I drum my fingers lightly against my plastic champagne flute as I scan the crowded room. I don't know anyone here, although there are a few people I recognise by sight. Apparently everyone else from the tech and dev department has opted out of the New Years Eve party our publication is putting on. Damn those IT nerds. If I weren't so new to the job, and the city and country for that matter, I would have skipped out too. As it is, I decided I should probably make an effort to socialise. If I'm being totally honest with myself, I came here hoping to see her, but so far it's been a rotating cast of strangers. At least there's an open bar.
I knock back the last sip in my glass and wend my way towards the bar, weaving through expensive black suits and flashy cocktail dresses. The room is crowded with my mingling, dancing, drunk colleagues. As I move through the press of people I decide I will not make the mistake of straying so far from the bar again.
At the bar I ask the harassed looking bartender for another glass of champagne. He pours into a new plastic flute and slides it across the bar before taking my empty one and tossing it into the recycling bin. Apparently we aren't trusted with glass, which is probably a good call. I've just moved on from the bar when a voice in my ear makes me jump.
"You look nice."
It's her.
"Fuck," I say, trying to keep my drink from spilling. "Has no one ever told you that it's rude to sneak up on people?"
There's an amused look on her face. She's looking pretty fucking smug. I'm not normally a jumpy person, and I'm annoyed that she's managed to startle me. But damn, she looks amazing. She's immaculately dressed in chic trousers with patent leather heels and a silk blouse that clings to her body in all the right places.
"You don't look too bad yourself." I attempt to recover a bit of my dignity. I won't give her the satisfaction of a compliment, but I let my eyes linger on her body for a moment before meeting her gaze. She takes the invitation, leans in and tilts her head towards my ear.
"Are you alright? You seem tense." Her voice is low and measured. Clearly she's someone who is used to being in control. This only makes me want to challenge her, test her, and tease her.
I smile indulgently as I meet her eyes. "I guess I'm just not in my element."
"I can take you somewhere you'll be more comfortable."
Her audacity makes me laugh. "You don't know what makes me comfortable."
"You're right, I don't. But I can tell you aren't comfortable here." She leans in close again. Her face is next to mine and I can smell the perfume on her neck. "And if my memory serves me, you've made it clear that you want me. Do you ever think about it, what we did in the back of my office?"
Shit, she has a point. I wish I could think of something clever to say, but I can't think clearly. "All the time," I murmur. "I think about it all the time."
"Me too," her lips brush my ear, "all the fucking time. Come home with me."
I just nod my head and follow through the press of people towards the double doors at the front of the room. Outside the summer night air is warm. After the close air inside, feeling the breeze on my skin is refreshing. She hands a valet tag to one of the waiting attendants and he goes to find her car.
"Do you live far?" I ask while we wait.
"No, it's only about a fifteen minute walk from here actually."
"Then why bother driving?"
"I didn't want to make you walk in heels," she says before disappearing into the drivers side of the car that's pulled up in front of us.
That bold presumption that makes me laugh aloud. "That's unbelievably presumptuous of you." I slide into the passenger seat regardless. Soon we are enveloped by New Years Eve traffic in the city.
We stop in front of a neat row of flats with matching red doors. She puts the car in park and cuts the engine. I open my door and step out onto the pavement quickly so she doesn't come round to open it for me. She'd use the gesture as an opportunity to be patronising I'm sure, and I refuse to give her the satisfaction.
"It's this one," she inclines her head towards one of the red doors and starts up the walkway. Her stride is confident and deliberate. The way she moves makes my pulse quicken, but I match her unhurried steps as I follow.
Inside the flat is spacious, open with high ceilings. It's immaculately kept, of course, not a thing is out of place. There are dozens of neatly framed photos arranged on almost every wall. Looking closer, I see they're all photos of athletes, captured in motion and rendered in black and white. They're beautiful.
I hear her heels on the hardwood floor as she walks up to stand beside me. "You have more artwork than some galleries I've been to. Did you take all of these?"
"I've been in journalism a very long time." Her voice is like velvet, soft and smooth. The corners of her mouth are curved into the barest smile. It's distracting, and all I want is her mouth on mine.
"Yeah, clearly," I arch an eyebrow. "You really need a hobby." I wonder what she'll do to me if I keep testing her. I can tell she likes this game as much as I do.
