If I fall E-Book

Anne Thorogood

• Herausgeber: Storytel Original
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: If I Fall
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Seitenzahl: 439

Beschreibung

Hannah is young and beautiful, but the part about being beautiful, she doesn't quite believe. And she's stuck in Denmark. The plan had been to move to England and study. Instead, she has moved back in with her parents to take care of her sick father who has had a stroke. Hannah works in the family business, which is run by her uncle, Filip. Hannah has no time for friends or love, until she literally throws herself at the handsome and charming William Black. But the encounter with William is complicated. Hannah has no room in her life for complications, but she's having a hard time containing herself when it comes to the annoying and controlling Mr. Black.

Leseprobe

www.storytel.com

Copyright © Storytel Original 2021

Copyright © Anne Thorogood 2021

Publisher: Storyside AB

Original title: Hvis jeg falder

Translation: Jennifer Russel

Cover design: Cover Kitchen Company Limited

ISBN 978-91-7967-519-6

Part 1

Elliot Black…

I wake up with gasp and jolt up in bed. I stare out into the room. I’m not alone.

Someone is here.

There, at the end of my bed. A dark silhouette standing stock-still, staring at me. Without taking my eyes off whoever it is, I grope for the lamp on the nightstand, nearly knocking it over in my haste to turn on the light.

On my second try I manage to find the switch.

But as soon as the room fills with light, the dark shadow vanishes before my eyes and is replaced by my black skirt, mocking me from its hanger on the closet door.

Jesus Christ.

It took me hours last night to pick out a skirt that would be suitable for the meeting with Elliot Black, and now the bloody thing nearly scares me to death in the middle of the night.

Wearily I shake my head, take a deep, calming breath and let my head drop back onto my pillow.

Elliot Black.

The room seems to reverberate with the name. I hold my breath and listen carefully, praying that I didn’t scream the name at the top of my lungs but only whispered it. After a few minutes my shoulders sink back down. There’s no sign that I’ve woken my parents; no creaking of doors, no shuffling footsteps of my dad walking down the hall. The house seems fast asleep.

My eyes drift across the glowing red numbers on the nightstand. It’s almost five in the morning, and outside the wind still hasn’t let up. I feel the cold air seeping through the window, and with a shiver I pull the duvet up to my chin.

Elliot Black.

I let out a sigh. The day has barely even started, and already I wish it were over. I stare at the ceiling. The white lamp catches my eye. It’s shaped like a butterfly and has hung there ever since my parents gave it to me for my tenth birthday. I know it’s a rather childish lamp for someone turning twenty-four this summer, but I’ve always felt as though it watches over me when I sleep.

With a grunt I roll onto my stomach and slide as far as I can beneath the duvet. The thought of this man, Elliot Black, whom I’ve promised my uncle Filip to meet, haunts me like a nightmare and makes my stomach tighten into anxious knots.

Always go with your gut.

One of my dad’s favourite mottos echoes in my mind, and I sigh with frustration. I’ve ignored so many gut feelings throughout the past three years that I’ve almost stopped noticing them. It’s made my life easier in a lot of ways. But this time it’s different. My brain is refusing to disregard my body’s signals. The knot in my stomach has been steadily growing since yesterday, and my palms grow sweaty every time I think of standing face-to-face with the owner and CEO of Black Investments. I don’t know the man. I’ve never even seen him, much less spoken to him.

I’ve only heard Filip mention him a few times. My uncle studied in Cambridge when he was young, and Elliot was his roommate. The two of them became good friends, and throughout the years Filip has gone to visit Elliot in England several times, but now the roles are reversed. For the first time Elliot is on his way to Kolding to visit Filip.

‘I know this is last minute,’ Filip said to me yesterday when he called me into his office. ‘But I just caught Elliot on the phone. He’s in Copenhagen and has time for a quick stop in Kolding tomorrow before going back to England, which is why I need your help, Hannah. Elliot will arrive at eight, but I’ve got to drive Josefine to the hospital then. As you know, she needs to have her thumb operated on after her fall, and the appointment is tomorrow morning. But I’ll join you as quickly as I can. All you have to do is welcome Elliot and keep him company in the conference room for an hour or so until I arrive. Just tell him about what you’re currently working on.’

He paused and looked at me anxiously. ‘You can do that, can’t you? It’s extremely important that he feels welcome and that we give him a good impression of the company. I’ve mentioned to you before that Elliot has his own investment firm in Cambridge. And listen to this—I’ve managed to get him to consider investing in HN Marketing. That’s my main focus right now—raising capital for the company. But Hannah, please keep this to yourself. Don’t tell the others. Promise me that.’

I promised with a solemn nod. I hadn’t known the company was in need of financial backing, and now I wish there had been time to ask him more about this potential investment, but Filip’s phone had suddenly rung, and he had waved me off. He was busy the rest of the day, and we didn’t speak again.

The anxious restlessness in my body makes it impossible for me to fall back asleep. I throw my duvet aside and sneak out to the bathroom to shower. The warm water massages my tense shoulders and washes away all last lingering tiredness. In my room my outfit is already laid out. I found the black skirt buried in the bottom of my closet. It had been lying there for years, and I had completely forgotten its existence. Paired with a silky purple blouse and a pair of opaque tights, my reflection starts to look something like what I assume Filip had been envisaging.

