**Driving Lessons**
I still remember that morning. Emily parked her little Hyundai by the office and rushed for the entrance. Ahead of her, two girls strolled lazily, chatting. Right at the doors, they stopped dead, blocking her path. Without a thought, Emily shouldered between them, nudging them aside, and yanked the door open.
“Oi, watch it!” Rude insults flew at her back.
Normally, she’d have fired back, but today she was desperately late. No time for an argument. She darted toward the lift just as its doors slid open. In her haste, she collided with a man inside, shoving him back.
“Sorry,” she muttered, turning away.
The doors closed on the scowling faces of the girls still glaring at her. *Should’ve stuck my tongue out*, she thought too late.
Running had left her flushed, her hair dishevelled. A mirror hung at the back of the lift, but there wasn’t space to squeeze through the crowd. She smoothed her hair with a hand.
Behind her, someone scoffed. Probably the man she’d bumped. She turned—his chin was raised, either in disdain or just because he was taller. His cologne smelled expensive. For a second, they locked eyes. Then she spun away with a toss of her hair.
When the lift stopped at her floor, she stepped out, still feeling his gaze on her.
**Later, in the lobby:**
“What, fancied her?” Nicholas nudged James as the lift ascended. “Bet she fancied you too—could practically see her itching to snap at you.”
“Please. Long lashes and slim legs won’t fool me. I know the type. All fire now, but wait till she’s married—that’s when the real her shows up. ‘Darling, Emma and her husband holidayed in the Maldives, and we’re stuck in Portugal again? I feel like a pauper.'” James pouted mockingly. A few nearby chuckled.
“Just bad luck with Lucy, mate,” Nicholas said.
They exited, turning right, James stopping at a glass door. “This way?”
Meanwhile, Emily faced her boss’s wrath.
“Where d’you think you’re wandering? The client hung up—deal’s off!” Matthew spat, furious.
“Matthew, I swear, it won’t happen again. There was traffic—”
“Spare me. Get out. Take the samples and go—now.”
She backed out, relieved.
“Alec’s been looking for you. Fuming,” a colleague said as Emily grabbed her folder and left.
She skipped the lift, ran downstairs, and froze at the car park. Her Hyundai was wedged tight—she’d parked too close to the Kia ahead, and the black Mercedes behind had left no room. Panicked, she inched her car out, scraping the Mercedes’ wing.
The alarm blared. Heart sinking, she checked the damage—a scratch and a dent. No cameras nearby. She drove off.
**A week later:**
A call from an unknown number. “Emily Thompson? Inspector Harris here.” At “Inspector,” her stomach dropped. “Is car registration… yours?”
“Yes,” she admitted, ignoring the alarm bells.
“I’ll see you at the station. If you don’t come, I’ll send a summons.”
She arrived, fingers twisting her handbag.
“On July 24th, you hit a car and fled. That’s a serious offence.”
She swallowed. “It was just a scratch! The Mercedes parked too close—how was I supposed to get out?”
“The owner’s a prominent businessman. He’s demanding repairs—£5,000.”
Her jaw dropped. “That’s more than my car’s worth! I can’t pay that!”
The inspector sighed. “Court will decide. You could lose your licence.”
Her voice shook. “My mum’s ill—I need the car for her.”
“Write a statement. Admit fault—it’ll help.”
She couldn’t reach the Mercedes’ owner—likely blocked.
At court, the fine was halved. No licence loss, but two days in custody.
Dazed in the hall, she spotted a familiar man—James, the lift stranger. Next to him, his lawyer spoke about the case.
She marched over. “Happy now? Big man punishing a girl? My mum’s got a heart condition—what if she—”
“Wait.” James frowned. “Nicholas, what’s this?”
“You wanted her punished, didn’t you?” Nicholas shifted uncomfortably.
James disappeared into the courtroom. Returned minutes later. “It’s done. You’re free.”
She gaped. “Why?”
“I sorted it. Misunderstanding.”
Nicholas scowled, but Emily ran off, forgetting to thank him.
After that, she parked carefully.
**Weeks later, at the lift:**
James smiled. “Hello. How’s your mum?”
She tensed. “Fine. What do you want?”
“Bad day that time. Ex-wife took our son abroad. Took it out on you. Sorry.”
The lift arrived. He gestured her in.
“You work in advertising, right? I need a campaign.”
She eyed him. “Your business is thriving. You don’t need us.”
He grinned, sheepish. “Caught. How about lunch instead?”
Her temper flared—*nearly jailed me, now this?* But he looked genuinely awkward, waiting.
…She smiled. “Alright.”
**Lesson learned:** Pride and haste cost more than time. Sometimes, mercy comes from the last person you’d expect.
