The pub had that familiar hum — low voices, clinks of glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter from the far end where a group from HR had clearly started early. It was just gone six, and the five of them had spilt out from the office after a particularly dry client call that had dragged into late afternoon. A drink was more than earned — it was a requirement.

Alex was already at the bar, the curve of his shoulders relaxed under a slate-grey blazer, one that somehow made him look like he hadn't just spent eight hours wrestling with software requirements. He slid notes across the bar and turned with a grin, balancing a tray of drinks like a seasoned barman.

“Right,” he said, setting down pints and wine glasses on the sticky wooden table. “First round’s on me. After that, you're on your own.”

Jenny offered him a soft smile, a curl of blonde hair slipping from behind her ear. “Generous,” she said, lifting her white wine and giving it a little toast. “That your good deed for the week?”

He chuckled. “That and letting you lot grill me about whatever nonsense is going on in procurement.”

Carole took her glass with a nod of thanks, her lipstick catching the low light just so. She didn't say much at first; she just watched how Alex settled into his seat at the head of the table. He didn't sit with them, not exactly — he always managed to claim the chair that gave him space, presence, that little air of authority without looking like he was trying. It was frustratingly effortless.

The conversation flowed easily and was half-teasing. Jenny leaned in a little when she spoke, not flirtatious, just... engaged. Natural. Carole clocked it, of course. She always did. That little lean, light laugh wasn't forced, but it meant something. And Alex, for all his social graces, didn't seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn't show it.

“So,” he said, eyes scanning the table, “Friday night drinks again? Or will I be stood up after one round last time?”

“I had a yoga class,” Jenny said, raising her brow in mock defence.

“Carole was on a date,” piped up someone from the end of the table.

Carole smiled, cool and even. “One I don’t plan on repeating.”

And just like that, the air shifted. Only slightly. But enough.

Alex had turned slightly, drawn into a side conversation with Neil and Priya about some new system update IT had bungled for the third time in a month. He was animated, gesturing with his glass, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

Jenny sipped her wine slowly, watching him for a beat too long. Carole noticed, of course.

“He’s not that interesting, you know," Carole murmured, not looking directly at her. Her voice was quiet but crisp, like a breeze with just a hint of frost.

Jenny blinked, then offered a polite smile, keeping her tone light. “I was listening to the conversation. It’s about the servers again. You know, thrilling stuff.”

Carole gave a small, knowing hum. “Mmm. Riveting. I just wasn’t sure if it was the servers or the way Alex explains them that had you so... captivated.”

Jenny chuckled softly, though there was a flicker of something behind her eyes. “Please. If you think I’m hanging on every word from him, you clearly haven’t seen me in a strategy meeting.”

“Oh, I’ve seen you,” Carole said, finally turning her head. Her gaze was steady, unreadable. “You play it well. Cool. Smart. Bit of the understated charm thing going on.”

Jenny raised an eyebrow, keeping her smile in place. “Better than overstating it, I suppose.”

Carole’s lips curled just slightly. Not quite a smile. “Touché.”

There was a beat of silence, filled only by the low hum of pub life around them — glasses clinking, a burst of laughter, someone shouting for another round. Alex laughed at something Neil said, then briefly glanced over his shoulder. He caught Jenny's eye and gave her a half-smile.

Carole watched the exchange, then looked back at her drink.

“You know he’s not looking for anything complicated,” she said, voice lower now, more thoughtful. “He said so. After the Christmas do. Remember?”

Jenny's smile thinned. "I remember. That doesn't mean people don't change their minds."

Carole didn’t reply straight away. She just swirled her wine in her glass, eyes distant. “No... but they usually don’t.”

Before Jenny could reply, Priya leaned across the table, her voice cutting through the undercurrent like a pebble skimming water.

"You two look like you're plotting something," she grinned. "Should we be worried?"

Jenny laughed lightly, shifting back in her seat. “Just sharing thoughts on server crashes and office romance.”

Carole smiled sweetly. “Well, one’s more recoverable than the other.”

The table chuckled. Alex raised an eyebrow but said nothing, his eyes flicking between the two women.

Jenny caught his glance, then tipped her glass towards him. “To recoveries, then.”

Alex clinked his pint to hers, a little slower than before.

Jenny shifted slightly in her seat, angling herself towards Alex now that the tech chat had fizzled out. Her wine glass dangled casually in her hand, the stem twirling slowly between her fingers.

"So, Alex," she said, a touch lighter, a touch warmer, "do you always rescue your team with first rounds and a hint of charm, or is this a special occasion?"

Alex gave a small laugh, his eyes flicking to hers. “Only when I think they need it. Or deserve it.”

Jenny tilted her head, her smile playing at the corners. “I must’ve missed the criteria. What earns someone a drink from the elusive Mr Bennett?”

“Resilience. A sense of humour. A tendency to not email me seventeen times a day,” he replied, smirking in Carole’s direction.

Carole raised her eyebrows and shot back with a saccharine tone, “And yet, without my ‘seventeen emails’, we’d all still be stuck in that god-awful client call, wouldn’t we?”

Alex chuckled. “Fair point.”