‘I’d appreciate it if you could make an effort to look your best for the

meeting,’ he had said, rather diplomatically, while he let a telling look slide down my loose-fitting shirt and worn jeans. With a bit of insistence I manage to pull the skirt down over my hips and zip it up. It’s a bit too tight for comfort, but there’s nothing to be done about it. It’s the only thing I’ve got that’s suitable for a business meeting.

I towel off my hair before tackling my make-up. A touch of purple eye shadow, mascara and dark red lipstick. That should do it. And then there’s the hair. In the mirror I assess the thick wavy curls that fall around my shoulders. Normally I wear it down, because I like the way it frames my face. But today I’m going to have to control the unruly locks somehow. A ponytail would be most professional, I decide.

Mirror, mirror on the wall…

Once I’m done, I stand back and take a critical look at myself in the mirror. The skirt is almost thigh-high and rather on the tight side. I can forget about cycling to work today. The blouse is elegant, my makeup is subtle, and when I pull on the high-heeled suede boots, I’m quite pleased with the result. Or rather, I decide that it’s as good as it’s going to get.

But my face…

I look so strange. The dark lips and scraped-back hair make me look like a whole different person. The makeup highlights my brown eyes, and the look in them is anxious and frightened.

‘Pull yourself together,’ I mumble to myself before pulling my boots back off and carrying them in my hands as I tiptoe down the hallway. As always, I stop in front of the door to my parents’ bedroom and listen closely. It’s completely quiet. I open the door, just a few centimetres, so a strip of light falls across the two beds, which stand a metre apart. Mum lies closest to the door, facing me. Her mouth is half-open, and she’s breathing heavily. Dad is behind her, lying on his left side with his face away from me, as always—the way he sleeps best.

It looks like he’s had a good night. No fitful sleep, sleepwalking or insomnia. I gently close the door again and continue down the hall.

Behind the French doors, a black shadow appears. I hurry over before Bailey’s long black tail starts its frantic pounding against the door.

Usually I love quiet mornings like this one. I’ve developed a routine that helps me on mornings when I feel like a zombie because Dad has kept me up most of the night.

But not today.

Today I can’t get into the routine.

‘Damnit.’

I swear under my breath when I nearly drop the entire bag of oats. A handful of flakes scatter onto the floor, and Bailey, our six-year-old Labrador, is promptly on the spot, licking the tiles clean.

‘Your lucky day, Bailey,’ I mumble and nearly spill the milk too when the carton slips in my hands. Ok. I take a deep breath and try to steady myself as I eat my breakfast by the kitchen sink. I pause and frown. Why is the coffee maker sputtering so strangely? What’s wrong with it now? Shit. I hastily switch it off, realising that I’ve turned it on without filling it with water.

The fluttering in my stomach intensifies, and I throw half my breakfast into the bin. I don’t have any appetite anyway. After quickly tidying up the kitchen, I start hunting for my purse, which isn’t in my bag like it’s supposed to be. Where the hell is it? I manage to upend most of the kitchen and living room before finally locating it behind a cushion on the sofa. How on earth did it end up there?

There’s no time to try and figure it out, because now Bailey is standing by the garden door, waiting impatiently to be let out.

‘Alright, alright, here I come.’

Ice-cold air hits me when I open the door to the garden. Bailey runs outside, and I quickly close it again. The streetlights on the little dead-end street where we live send just enough light into the garden for me to follow Bailey’s enthusiastic sniffing around the lawn. Gusts of wind play tag with the branches of the birch tree at the far end of the garden and give the beech hedge that faces the street a thorough shaking. There’s no sign of spring approaching. To the contrary.

As I stand there wondering whether my wool hat will fit over my uncharacteristic hairstyle, I suddenly realise I’ve completely forgotten to check the message tray. It’s usually the very first thing I do in the morning. It’s part of the routine. But today nothing is as usual.

I open the door again and call Bailey, hurrying him as he reluctantly ambles over, resentful at being interrupted in the middle of his crucial morning round of the garden.

I crouch down to dry off his paws. ‘I know, I know. You didn’t finish, but Mum will be up in an hour, and you can go back out. Sit still so I can dry off your paws.’

Before I go over to the desk, I find a carrot in the fridge. Bailey loves carrots, and he instantly retreats to his basket to enjoy his treat.

With a deep inhale I walk over to the desk, which stands just beside the front door. Today I feel an invisible form of resistance. I’ve felt it before, but never as acutely as I do now.

And I know why. Every time I stand right here, every time my fingers touch the many pieces of card with various words I’ve cut out and put in an old cigar box, every time I read the sentences my dad assembles for me, I’m struck by two conflicting emotions.

On the one hand, I feel happy that my dad and I are able to communicate this way now that he has almost entirely lost his ability to speak.

And on the other, I feel heartbroken that it has ended up this way to begin with. I almost can’t bear it.

In any case, that’s the reality now.

I hold my breath as I let my eyes slide across the words assembled on the tray.

I love you, Hannah.

Short and simple, and exactly what I need to hear today of all days.

The lump in my throat swells and starts to burn. I look up at the ceiling, blink my eyes and fight to hold back the tears. A cobweb dangles from the lamp over the desk. I stare at it, and a single tear slides down my cheek. The thin layer of dust on the lampshade reminds me that I ought to give the house a good dusting soon.

