Work Trip

Before I started writing, I did attempt to plot the route Fliss and James would take, but over the course of drafting and edits my author license has taken control. While some of the names of towns and places are real, the general route they end up on has been manufactured for extra swooning and fun-filled plotivities. So, although I want you to adore this version of Scotland, please do not try to figure out the route as it does not

He’s done it again.
I can hardly believe it. No, scrap that. I can absolutely believe it. He does it all the time, actually. The words in his email roll through me, soaking into my blood system until my limbs are rattling. I breathe in for three then slowly exhale away the stress for ten. Amongst the background noise of work chatter, gossiping and coffee machines hissing, I find peace in this modern glass building. I will not let him destroy that peace.
“How do you say, ‘You’re a total dipshit, I hope you and your idea fall into a pit of misery and despair,’ without it sounding unprofessional?” I ask my assistant, Gemma, who looks up from her desk, her hazel eyes blinking over her screen.
“I think it’s ‘I appreciate your interest in this matter. However, the situation is in hand’?” Then in a lower voice, she whispers, “What’s he done now?”
I massage my eyebrows as I stare furiously at my laptop. Gemma is used to these altercations now. She’s a seasoned employee here. “He’s trying to say he can make more money using our cosy lounge area for our VIP customers by putting another hospitality marquee there instead.”
I delete my last comment: Are you actually kidding? Or are you maybe a bit stupid?, and try for something less sassy whilst also retaining that tone of – you’re a sneaky weasel and I’m going to get you back. Professionally, of course.
“Is it direct to Michael?” Gemma asks, a flit of concern in her expression.
I peek across the modern office and notice our CEO, who is the key decision-maker around here, talking to someone in the main kitchen.
Well, at least he isn’t reading his emails yet.
I nod at Gemma, angry-typing as I respond. I write, Thank you so much for your idea. I can see

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She mentioned she was battling greys, now in her early fifties, and she’s often trotting off to the hair salon down the road.

a stark contrast to James, in his dark tweed suit, with my flowery patterned dress that flares from the waist down to my knees.

Matt-black hair gelled immaculately. Gleaming shoes. A fine, expensive-looking three-piece suit with a teal tie that brings out the blue in his eyes.

The rich aroma wafts into my nostrils in a sensational way.

Part of being a successful businesswoman is being able to offset the tears in a moment of weakness and let them flood out at a point when nobody can see.

offset the tears

g our cosy lounge area