Jenny leaned in just a fraction more. “Well, I only send twelve. That’s practically saintly.”

He smiled, and for a moment, his gaze lingered — not long, but just enough.

Carole sipped her drink and placed it down with a gentle thud. “Careful, Jenny. You’ll spoil the mystery.”

Jenny glanced at her. “Mystery’s overrated.”

Carole arched a brow. “Only when you’re trying to be obvious.”

The words hung there for a beat too long.

Oblivious to the tension, Neil jumped in with some inane anecdote about a train delay that none cared about. The conversation shifted, but Jenny wasn't listening. She was watching how Alex's arm rested along the back of his chair, how he smiled when he wasn't thinking about it. Natural. Unfiltered.

She took another slow sip of wine and let her fingers graze the sleeve of his jacket as she reached across to grab a stray peanut from the bowl in the centre of the table.

He didn’t flinch.

Carole saw it all. Every movement. Every flicker of attention.

And she hated that Jenny was doing it so well — so effortlessly — while she sat there, tasting the bitterness of old hopes and half-healed wounds behind a flawless coat of lipstick.

Jenny was on the upswing.

And Carole knew the drop was coming.

She just didn’t know who for.

The pub was thinning out. Laughter still floated from a corner table, but most of their group had already peeled away with the usual excuses — early start, long commute, too many spreadsheets waiting for them next week, shopping, all mundane stuff.

Jenny stood just outside the front door, arms wrapped around herself against the chill. The air was cool and damp, London’s usual spring tease of warmth retreating with the setting sun.

Carole had ducked into a cab without a backward glance — a tight smile, a quick goodbye, and she was gone.

Alex appeared at Jenny's side, hands tucked into his coat pockets. "You all right getting home?"

“I’ll grab a cab in a sec,” Jenny replied, eyes on the street. “Don’t fancy wrestling the Tube this late.”

He hesitated for a beat. “I’ve got the car. I’ll drop you if you want.”

She turned to him then, a little smile tugging at her lips. “Are you always this gallant, or am I getting the VIP treatment?”

Alex grinned. “Only for those who send fewer than twelve emails a day.”

Jenny laughed. “See? You do keep track.”

They walked together to his car parked a few streets down. The quiet between them wasn't awkward—it was full, loaded with everything unsaid. By the time they reached his black Audi, her heels clicking softly on the pavement, something had shifted.

She slid into the passenger seat and pulled the door shut. The car smelled faintly of leather, and his aftershave was clean and understated, like him.

“You live in Clapham, right?” he asked as he started the engine.

“Mm-hmm,” she said, glancing sideways at him. “Memory and charm. Dangerous combination.”

Alex smiled as they pulled out onto the main road. “What about you, then? What’s your secret? You play everything close to the chest.”

Jenny shrugged lightly, her voice low. “Maybe I’ve just not found the right person to play open with.”

There was a pause. Just long enough.

“Maybe,” he said, eyes fixed ahead. “Or maybe you like keeping people guessing.”

She turned slightly in her seat, facing him more fully now. “Maybe I do.”

Another pause. This one crackled.

He gave a small laugh. “This feels like one of those moments where someone should say something clever.”

Jenny smiled slowly. “You could just kiss me. That usually works.”

He glanced at her, eyebrows raised. “Confident, aren’t you?”

She held his gaze steady. "Would you prefer shy and silent?"

"No," he said, voice quiet but firm. "I prefer real."

She looked out of the window, then back at him. “That’s what I’m giving you.”

Neither of them said another word for the next two minutes.

But the silence wasn’t empty.

It was a promise.

The hallway light flickered as Jenny turned her key, the soft click of the lock echoing louder than expected in the still evening. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, the warmth of her flat wrapping around her like silk. She turned back to Alex, one brow raised.

“Well, are you coming in, or am I meant to thank you from the hallway?”

He chuckled under his breath and followed her inside.

The door shut gently behind them.

Her flat was unmistakably hers—soft lighting, warm tones, and the gentle hum of a playlist still whispering from the kitchen. The scent immediately hit him—something floral but rich... warm and comforting. It was not artificial. It clung subtly to the air, to the cushions, to her. It wasn't perfume, not exactly—more like her laundry and skin and something delicate burning in a candle on the windowsill.

It was the kind of smell that made a man forget what he’d been saying.

He stood inside, taking it in while she slipped off her coat and kicked off her shoes. Barefoot, she padded into the kitchen and poured two glasses of wine like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You always drink after you’ve been drinking?” he asked with a faint smile, accepting the glass she offered.

“Only when I’m trying to make a good impression,” she replied, her tone light but her eyes steady on his.

He took a sip, more to keep his mouth busy than out of thirst. Her flat was tidy but lived-in — a throw blanket draped carelessly across the sofa, a pair of reading glasses resting on an open book, a half-burned candle flickering near the window. Feminine, not frilly. Soft but grounded. Like her.

“You’ve got a lovely place,” he said, eyes drifting from the bookshelf to the framed photos on the wall. “Smells like... I don’t know. Trouble.”

Jenny laughed. “Sandalwood and white jasmine. You should try it sometime. Women will throw themselves at you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that how it works?”