I close my eyes for a moment, clear my throat and feel the burning sensation slowly subside. When I look back at the message tray, I feel calmer. I remove the piece of card with my name and look for the word too, so I can add it behind you. For a moment I consider writing good luck at the physiotherapist on the chalkboard over the desk, but I decide against it. It will only make Dad anxious if he finds out first thing in the morning that he has to leave the house today. Neither he nor Mum need that.

Instead I root through the box for some other words and lay them out in order.

Have a good day, Dad. See you later.

‘Mamma mia, look at you, young lady. Today must be a special occasion!’

Hamid’s deep voice with its distinct Balkan accent interrupts my train of thought. I’m at the petrol station on the outskirts of the town’s industrial district where I often stop by on mornings when I’ve had a bad night. A strong espresso does wonders when I can barely keep my eyes open and my brain needs a kick-start. Today I order a latte, though. I’m not actually tired; I just need a little pick-me-up.

‘I think I know why you’re looking so lovely today.’

I raise my eyebrows and smile.

‘What do you mean?’

Hamid flings out his arms. ‘You must have a date! It is Valentine’s Day, after all. Am I right or am I right?’

He examines me with a glint in his eye.

‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ he teases, and I can’t help but laugh. Hamid is always so contagiously cheerful. His bright mood is the reason why so many customers stop by this early in the morning. And that goes for me, too.

‘Right, sure.’

I decide it’s best not to shatter his illusions.

He hands me the paper cup with my latte and winks at me.

‘Whoever he is, he’s a very lucky man.’

‘Thanks Hamid,’ I smile. ‘Have a good day.’

‘You too, Hannah.’

The smile stays on my lips as I walk out the door and set off towards the industrial district by foot. Then it abruptly disappears.

Valentine’s Day.

What?

How did it get to be the fourteenth of February without me noticing?

I shiver and try to pick up the pace, but to no avail. The high-heeled boots and tight skirt force me to walk with an uncomfortable sway in my hips, reminding me why the boots had been relegated to the back of my closet in the first place. The heels are much too high, and I have to watch my step to keep from tripping and twisting my ankle. Fortunately I had the foresight to stuff my old trainers into my bag, so at least I’ll be able to change as soon as this is over.

The frosty air bites at my face and freezes up my ears. My hat is in my bag because it’s too tight to pull over the ponytail. I’m tempted to tear out the hair tie and wipe the lipstick off my face. I feel awkward, as though I’m on display. But I restrain myself. I just have to stick it out for a couple more hours.

I shift my thoughts to the fast approaching meeting with Elliot Black.

‘You’ll have to be here at 7:30 sharp,’ Filip had ordered yesterday afternoon. ‘Elliot is arriving from Copenhagen, and when he says he’ll arrive at eight, you can be sure he’ll arrive at eight.’

My heart skips a beat. I’ll be alone with the man for a whole hour before Filip shows up, and I’m shockingly unprepared. Filip has given me quite a few instructions, but he hasn’t told me anything about what this whole thing is actually about. Why do we need this investment? Why would Elliot be interested in our company? What does he want in return?

I bite my lip. It’s clear that this meeting is important to Filip. Even though he was stressed yesterday, he was also optimistic, and I can understand why. If he’s able to bring in a substantial injection of capital for the company, I suppose it’s good news for all of us. I just don’t like the feeling of being kept in the dark. This isn’t the first time, either. I had the same feeling two years ago when Filip decided it would be a good idea to move the company from the town centre to the black box I now see looming ahead of me.

The Treholt Building in the industrial district houses eleven other companies and has a cafeteria, impressive conference rooms and a shared reception, but the rent is also twice as expensive as what we were paying before. I was against the move right from the start. I loved the charm of our ground floor office in the town’s historic district. Ok, it was small, and we were packed like sardines, but it felt like home, and that feeling rubbed off on clients whenever they came by for meetings.

‘The important thing is that they feel that we’re like one big family,’ my dad had always said, but Filip’s philosophy was different.

‘More space and professional surroundings equals more clients,’ he claimed, and less than a year after he had taken over as head of the company, we moved. For me, it was a sad day, and it took me a week to muster up the courage to tell Dad that the company had relocated. He took the news hard; blinked back tears and didn’t say a word the rest of the day.

I shake my head and try to push the sad thoughts out of mind. The concrete and glass Treholt Building is now towering up in front of me. There are lights on in a few windows on the first and second floor, but other than that it looks empty. Five cars are parked in the big car park I hastily cut across.

Through the glass windows by the front doors I spot Rosa behind the reception desk, staring at her computer screen. Her boyfriend works nearby, and she always arrives early on the days they drive in together. She’s a bit older than me, has long, shiny black hair, intensely blue eyes and a cool air about her that says she’s on top of things, which she is.

The glass doors slide open, and I hurry into the warmth. My ears are burning from the cold, and I’m sure they must be red as tomatoes.

Rosa glances up from her computer.

‘Can I help you?’

Her smile is polite and enquiring until she recognises me. Her lips form a round wow.

‘Hannah! Is that you?’

I smile and nod while I pull the glove off my right hand and root around in my pocket for my ID tag to scan myself in.

‘Yes, I’m early today,’ I say, trying to sound upbeat. ‘We’re having a visit from a Mr. …’

‘Mr. Black,’ Rosa interrupts. ‘Yes, I know. And it’s a good thing you’re here now, because I’ve already sent him up to conference room five.’

‘What?’ I freeze mid-scan and gape at her. ‘He’s already here?’

