Dance Me To The Moon [Sebastian Vettel]

4. Voulez-Vous

"I can't believe you're working out now, it's so early? And you weren't here when I came back."

"Nope, arrived later."

Natasha leaned on the doorway of the bathroom and yawned, while Stella, head down, laced up her trainers in the middle of the room.

"Still stayed up for longer than I thought I would. Magic pills," the blonde Russian continued with an eye roll. "I've had worse. You? How was it with the gay driver? Thought you said he didn't want anything."

"As if."

"They're all the same. One track minded," Natasha yawned again and then spoke from inside the bathroom. "Hired by a Formula 1 driver, unbelievable. You must tell me more. But later because I'm going back to sleep now."

Stella mumbled a noncommittal reply and finished putting her hair up in a ponytail, grabbing her phone and the keycard.

The sun was hiding behind the clouds when she stepped outside; it was nice to have some cool air replacing the scorching heat of the previous day. Also good to clear one's mind.

She was having a hard time believing the night before hadn't just been a glitch, especially after all the fuss over this job. Unsurprisingly, Jenna, her supervisor at the agency, had been very pleased when Stella reported back from her hotel room.

What happened wasn't really work, though. Or at least work had never been like that before... What happened was that she'd hooked up with someone who hired her because she'd wanted it. There had been no need for a performance or a role to play - no vixen or docile, airhead girl; no submissive or dominating partner. Her cover had been stripped right from the start and she'd allowed herself to be herself.

In the back of her mind, an annoying voice scolded her for making such a mistake, considering the utter luck of having been relieved of her obligations at the start of the evening. The sole purpose of staying was to ensure nothing would go wrong, such as a complaint that she didn't show up, and there was never at any point any intention of blurring the lines between her escort job and her life. Yet, she'd thoughtlessly gone and done just that...

There were zero regrets, though, and if given the choice, Stella would most likely seize the moment and do everything exactly the same way. At the end of the day, it wasn't like she'd jump into bed with him again in a heartbeat, was it? Unless he'd reach out to the agency, of course - and she somehow had a feeling he didn't want to, in which case they would probably never see each other again anyway.

Feeling the sweat on her back, she jogged a little faster to the sound of Daft Punk in her earbuds, her go-to running soundtrack. Sound body, sound mind.

Leaving the dense city centre and its chaotic traffic behind, she entered the waterfront promenade. Despite the early hour, the beach was already packed with families and couples, solo goers too, typical of the month of July.

So distracted Stella was, with the music in her ears blocking much of the surrounding noise, that she failed to notice that someone approached her. And therefore, the arrival at her side, accompanied by a gentle pull on her ponytail, came out of the blue. She halted, startled, ready to lash out. She gasped in shock when she recognised who had joined her.

Ripped out of her introspective depths, Stella stepped back and everything happened in quick succession: a pair of strong hands suddenly reaching out and yanking her forwards again; a ding-ding sound ringing loudly; some very angry and very loud expletives in French cutting over the music playing in her earbuds; the bike that whizzed past her. And then everything returned to a standstill.