorgeous reflection push the soap dispenser. With her slender neck and sculpted cheekbones, her short wavy blonde hair and her smoky eye make-up, she looked sophisticated and classy. Rosie’s eyes dropped to Jessica’s plunging neckline again, slightly more visible as Jessica leant over to wash her hands. For a split second, they held eye contact in the mirror. Rosie’s heart skipped a beat. Hopefully she hadn’t caught Rosie checking her out. Jessica was making an expression Rosie couldn’t place. Was it curiosity?

“See you back out there, Rosie,” Jessica said, drying her hands with a paper towel.

“Yes. See you.”

Jessica left, hips swaying as gorgeously as ever.

Only when the door was closed did Rosie finally take a proper breath. She checked herself over in the mirror. She was never going to recover from the embarrassment of this. But the fact that Jessica had got down on her hands and knees and crawled on the floor to find her pendant was fucking incredible. It only made Rosie like her even more.

Rosie headed back to her table and took her seat beside Carla.

“How’s your heel?” Carla said.

“Fine, thanks,” Rosie said, as the host came back out on the stage to polite clapping and a loop of classical music.

The music cut and he started them off again.

The reality of Rosie’s mishap settled in her chest like a heavy weight. What would Jessica think of her after this? She was never going to get ahead if the boss saw her as some sort of idiot. Falling around in toilets was not what she wanted to get recognised for, damn it.

A quick glance at Jessica did nothing to help. That woman was a force of nature. While they didn’t speak very often, on the occasions they did, it was all very professional. Rosie’s crush had grown in the three years she’d been with the company. The woman had single-handedly set the bar higher for contemporary architecture in the UK. She was even internationally recognised. And because Jessica was so private and reserved and mysterious and fucking hot, Rosie’s attraction had skyrocketed. Plus, Jessica was gay. A fact Rosie’s little heart couldn’t get enough of.

The awards trundled on but during the second half, Rosie couldn’t concentrate on the videos and talks about each project. She wanted to get home, get changed into her pyjamas, and cry into a tub of ice cream.

“And now for the National Award.”

A hush descended around the venue. This was the most desirable award of the year and for which there was only one winner. JF Architecture had won it once before and were shortlisted again this year for The Roses, the company’s flagship project of the last few years, finally completed the previous summer.

The person introducing the award presented each of the three shortlisted: a new national concert hall with a built in three-sixty audio-visual experience, a purpose-built neighbourhood for people living with dementia, and of course, The Roses. Each were brilliant in their own way.

“And the winner is—” The presenter paused for suspense. The audience squirmed in anticipation.

Rosie kept her eye on Jessica for her reaction.

“—The Roses by JF Architecture.”

A round of applause cascaded around the venue as the JF Architecture tables jumped to their feet and cheered. Rosie threw her hands together in admiration and respect. This was a big fucking deal.

Jessica smiled broadly, which was lovely to see. She still kept her cool, however. No mad movements, just her trademark poise and control while she processed the win. Her walk up to the stage was so elegant and, there was no other way to describe it, sexy . Jessica accepted the clear glass award in her relaxed-looking hands and air-kissed the presenter. When she faced the audience, she was still smiling, yes, but she had her game face on. Rosie knew it well.

Jessica paused before speaking, poised at the microphone, looking down at the award she was cradling. “This is a huge honour. Thank you so much. The Roses was a collaboration with a highly talented and dedicated team at JF Architecture and multiple partners. Thank you to everyone who worked on this incredible building and helped make this project a success. I wanted this building to help bring people together and represent something very important. And that is love. I also designed The Roses to mark my own love of architecture, because architecture has always been there for me. I hope this building will stand the test of time. Thank you.”

Thunderous applause filled the room.

Jessica’s speech was far more personal and emotive than usual, but it was still missing something. More passion? More energy? Jessica had been talking about a building designed as a bouquet of roses, a nod to love and England’s national flower, yet something felt slightly off and underwhelming. There was no sparkle in her eye, and there should have been.

As the triumphant exit music came on, Rosie took a good drink of her wine, watching Jessica leave the stage wondering what made this woman tick.

“Man, Jessica Frost is a fucking legend,” Carla said, wistfully.

“She is.”

Jessica placed the award on the table and spoke with George, one of the principal architects beside her. She didn’t look overly excited.

Where was the elation?

Then again, what did Rosie expect from a brilliantly gifted and elusive boss at the top of her game in British architecture.