Before Rosa can answer, loud beeps sound from the machine. I frantically slide the card back and forth through the card reader, but the glass gate refuses to open.

‘Oh god, sorry,’ I mumble, and Rosa asks me to slide the card through again. This time the gate opens without complaint.

‘He’s already here?’ I repeat, hoping I misheard her.

But Rosa nods. Of course she does. ‘Yes, Mr. Black is in conference room five. With a strong cup of coffee. He looked like he needed it.’

‘Oh, no.’

I groan and glance up at the digital clock on the wall behind Rosa. It says 6:58.

Elliot Black has arrived an hour earlier than planned. And now he’s waiting for me.

Or… suddenly I’m not sure. Is it possible that Filip said seven instead of eight o’clock? Am I the one who’s late? No. No. I stop myself. No reason to panic. I’m certain Filip said eight. I’m always on top of appointments. It’s my job, for god’s sake. I keep track of all our meetings, but for some reason Filip hadn’t written this one in the calendar.

‘Is something wrong?’ Rosa looks at me, puzzled.

‘Not at all. Thanks for letting me know. I’d better hurry up there.’

I turn around and scurry across the shining tiles towards the lift with click-clacking boots, silently praying that I don’t trip and fall face-first onto the floor. I can’t believe I ever bought these boots. They’re going straight to the charity shop after this.

I step into the lift, and just as the doors are about to close Rosa lifts her head and catches my gaze. She gesticulates and calls out something to me. I don’t quite catch the words but nod as though I’ve understood her anyway. It’ll have to wait. Right now the only thing that matters is that I’ve got to get to conference room five, pronto.

But I need to stop by our office first, so when the lift stops on the second floor, I race down the corridor in the opposite direction of the conference room. I’m not setting foot into that meeting without my green folder with all my most important papers. At the door to our office I fumble nervously with my ID tag and nearly punch in the wrong numbers when deactivating the alarm.

‘Jesus, Hannah, get it together,’ I mutter to myself. Although it’s nerve-wracking not to have any time to prepare for the meeting with Mr. Black, there is a positive side to being thrown right into it. At least this way I don’t have to spend an hour biting my nails and pacing back and forth.

I pull off my coat and scarf and stuff everything into the cloakroom before running over to my desk to retrieve the folder from the top letter tray. On my way out, I take one final look in the cloakroom mirror to adjust my blouse and make sure I don’t have lipstick on my teeth or flyaway hair.

Ok. Everything still looks all right. Even my ears have nearly returned to normal. After a few deep breaths, I feel ready. I can do this, I tell myself, bravely attempting to buck myself up. How hard can it be to make a good impression on Elliot Black so that he’ll invest in our company and prevent my colleagues and me from ending up unemployed?

‘Not hard at all,’ I declare dryly before setting off towards conference room five. It’s located in the north-western corner of the building, with big windows that look out across the industrial district and, beyond that, the E45 motorway. Its interior walls are glass too, so you can look right in from the outside.

I try to swallow the nervous lump in my throat and ignore how much my legs are trembling beneath me.

I can do this.

I keep repeating the sentence until I turn the corner and spot the man who has taken a seat at the end of the long white table in the conference room. I inadvertently wrinkle my brow and slow down. My first thought is that either he or I have the wrong room.

I continue anyway, but with a bit more hesitation now. As I take hold of the chrome handle, I stare through the glass at the man sitting at the far end of the room, absorbed in his iPad, and it occurs to me that for once Rosa has made a mistake. That must be the explanation, because surely this can’t be right.

The heavy glass door requires extra strength to open, and I give it a hard yank so it opens all the way. As soon as I step inside, the man lifts his head and meets my gaze from across the room. I feel a strange fluttering in my stomach when our eyes lock, but I barely register it before a heavy blow to my back sends me reeling.

‘Ow! Shit!’

The words fly out. The glass door has swung backwards and hit me from behind, and those bloody high-heeled boots make me lose my balance and stumble. As I instinctively reach out to steady myself, I inadvertently fling the plastic folder I was hugging to my chest up in a high arc across the table.

I have no idea how I manage to avoid ending up on the floor. Maybe it’s my innate stubbornness that comes through. In any case, although I teeter precariously and flail wildly, I somehow regain my balance in time to follow my folder’s elegant flight through the air.

I do, however, know why I react the way I do the next second; why my only concern is saving that folder. I’ve had that folder with me from the very beginning, from the day my father proudly showed me to the desk on which it lay, five years ago.

‘Now, Hannah, it’s finally a family business. Welcome, my girl.’

Tears had welled up in his eyes, and I’ve never seen him look so proud. That green folder has followed me everywhere ever since. It’s come to symbolise the years Dad and I had at the company together.

Forgetting all about the man watching me at the other end of the table, I leap forwards with arms outstretched in a rather optimistic attempt to catch the folder midair, but obviously I’m nowhere near fast enough. The folder easily escapes my flailing hands and lands with a smack on the tabletop. As it skids down the polished surface, the front is flung open, and all the sketches and notes inside are set free, whirling out every which way.

‘Damnit!’

I swear again, not so much because of my failed rescue attempt, and not because all my papers are currently fluttering around like oversized snowflakes either, but rather because I’ve misjudged the distance to the table.

I’m coming at it with far too much speed.

And now I can’t… oh shit… stop.

Fuck.

