Morning
The third morning in London began with sunlight pouring through high windows, turning the city gold. The storm had passed, leaving the air impossibly clear. The world below looked new — polished, expectant.
Inside the Langham's breakfast hall, Amelia sat with her notebook and coffee, going through slides one last time before the day's final presentation.
The HR pilot summary. Her slides.
Margaret was supposed to lead, but an overnight call from Manchester had pulled her back early — leaving Amelia to present alone.
When she'd told Alexander, he'd only said, "We'll do it together."
Not you'll handle it. We.
He arrived just after eight, crisp suit, coat draped over his arm, a hint of fatigue under his eyes that somehow made him look more human.
"Ready?" he asked.
She smiled nervously. "Mostly."
He gestured toward the doors. "Then let's make it look easy."
The Presentation
The last session of the conference took place in one of the small auditoriums — high ceilings, deep green walls, rows of seats filled with department heads and analysts.
Amelia stood by the podium, heart steady but fast, her slides glowing softly behind her.
Alexander spoke first. His voice filled the room with calm authority.
"The Trust Index is our next phase," he said. "It's not just a tool — it's a mirror of who we are as an organisation."
Then he turned to her. "Miss Clarke will walk you through the pilot."
She took a breath. Her first words came quieter than intended, but as she went on, her confidence built. She explained the framework, the early results, the projections. She answered every question with composure — even when the same director from the day before challenged her again.
"Mr. Harrington," the man said, "you really trust such a young professional with a model that could influence company-wide decisions?"
Alexander didn't look at him. He looked at her.
"I trust competence when I see it," he said simply.
The room went still. The director looked away first.
When it was over, the applause was polite but genuine.
As they stepped off the stage, she turned to him, her cheeks flushed with adrenaline.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He smiled — a small, real one. "You didn't need saving."
Afternoon
After the closing session, the teams dispersed for flights and trains. Margaret's message pinged Amelia's phone:
Stay and close out with Mr. Harrington — hotel checkout extended. I'll see you back in Manchester tomorrow.
It meant another day in London. Just the two of them.
At first, Amelia expected Alexander to retreat to his calls, his emails, his empire. Instead, he appeared at the lobby as she was packing her laptop.
"Lunch?" he asked.
"Of course," she said, though her voice trembled slightly.
They walked to a quiet bistro tucked behind Oxford Circus. The rain had left the pavements glistening; their reflections moved beside them, companion shadows.
He ordered for them both — nothing extravagant, just pasta and mineral water. When the waiter left, the conversation shifted away from work almost naturally.
"You're from Manchester?" he asked.
"Just outside. My parents still live there. They're teachers."
He smiled faintly. "That explains your discipline."
She looked amused. "And you? Born into business, I suppose?"
He hesitated, then nodded. "More or less. My family owns things. I inherited most of them too early. Spent years pretending I wanted all of it."
Her voice softened. "And do you?"
"I don't know anymore."
She tilted her head. "Then maybe it's time to stop pretending."
He looked at her then — properly looked. Her words weren't flattery. They were truth, offered quietly, like trust.
Evening
They spent the afternoon reviewing notes in the hotel lounge, half work, half conversation. The sky darkened slowly; London's lights bloomed one by one.
At sunset, he closed his laptop. "You should see the view from the terrace before we leave tomorrow."
She followed him upstairs.
The rooftop terrace was nearly empty, the air still warm from the day. Below them, the city stretched out — domes and cranes and rivers of light. She leaned on the railing, the wind tugging lightly at her hair.
"It's beautiful," she whispered.
"It is," he said, but he wasn't looking at the skyline.
She turned to him, smiling. "You're not going to tell me you bring all your employees here, are you?"
That made him laugh — low, unguarded. "No. You're the first."
The sound made her chest ache in a way she didn't understand.
For a moment, neither spoke. The silence was comfortable, then suddenly too heavy. The city's hum seemed to fade.
She looked away first, her voice barely above the wind. "This has been… incredible. All of it. I've learned so much."
"You've taught me something, too," he said.
"What could I possibly teach you?"
"That focus doesn't have to mean isolation."
She blinked, unsure what to say. "I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do."
Their eyes met then — steady, hesitant, caught between logic and something far older. The world around them shrank until there was only breath, pulse, and distance closing by degrees.
He took a small step closer.
She didn't move.
For someone who had spent years avoiding any kind of closeness, she didn't feel fear — only stillness, a strange calm.
"Amelia…" he said softly, as if testing the sound of her name.
She looked up at him, blue eyes bright under the city's glow.
He didn't reach for her. He just waited — a question in the space between them.
And she — trembling, uncertain, heart racing — did something she never thought she could. She didn't step back.
When he finally leaned down, it wasn't a kiss that demanded, but one that asked. A gentle, uncertain touch of mouths that lingered for a breath and broke like a secret.
Neither spoke.
The air was sharp and alive, the city endless below.
He exhaled slowly, a faint smile in his voice. "We should head in."
She nodded, voice quiet. "Yes… we should."
But neither moved right away.
That night, Amelia lay awake listening to London's rain against her window, wondering if she had imagined everything — the conversation, the warmth, the quiet understanding.
Across the hall, Alexander sat by the window of his own room, still dressed, untouched glass of scotch beside him.
For a man who had built empires by keeping control, he realised he had no control at all over the thought of her.
Somewhere in the distance, Big Ben struck midnight.
Neither of them slept.