**Phoenix**
15th June, 2023
Catherine walked into the office, offering a slight nod to the security guard as she passed the lifts and headed for the stairs. She always took the stairs to the fifth floor. Three times a week, she made it to the gym—any more than that, and time slipped through her fingers. Even up to her flat on the fifteenth floor, she often climbed when she had any energy left after work.
The sharp click of her heels against the lobby tiles soon faded as she disappeared into the stairwell, as though she’d floated upward. Behind her back, they called her the Ice Queen, a witch, a ballbreaker. At thirty-six, she could pass for a decade younger. Only her eyes gave her away—sharp, assessing, the eyes of a woman who’d lived. She dressed in strict business attire, her makeup impeccable, enhancing the natural beauty she hardly seemed to notice.
“Who was that?” asked a young man who’d sidled up to the guard. The older man gave him a scrutinising look.
“Director of the auditing firm Phoenix,” he said, with the sort of respect reserved for those who commanded it.
The woman had long since gone, but the scent of her perfume still lingered in the air.
“Not married?” the young man pressed, scanning the business centre’s directory for Phoenix’s office.
“What’s it to you, lad?” The guard’s tone turned suspicious.
“I’ve got an interview at Norton.”
“Name?” The guard was already dialling an internal number.
The young man gave it.
“Seventh floor, office 717,” the guard said, jerking his chin toward the lifts.
James moved off, aware of the guard’s eyes still on him. He’d noted that Phoenix was on the fifth floor, so after reaching the seventh, he doubled back down the stairs. The glossy red lettering above the glass doors—*Phoenix Auditing Ltd.*—was impossible to miss. Inside, a young receptionist stopped him with a practiced smile.
“Hello. How can I help?”
“Hello. Is the director in?” James asked, as if he’d been here a hundred times.
“Yes. Do you have an appointment?” She flipped open a ledger.
“Well, no. But I’d like to speak with her.”
“I’m afraid she only sees people by appointment. Shall I schedule you in?” Her smile never wavered.
Just then, there was a sharp *click-click* of heels, and James turned to see a striking woman striding toward them. His whole body tensed, like a predator spotting prey.
“Ms. Whitmore, this gentleman was hoping to see you without an appointment,” the receptionist said.
“I was here for an interview at Norton,” James admitted, flashing a boyish, contrite smile. “Thought I’d try my luck with you.”
Catherine Whitmore gave him a quick, piercing look.
“Do you have a finance background?” Her voice was low, smooth.
“No, law,” he said, layering on the charm.
“Alright. I’ll hear you out. Come with me.” She turned on her heel, leading the way.
He followed, eyes tracing the curves of her tailored grey suit, the length of her legs accentuated by stilettos, inhaling the expensive perfume that clung to her.
“Lucy, hold my calls for ten minutes,” she said to the secretary outside her office, then pushed open the oak door.
Inside, the plush carpet muted their footsteps. Catherine took her seat at the head of a long polished table, gesturing for him to sit opposite.
“What position are you after?”
“Honestly? I don’t know,” he admitted with a disarming grin.
“Then perhaps Norton is the better fit.” Her tone was icy.
“I’ve never worked in auditing. But I learn fast. Give me a shot—I won’t let you down.” There was an urgency in his voice.
Catherine studied him again.
“One of our senior staff is retiring. He’ll train you for two weeks. Full salary starts after a two-month probation. Agreed?”
“Absolutely.” James let his relief show.
“Documents?”
He reached for his folio, but she waved him off.
“HR will handle it. Lucy will take you. Security runs deep checks—fair warning. No questions? See you tomorrow.”
As James left, he felt her gaze burning into his back.
“Tough one,” he muttered to the secretary, shutting the door behind him.
She didn’t smile. *Well-trained*, he thought.
He couldn’t believe his luck—landing a job *and* a boss like that. *Slow and steady*, he reminded himself. *Don’t rush it.*
Later, in HR, a woman leafed through his employment history. “Why did you leave your last firm?”
“My sister’s in London. Thought I’d join her. Then I saw your company—liked the name.” He kept his voice light.
No need to mention Leeds, or the director’s daughter he’d knocked up. The stupid girl had nearly cost him his neck when her father found out.
He signed the paperwork, thinking, *Young for a director. Must’ve had help.*
He wasn’t wrong. Catherine had grown up in a mill town where factory smoke choked the sky. Her mother worked there twenty years, her lungs giving out just before Catherine finished school. With nothing left, she’d fled to London.
Then came Daniel, her university sweetheart. He’d promised the world—until she told him she was pregnant. He vanished overnight. A baby alone? At nineteen? She’d terminated it. *Plenty of time later*, she’d thought. Turned out there wouldn’t be.
After that, men were background noise. Until the owner of Phoenix, twenty-two years her senior, offered marriage and partnership. She hadn’t loved him, but she’d waited. Ten long years. When he died, the company was hers—along with a reputation for being ruthless.
Two weeks later, at the retirement party for the firm’s longest-serving employee, James intercepted Catherine at the door.
“Ms. Whitmore, dance with me?”
Without waiting, he swept her onto the floor, spinning her expertly. At the final note, he dipped her dramatically, holding her gaze as the room erupted in applause.
She flushed, a strand of hair escaping her updo. For the first time, her eyes weren’t cold.
After that, James avoided her at work, feigning focus whenever she passed. It worked—she cracked first, summoning him to her office.
“You’ve done well,” she said evenly. “Probation’s over. Welcome to the team.”
A week later, he “accidentally” caught her leaving, offering a ride when her driver was late. She hesitated, then got in.
At her flat, he walked her to the door, uncertain if she’d invite him in. She didn’t speak, but she didn’t stop him either.
The penthouse was sleek, sterile—more showpiece than home. He noticed men’s slippers in the hall. *So not entirely a fortress.*
Over coffee, idle chatter gave way to silence. Then he kissed her.
By morning, he’d made coffee before she woke, dressed, smelling of mint and soap. *Unlike her husband’s stale breath*, she thought bitterly.
“I’ll go. Best not to be seen.” No lingering kiss—just gone.
Catherine lay back, basking in something she hadn’t felt in years.
At work, she startled the guards by smiling. James ignored her, which only stoked the fire. Only at night did he soften—and so did she.
Then, two months in, she fainted at the office.
The doctor’s words hit like a thunderbolt: *pregnant*. Impossible, after what they’d told her years ago.
“Given your age and stress levels, I’d advise rest,” he said.
Giddy, she tried calling James. No answer. By evening, she sneaked out, slipping the nurse her diamond ring as thanks.
At home, the smell of steak turned her stomach. Then she heard laughter.
James, in her strawberry-print apron, stood at the stove. Lucy perched at the counter in his shirt, swinging a bare leg.
Catherine’s heart shattered. He’d used her—for the job, the flat, everything. And now, while she was in hospital, he’d brought *her secretary* here.
Rage clawed at her throat. Storm in? Throw them out? But the doctor’s warning echoed—*risk of losing the baby*.
She left silently, crying in a friend’s flat by midnight.
“Will you keep it?”
“Of course. I’m not making that mistake twice.”
“And him?”
“I’ll never forgive him.”
The next morning, the office buzzed with gossip—the director wasn’t in. But Catherine arrived unnoticed, in borrowed flats, catching clusters of idle staff.
Then she saw them—James whispering to Lucy, his lips brushing her ear. Lucy spotted Catherine first, eyes widening.
“They said you wouldn’t be in today,” James recovered smoothly. “Your secretary’s been slacking again.”
Catherine walked past him. “Lucy, in my office.”
InsideShe never saw him again, but her daughter’s laughter years later was the only revenge she needed.