I manage to stifle the curse word on my lips right before my thighs collide with the sharp edge of the table. I gasp with pain. I hit it with such force that I bend at the hips and topple over. My feet even leave the floor as my face hurtles towards the white surface.

My hands are still outstretched after my failed attempt to save the folder, and everything happens much too fast. So fast I don’t even manage to pull in my arms to break my fall. At the very last second I bend my neck slightly so my forehead rather than my nose hits the table first. At least I’ll avoid a broken nose.

Stars and planets explode before my eyes as I crumple up in pain.

For fuck’s sake.

The words lodge themselves in my throat because all air has been pressed out of my lungs. The pain in my forehead is so intense I close my eyes. As I struggle to catch my breath, I manage to turn my head a bit so I can rest one cheek against the cool tabletop.

This isn’t happening.

It just can’t be.

I’m not usually clumsy. Or unlucky. Normally I’ve got things fairly under control. I’m the person who helps others when they’re unfortunate. The one who comforts and empathises. I’m not the person who ends up in ridiculous situations like this one.

And yet here I am, sprawled across the conference table, wincing with both pain and regret, because I now know exactly what Rosa was shouting at me back in the lift. That the door to the conference room is broken again. That instead of closing gently, it swings all the way back into the room.

For crying out loud. If only I had asked Rosa to repeat herself. Then I wouldn’t be lying here, flopping around like a fish out of water. I want to slam the table and demand a retake, but then I remember that I’m not alone in the room.

The man at the end of table has witnessed the entire incident.

Oops.

I swallow hard. The gods must be punishing me for something I did in a previous life, and apparently my misfortune had to play out right in front of the man who’s supposed to be Elliot Black. But…

With great effort I manage to lift my head enough to see him. My cheeks are burning, and my forehead is pounding, but the pain is significantly relieved when I make eye contact with the man. His eyebrows are lifted, and he’s staring at me with a rather shocked expression.

Ok.

The good news is that at least I got the man’s attention.

The bad news is that the man can’t possibly be Elliot Black. He’s about as far as you can get from the older, distinguished businessman I was supposed to meet.

I’m now entirely sure. There’s no question that for once perfect Rosa has made a mistake, because the man sitting there is not Elliot Black. First of all, he’s too young. Hardly over thirty is my guess.

And second of all, he looks nothing like a businessman. Despite my rather woozy condition, I register details about him with surprising clarity. His eyes, although bloodshot and tired, are exceptionally blue. His blond, shaggy hair full of unruly curls suits him but could definitely use a trim… and a wash. His features are handsome and masculine, and he has a charming cleft in his chin and a small but distinct white scar by his left eyebrow. He’s not wearing a suit or tie, and his white shirt is wrinkled and open at the neck.

Despite his rather haggard exterior, I’m impressed—not just because of his looks, but also because of his reaction. He remained entirely calm while my unfortunate accident unfolded before his eyes. Even though my green folder was headed directly for him as it slid down the table with alarming speed, he didn’t move a single millimetre. As though he knew perfectly well that the folder wouldn’t dare touch him. That it would stop before colliding with the cup of coffee and iPad in front of him. And he was right. Two centimetres. Two measly centimetres separate the coffee cup and the folder.

My eyes widen as I suddenly realise which particular piece of paper from my folder has landed right in front him. Right-side up.

It’s my most recent sketch of Tobias. My sweet, handsome colleague Tobias who always makes the women in the building sigh longingly when he shows up in the cafeteria at lunchtime. Myself included…

The man’s brow furrows as though he can sense that the drawing means something special to me. He holds my gaze with narrowed eyes, and we stare at each other for a long time.

After what feels like an eternity, he opens his mouth.

‘Are you…Ok?’

Three words.

Three. Tiny. Words.

But they’re enough to squeeze the air out of my lungs again and turn my body to jelly. There are a number of things that haven’t felt particularly fair today, and here’s yet another to add to the list. The man’s deep, soft voice with its charming English accent flows into my ears, down to my stomach and continues out through every single nerve of my body.

Just three words from his mouth are all it takes to turn me to butter. It’s absolutely absurd, but here I am, sprawled across the table, staring at his beautifully shaped lips in the hope that he’ll speak again.

But he remains silent, patiently waiting for me to reply. I know I can forget about forming comprehensible words right now, so I just nod from my awkward position to confirm my ok-ness. A wry smile finds its way to his lips, and his bloodshot eyes watch me with a hint of amusement.

Is he laughing at me?

The sparkle in his eye irritates me, probably because the humour in my spectacularly disastrous entrance to the conference room isn’t lost on me. I’m spread eagle on the conference table, for god’s sake.

His grin grows even wider, seemingly because he’s able to read other people’s minds. I try to get my breathing under control. Enough now.

‘You’re not Elliot Black,’ I blurt out in English when I finally regain my voice, but it’s surprisingly weak and has none of the iciness and anger I had planned to attack him with.

He narrows his eyes.

‘And you’re not Filip Mortensen,’ he shoots back. His voice is low, hoarse and so implausibly sexy that I finally find one good thing about lying here on the table. That man’s voice has made my body so weak I would most definitely have keeled right over had I been standing upright in my high-heeled boots.

Good lord.

That voice, that gaze, those eyes.

He raises his eyebrows in question, and I realise that I’m still horizontal, lapping him up with my eyes. The blood rushes to my cheeks. What the hell am I doing? How long do I plan on lying here on display for a strange man?