“Well,” she said, stepping a little closer, “some of us are more subtle than others.”

The space between them shrank, and the low hum of the music seemed to grow louder and fuller. Her hand brushed his arm as she passed him, heading toward the sofa, and he felt it like a spark.

He followed without thinking.

She curled one leg under herself and took a sip of wine, watching him settle beside her — not too close yet. But the air was charged now. A little heavier. A little warmer.

Jenny’s voice was softer this time. “You’re not what I expected, you know.”

“Is that a good thing?” Alex asked.

She smiled slowly. “I haven’t decided yet.”

He leaned back slightly, eyes locked on hers. “Let me know when you do.”

And there it was — that shift. Not loud. Not sudden. Just the soft click of something beginning.

Alex sat on the edge of her sofa like it might bite him. With a wine glass in one hand and the other resting awkwardly on his knee, he tried to look relaxed—and failed.

Jenny watched him over the rim of her glass, one leg tucked under her, the other stretched out lazily, bare toes pointed toward him. She was in her space now, comfortable and in control. She liked how he shifted slightly, shoulders tight despite the low music and warm air.

He could steer a room full of stakeholders without blinking. But here, in her flat, with her... he was adrift.

“I think you’re nervous,” she said softly, tilting her head.

He laughed once, quick and uncomfortable. “What gives you that idea?”

“You’re sitting like you’ve been invited in for a job interview.”

He exhaled and tried to smile. “Well, technically, you’re on my team. That probably makes this... wildly inappropriate.”

Jenny leaned forward, resting her elbow on the back of the sofa. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself. I’ve had worse ideas after two glasses of wine.”

That pulled a proper smile from him, if only briefly. He glanced around the flat again, his eyes flicking over the framed prints, the soft throws, the candle still glowing in the corner.

“This place suits you,” he said. “It’s calm. Thoughtful.”

“You expected something different?”

“I don’t know... Maybe more minimal. You’re very—”

“Efficient at work?”

He nodded. “Exactly.”

Jenny stood, slow and deliberate. She didn't rush. She walked to the sideboard, topped up her wine, and then turned back to him.

“You’re not very good at this, are you?” she asked, teasing.

Alex shifted again, glass nearly slipping in his grip. “Good at what?”

“Reading the room. Or maybe reading me.”

Her voice was still soft, almost playful, but her eyes never left him. She crossed the room again and stopped just in front of him. He had to look up at her from where he sat.

“You’re used to being in charge,” she said. “But you’re not quite sure what happens when the script runs out.”

“Jenny—”

"I'm not your analyst right now," she said, gently setting his glass on the table. "You don't need to brief me."

He swallowed. “You’re... very sure of yourself.”

She smiled. “I’m sure of you, Alex. Even if you’re not.”

She leaned down and kissed him — not rushed, not forceful. Just warm and lingering. Testing.

He didn’t resist.

His hands rose hesitantly, then settled on her waist, drawing her in slightly. She tasted like wine and confidence. He felt himself melt into it, into her, as if the rest of the world had blinked out.

When she pulled back, she didn’t move far.

“Still nervous?” she whispered.

He nodded. “A little.”

“Good.” Her voice was a purr now. “It means you care what happens next.”

She took his hand, fingers lacing with his, and led him down the short hallway. Her bedroom door was already open, casting a soft amber glow from a bedside lamp. The same scent that clung to the living room was stronger here — jasmine, sandalwood, and something warm and unmistakably her.

The bed was neatly made, layered in soft greys and creams, the sort of space designed to seduce without trying too hard. It was feminine without frills, like the rest of her.

She turned to face him, standing near the edge of the bed, her fingers still wrapped around his.

“This, okay?" she asked, voice quiet now but honest.

He looked at her for a long moment. Something in his chest tightened — not fear, exactly. Something deeper. A weight. A longing.

“Yes,” he said.

She smiled, slow and sure.

“Then let’s take that tie off.”

He reached for it, but she stopped him.

“I said let’s, didn’t I?”

Her hands moved up to the knot, fingers deft, unravelling the day from around his neck. She worked in silence, her touch light, confident, until the tie slid free, and she tossed it gently onto a chair.

She kissed him again, deeper this time, her hands moving to his chest, his collar. Buttons gave way beneath her fingers. She didn’t rush. There was no urgency in her — just quiet command.

Alex responded, still slightly unsure but leaning in, letting himself be led. He touched her arms, waist, and back; every movement was tentative, testing the rules of this new space she'd drawn around them.

When they fell onto the bed, it wasn't clumsy — it was slow, stretched out like they both knew this moment mattered in a way neither had quite expected.

Clothes peeled away. Breathing deepened. But still, there was space for pauses — for watching each other, reading each breath and shivering. She never let go of control entirely, but she let him feel like he had some.

After, as they lay tangled in silence, her head on his shoulder, his hand resting along her spine, he let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.

Jenny’s voice broke the quiet.

“Still nervous?”

He smiled at the ceiling. "Less so."

“Good,” she whispered. “You’re getting better.”  

----------------   End of Part I  ------------------