Chapter Five: Stafford

A couple of blocks away from the office, a small bar hid itself away from the chaos of the main London streets. I’d stumbled across it one day, many years back, and hadn’t visited another one since.

I liked that it was off the beaten track and didn’t attract the usual crowds of tourists, stag dos or socialising office workers. Quiet and unassuming, I could drink there in peace. So, on the nights when I didn’t go to the gym, I would head into the bar for one drink—sometimes two if I’d had a tough day. Just like the gym, I did it to switch off. Not that it truly worked, but it was a habit, nonetheless.

On the Friday of Imogen’s first week, I stayed longer than normal. The bartender no longer asked for my order, instead pouring the Macallan into a glass as soon as I drifted through the doorway. In a city with millions of people, where I only knew a small handful, there was something comforting about the simple action of a barman being familiar enough with me to pour a drink without needing to ask.

Nursing the drink in one hand, I stared at my phone in the other. My fingers hovered over a number that I’d not yet pressed to dial. I needed advice, even though I knew the answer to my dilemma was obvious. There was only one real outcome to the situation.

After downing the rest of the drink, I jabbed at the screen and raised the phone to my ear.

Typically for her, it rang several times before she answered, her husky voice having an instant calming effect.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, late on a Friday night?”

“It’s eight o’clock,” I said. “Your social life is clearly suffering if you think this is late.”

Sasha chuckled. “You’re moodier than usual. Bad day?”

“Bad week.”

“I hope you’re not expecting me to cheer you up in my special way. Because that ship has sailed for you and me, I’m afraid.”

“Sasha, that ship was never even in the port.”

I’d met Sasha Henshaw in this same bar, two years ago. Despite her undeniable beauty and calm exterior, I’d seen straight through her.

One of the things that made my company so successful was my ability to keep tabs on competitors. Sasha worked for my biggest rival, a local interior design firm called Montgomery’s. It had been no coincidence that she’d ended up in this little unknown bar, sat next to me. I’d called her out on it, and we’d then had a nice evening together, agreeing not to discuss business.

Even though we were competitors, we’d become friends—our taste for candid conversations and intense gym sessions drawing us together. Nothing had ever happened, and nothing ever would happen. But I valued her friendship—probably more than she realised.

“You okay?” Concern replaced her playful attitude and I decided not to waste either of our times.

“I accidentally slept with an employee.”

“Shit. Been there. Done that.”

I rolled my eyes. “You slept with your boss and got a promotion out of it. Not quite the same thing.”

“You know, Jason, I’m genuinely happy that you acknowledge my sexual expertise despite never having experienced it first-hand, but we both know I earned this position. Maybe if you stopped being so snarky then I might actually feel like offering you some advice.”

“Apologies.” I caught the eye of the bartender and nudged my glass across the counter. Needing no further instructions, he refilled the tumbler.

“So which part of having sex with an employee was an accident?” she asked.

I bit my tongue at the automatic retort to her facetious question. Sasha accepted no excuses when it came to sex. In her eyes, it was a choice that two people made. She wouldn’t share my view of it being accidental.

“The part where I found out she—Imogen—was our new copywriter after I’d spent the whole summer fucking her.”

“Ah.”

“Exactly.”

“So how many times—?”

“I didn’t count.”

“That many, huh?” Her husky chuckle vibrated against my ear. “You lucky bastard.”

“Well, this has been great. Thanks for the invaluable advice.”

Sasha laughed again. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that.”

I gulped back a mouthful of my freshly-refilled drink but barely registered the burning liquid trickling down my throat. If only I hadn’t become so accustomed to the sensation of it. Maybe then it would have distracted me from thoughts of Imogen peeling off her business attire to reveal the raunchy underwear that she’d surprised me with one evening in Greece.

“Let me ask you a different question, then,” Sasha said, the seriousness returning to her voice. I wasn’t in a joking mood and she’d probably picked up on that. “If she hadn’t turned out to be an employee, would you have carried on with her?”

“Probably. We had a great time together.”

“But it sounds like you hadn’t seen her between your holiday and the morning she started the job.”

Once again, I bit back the defensive response that instinctively tried to emerge. I could see Sasha’s argument but refused to give her the satisfaction.

“I feel like you’re trying to make a point, so just come out and say it.”

“If you genuinely wanted to be with her, then why hadn’t you reached out since getting back from your holiday?” she asked.

My explanation got lodged in my throat.  I’d been busy. I’d had catching up to do. I’d been consumed with work. Each morning, I’d woken up at five and put on a suit to get a head start on the day. My evenings had been spent eating takeout food in front of my laptop whilst trawling through spreadsheets and presentations.

No matter how I spun it, Sasha wouldn’t relate. She was the queen of juggling priorities; somehow, she’d managed to secure a successful career and a serious relationship, simultaneously, which both intertwined.

“I live a different life here,” I said instead. “I’m different. She probably wouldn’t even like the real me. Half the shit I told her was a lie and she knows that now.”

“A lie because you were trying to be someone else?”

“I’d gone there to escape. I stumbled into a hole that I didn’t realise I’d been digging because I never intended to fall so deep.”

“You know what I think?” she asked.

“Hardly ever.”

“I think you should be a writer with words like that. Hey, maybe Imogen can teach you a thing or two.”

“You’re the least supportive friend I have, you know that?”

“I’m the only friend you have, Jason.”

I sighed, partly wanting to end the call but also knowing her words were true. For all her brutal truths, I could depend on her for honesty no matter what.

“You coming down for the awards ceremony?” I changed the subject.

“Of course. I need to be there to support my man.”

“I can’t tell if you’re talking about me or your boyfriend.”

Sasha chuckled again and made a joke about splitting her time evenly between Alastair and me. Again, juggling.

I wasn’t expecting to pick up a prize in the annual awards ceremony. Since opening a new office in Manchester, Sasha’s company had seen record growth. The evening still presented an opportunity to network, suss out the competition and take a night off from real work, though.

“Coming from a friend and not a business rival, you deserve to win, Sash. And if you do, that pride should fall on your shoulders. Alastair has done a great job, but you’re the one running things in Manchester. Lots of people in the industry are whispering your name at the moment.”

“Thanks, Jason. That means a lot.”

As a businessman, I’d be disappointed to see the award go to my main competitor. As a friend, though, nothing would make me happier. And maybe it was about time I started putting people before business. Or maybe that was just my body justifying its attraction towards someone I couldn’t have. 

---

Thank you for reading 🙂 xx