Finally I pull my arms back, place my palms on the table and push myself up as quickly as I can, trying to avoid looking like a stranded whale struggling to get back into the water in the process. The tight skirt doesn’t exactly make it any easier, and I end up wiggling my hips more than I’d like to.

When my feet finally come into contact with the carpet again, I tug frantically at my skirt and smooth it out. As soon as I straighten up, I realise that the hit to my head must have slowed my comprehension.

The man just said Filip.

That means he knows my uncle. The realisation throws me off for a moment, because that means that perfect Rosa hasn’t made a mistake after all, and the man is, in fact, in the right place. I should have known.

‘Filip won’t be here until later,’ I say, attempting composure while black dots suddenly start to dance before my eyes. Don’t faint, I tell myself and blink a few times.

‘You’d better take a seat.’

Suddenly the man is at my side, concerned, it seems, about my condition.

But I’m no longer afraid of fainting. I’m more worried about the way his proximity to me has blown all my senses wide open. Alarmed, I turn around to face him and lean one hip against the table for support. Even though I’m wearing high heels, the man is almost half a head taller than me.

A faint smell of aftershave lingers about him—a smell that is quickly and thoroughly drowned out by the stringent smell of beer and cigarette smoke. I involuntarily wrinkle my nose. Only now do I realise just how casual his clothes are. Jeans, an extremely creased and untucked white shirt, and…

My eyes widen when I realise what I’ve spotted.

A smear of red lipstick on his collar.

Automatically I take a step back, staring at him in shock.

The man has obviously come straight from a night out and didn’t deem it necessary to clean himself up for the meeting.

‘I’m fine,’ I manage to say and take another step back to increase the distance between us. The bump on my forehead is still pounding, but the dots in my vision have disappeared, and I feel slightly steadier on my feet.

‘Really, I’m fine,’ I repeat, annoyed that he keeps on staring at me.

His dark blond hair is full of wild curls that fall across his forehead and around his face, uncontrollably and rather charmingly.

‘Good. You’re not so pale anymore either.’

He shakes his head lightly, as though he can’t quite understand what he has just witnessed. I can’t really blame him. When he finally lowers his gaze, giving me a much-needed moment to collect myself, I realise I’ve been holding my breath. But I only manage one deep inhale, when…

‘Ahem…’

A low cough, almost like a growl, alerts me to the fact that something is amiss. Puzzled, I follow the direction of his eyes, which suddenly seem to flash with a strange intensity.

‘You might want to…’ he starts, nodding at my chest.

To my horror, I realise what he’s staring at.

Oh god, no.

The top button of my silk blouse has gone missing following my little run-in with the table, and the next one has come undone, revealing my black lace bra. Revealing my breasts, which are plainly visible through the bra’s thin fabric. Revealing my cleavage and the small freckles on my left breast. Everything is exposed.

‘Oh, shit.’

My hands fly up and grab at the smooth fabric of my blouse, frantically trying to cover my bare skin.

‘Don’t worry.’

His reassuring voice forces me to lift my head and meet his gaze. He smiles mischeviously.

‘You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.’ His smile widens. ‘To the contrary, I might add.’

His British lilt and soft, hoarse voice is enough to make the world around me come to a halt. His obvious flirting catches me off-guard and leaves me speechless and paralysed.

My body, however, does react. A fiery heat courses through my veins and turns my cheeks bright red. A powerful force sets off vibrations in my body; vibrations more intense, more invasive, more incomprehensible than anything I’ve ever felt before.

Oh my God.

I don’t even know the man, and yet here I am in front of him, every single nerve ending in my body tingling, my heart pounding and my stomach knotted with countless feelings at once—excitement, expectation, confusion, fear and…

Always go with your gut.

My whole body freezes as I come crashing back to reality. For the second time today, I hear my dad’s words in my head.

‘Stay here,’ I manage in a half-choked whisper and start backing away from him. ‘I just need to… I’ll be right back.’

I spend ten minutes hiding in the office cloakroom, desperately trying to collect myself. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. There’s a big, swollen bump on the right side of my forehead, but a flood of unanswered questions drowns out the pain.

What the hell just happened in that conference room?

Who is that man?

And how does he know Filip?

I close my eyes and allow the last minutes to replay like a film in my mind. The verdict is clear—the incident was as embarrassing as humanly possible. It’s like one long nightmare. I consider calling Filip for help but quickly decide against it. He’s got enough on his hands with Josefine’s operation. This is my mess, and I always clean up after myself.

‘Pull yourself together,’ I mutter and remind myself that I’ve been through things far worse than this. So what if my entrance to the conference room was extraordinarily clumsy, and my involuntary flashing of my breasts… well…

I remember the look in the man’s eyes and feel my cheeks flush again.

‘It was an accident,’ I declare out loud and do my best to shrug off the humiliation. It’s necessary if I’m going to stand face-to-face with that man again.

I take a deep, calming breath and watch as my brown eyes begin to shine with determination. I can fix this mess.

I pull my scarf off the hanger and wrap it around my neck so it hides the plunging neckline of my ruined blouse. Then I pull off my boots, and when I stick my feet into my trainers, I immediately feel like I’m on safer ground.

When I open the glass door, carefully making sure that it closes properly behind me this time, he’s standing in the middle of the room with my green plastic folder in his hands. It would appear he used the waiting time to pick up all my papers.

His eyes slide down my body. A slight smile crosses his lips when he spots my white shoes, which completely clash with the rest of my outfit. But when his gaze moves upwards and meets my face, there’s no warmth left in it. Instead an icy reserve now fills his blue eyes.

The abrupt change in his mood confuses me. Less than fifteen minutes ago he was flirting with me. Compared to the warmth he gave off then, the chill I’m met with now is practically Arctic.

I clear my throat. ‘I apologise for my unfortunate…um…entrance before. I hope we can forget what happened and start over.’

He nods dismissively. ‘Fine by me. Here you go.’

He hands me the folder. On top is my latest drawing of Tobias. ‘Are you the artist?’

I nod, honest as always.

‘Impressive detail,’ he notes, much to my surprise. ‘Are you the company’s graphic designer?’

I shake my head. ‘No.’

His brow wrinkles as though he’s about to pursue the topic, but before he can ask more questions, I blurt out the one burning on my lips.

‘I was supposed to meet Elliot Black. Are you his replacement?’

He nods without letting go of my eyes.

So far, so good.

I reach out my hand. ‘Well then, welcome. I’m Hannah Mortensen. I work at the company with Filip. He’s my uncle.’

He hesitates before taking hold of my hand. His is big and warm, and I have to make an effort to disguise the effect his touch has on me. He quickly lets it go again, as though he doesn’t want to touch me. I’m struck by an unexpected pang of disappointment. Who is this man? And why does he do this to me?

Just when I’m about to open my mouth again, he introduces himself.

‘William Black. My father is Elliot Black. He unfortunately fell ill, so he asked me to meet with Filip instead.’

I stare at him blankly.

‘Huh? You’re… You’re Elliot’s son?’

He nods, slightly amused. I’m fairly certain that even if he slapped me across the face, I couldn’t look more shocked.

Elliot has a son. And he sent him in his place. I rack my brain to remember whether Filip has ever mentioned anything about Elliot having a son who works for him, but it doesn’t really matter, because clearly he does. And he’s standing right in front of me.

My mind is buzzing with questions, and before I know it, William has walked over to the table, pulled out a chair and is now gesturing for me to take a seat.‘That’s quite a bump you’ve got on your forehead, so it’s probably best if we sit down. Besides, it’s high time we get started.’

‘Get started?’ I repeat, puzzled.

‘Yes, with the meeting.’

After pushing the chair under my shaky legs, he strides around to the opposite side of the table and sits down with his iPad in front of him. I imitate him, placing my green folder in front of me.

He seems impatient. And irritated. Without looking up from his iPad, he starts to speak. ‘Seeing as I was thrown into these negotiations headfirst, I’d like to start with a general overview of HN Marketing. I used the wait this morning to…’

He pauses, his index finger dancing across the screen.

‘I’d be happy to tell you about how HN Marketing started,’ I blurt out, suddenly remembering Filip’s instructions. Tell him about what you’re currently working on. ‘We’ve existed for almost ten years now, and I worked with my father for two years before he suffered a stroke and had to stop. Since then…’

‘…Filip, your uncle, has taken over as manager,’ William interrupts and lifts his head. ‘Thank you, but my father has already filled me in on the background story. What I’m interested in is the present. I want to know why we should consider investing in your company specifically.’

The look he sends me across the table seems like a dare. All of his attention is directed at me, and I feel like a deer caught in headlights with no idea which way to run. His dramatic change in character makes me insecure. Suddenly he’s acting like a professional businessman, cold and cynical, and just as I had feared I’m completely out of my depth.

I clear my throat.

‘Yes, well…’ I search for the right words. How do I avoid revealing the fact that I’m clueless about what Elliot and Filip are up to? ‘HN Marketing is a well-respected company here in Kolding, and we have good, regular clients and solid revenue….’

‘Oh, really.’ William holds up one hand to stop me. ‘I’ve found the company’s most recent annual reports online. Can you explain to me why your current ratio has fallen to below one?’

I stare at him. ‘Current ratio?’ I repeat, trying to make sense of the term.

He nods and continues reading from his iPad. ‘And neither the ROI nor solvency ratio are satisfactory. Can you explain that?’

ROI and what ratio?

‘I…um…hm….’

He looks at me expectantly, but when he hears my humming and hawing, he stops waiting for an answer.

‘Can you tell me about the bank’s involvement in the company? What is your short-term debt?’

I open my mouth and close it again. His frustration over my inability to answer any of his questions is obvious.

‘What about long-term debt obligations?’

Debt obligations? I suppose the company must have some debt. But how much? I have absolutely no idea.

I shrug lightly. ‘I’m not exactly sure…’

He looks at me for a long time, giving me the chance to answer. But I don’t have any answers.

‘And going concern?’ he presses on. ‘Will that be an issue in next year’s financial statement?’

I stare at him blankly. Going concern? What on earth is he talking about?

‘I’m not quite…I mean, I don’t quite…’

He no longer waits to hear my incoherent replies.

‘What’s your IT strategy?’

‘Company vision?’

‘Unique selling point?’

‘Core employee competences?’

He sounds increasingly angry as he reels off one question after the next, clearly not expecting to receive any answers. Now he just seems set on exposing my ignorance.

I sit silently and listen, but instead of feeling humiliated, I feel laughter bubbling up inside me. I try desperately to suppress it, but fail at that too.Instead I burst out laughing and lift my hands in surrender.

‘Enough, Mr. Businessman. No reason to keep going. You’ve already won the game.’

He lifts his eyebrows in surprise, but I don’t care. I can’t help but imagine the two of us engaged in a very one-sided tennis match.

‘And the score is 6-0, 6-0,’ I joke, and William looks at me as though I’m from another planet. And naturally, I can’t quit while the going is good. This meeting has already been an utter fiasco. Might as well go out with a bang.

‘I didn’t manage to break your serve once. Not even once. You beat both my backhand and forehand. And you scored a bunch of points with your incredible aces. I’ve got to admit, you were brilliant. I didn’t manage to hit a single ball. So congratulations. It was a quick match. I hope you enjoy your victory.’

I stop myself but can’t hold back the giggles—both over this absurd situation and over William, who’s now speechless. It gives me a certain satisfaction to see him struggling to process my unexpected reaction to all his questions.

He shakes his head in disbelief, runs a hand through his messy hair and shakes his head once again.

‘What the f…’ he starts but is interrupted by a knock on the glass door.

It’s Tobias.

Of course it’s Tobias who now opens the door and sticks in his head. Tall, handsome Tobias, whom no one knows I’ve had a crush on for the past three years and whose face I’ve secretly drawn countless times.

His brown eyes look from me to William and back again.

‘Sorry to interrupt, but Filip called. He’ll be here any moment.’

‘Ok.’ My voice has suddenly leapt up a few octaves. ‘Thanks Tobias.’

He nods and quickly retreats, and I watch him disappear around the corner. I’m no longer laughing, and now it’s my turn to be speechless. Even without looking at him, I know William must have recognised Tobias from the drawing and is now scrutinising my blushing face.

Sod this. I want to shout the words, but I make do with thinking them.

I feel William’s eyes resting on me. The question is hanging in the air and has tipped the scales in his favour once again.

‘If you’re wondering about my drawing of Tobias, it was part of a team-building exercise we did a while back,’ I say into the air. I avoid William’s gaze, because I’m horrible at lying and know that my eyes will betray me.

‘Right…’

He doesn’t say anything else, nor does he need to. I know he’s seen right through me. Shit. Why am I so terrible at lying? All I want to do is run home and hide beneath my covers for a week.

‘Listen, this isn’t going anywhere.’ William’s voice is firm and blunt. ‘I have no clue why my father would want to invest in this company, and this meeting has done nothing to enlighten me. We will not be investing.’

The finality of his words spurs me into action. I finally muster up the courage to turn my head and look at him.

‘You can’t make that decision yet. You haven’t spoken to Filip. He can answer all your questions.’

‘That may be so, but it doesn’t change anything.’

I shake my head, feeling a mixture of exhaustion, confusion and anger well up inside me.

‘Don’t you think you ought to take this a bit more seriously?’ I blurt out.

His eyebrows shoot up.

‘And that comes from the person who’s been sitting here rambling about tennis serves?’

My reaction is instinctive, like a lioness protecting her cubs. The words pour out of me. The fact that he’s writing off the investment before even speaking Filip infuriates me, and I make that perfectly clear to him.

William wipes a hand across his brow and sighs. ‘Miss Mortensen, I can assure you that I take this very seriously. And that is why it’s best that we stop this here. It’s high time I get going.’

He stands up. I do the same.

‘Yes, of course you need to get going,’ I say bitterly. ‘I’m sure you’ve got a hangover to sleep off after your wild night out.’

He noticeably stiffens.

But I don’t care. Trembling with rage, I point at his collar with the obvious mark of a pair of red lips.

‘Don’t you find it the slightest bit disrespectful to come here straight from a night out? It’s obvious that you’ve been out partying all night in Copenhagen and driven here directly without even bothering to change. Have you seen yourself? Have you seen what you look like? What kind of person rolls up like this to an important meeting? You’ve got lipstick on your shirt and you reek of beer and smoke. Did you really think Filip and I would take you seriously? This is a joke. You’re the one who has wasted our time, not vice versa.’

My voice is thick with rage. The man is pompous and rude, and it’s about time someone let him know.

‘Hannah!’

I jump at the sound of Filip’s voice. I hadn’t heard him enter the room. He’s standing unmoving at other end of the table, staring at us in bewilderment.

‘Where’s Elliot?’

‘Elliot is ill so he sent his son instead,’ I reply, short of breath. William hardly registers Filip’s arrival. His eyes are still on me, and he’s gone white as a sheet. My words appear to have got through to him, and I’m glad. With that kind of arrogance, he deserves it.

I open my mouth, but Filip is faster.

‘Hannah, please return to the office. I’ll take things from here.’

‘But…’

‘Now, Hannah.’

Tobias is the only other person who’s arrived at the office so far when I walk in.

‘How did the meeting go?’

He looks at me curiously, and his eyes widen when he spots the bump on my forehead. I just shrug and mumble incomprehensibly. The past thirty minutes have shaken me to the core, and it feels as though my trembling legs can’t hold me up a second longer.

I plunk onto the office chair and sit there in a daze for the next hour. My other colleagues Jens and Kristoffer arrive, and three faces send me confused looks when my uncle shows up and strides straight over to my desk. It’s obvious that he’s furious, and I shrink in my chair.

‘Hannah, William just left,’ he says, raising a finger angrily. ‘I’m booked up with meetings, so I don’t have time to talk now. But tomorrow, Hannah, you and I need to have a serious chat.’