Golden Hour

Chapter 5

"Would you stop fidgeting?" demanded Emily after she'd parked the car. "You're gorgeous. You don't need to worry. Be confident and be yourself."

When I swallowed, it hurt like shards of glass.

Be yourself. Hmpf! What does that even mean?

Being myself would mean going for a walk in the woods, playing video games, reading a book, or watching a sci-fi flick. Nothing about this is normal for me.

"Deep breaths," she said. "It's a happy hour event, Vee. Not a formal conference."

Happy hour. More like torture hour.

Nodding, I tucked a stubborn curl behind my ear and stepped down from her bright yellow Jeep. Yep, Emily had the confidence to pull that off too.

No wonder why she loves this kind of crap.

Inside the fancy hotel swarmed a sea of black, gray, and blue suits with some splashes of pastels mixed in between. It reminded me of a nature show where many birds sported neutral plumage while others attracted attention with their flashiness.

Professional but plain, I kinda rocked my librarian style. Whereas Emily lit up the room with her luscious golden curls that draped down her back and her periwinkle suit with a pencil skirt. Elegant like a blonde Jackie Kennedy.

Before we talked to anyone, Emily and I had grabbed a couple of name tags. A quick glance around the room told us that people preferred using first names. So I wrote mine in block caps to make it easier to read.

"Ah, there's Neil now," she whispered. "Follow me."

Biting at a bit of loose skin on my bottom lip, I walked beside Emily until she reached a small clique. A portly, balding gentleman was arguing animatedly about the interpretation of some new tax legislation with a redheaded woman and a tall man with an awkward posture, both of whom were likely in their early to mid-thirties.

When the younger man caught Emily's gaze, he gave her an almost imperceptible nod.

"Wouldn't you agree, Neil?" the woman asked him pointedly.

"It depends on whether they qualify as a UK tax resident," he replied in a calm, thoughtful baritone. "If you call the office tomorrow, we can discuss the details further."

"Very well."

While Emily and I chatted about our new English classes, I stole an occasional glance at my potential new client.

Every man seemed giant compared to me, but Neil must have stood over six feet tall. His dark-gray suit hugged his broad shoulders and his slender frame. The businessman kept his dark hair cropped close in a short and tidy buzz cut.

My stomach gave a traitorous flip. He's kinda handsome in a nerdy sort of way.

Stop that! This is busi-ness. Not plea-sure. Be professional and serious.

"If you'll excuse me, please?" said Neil. "I've arranged a meeting."

"Of course..."

Neil stepped aside and walked toward my best friend, shaking her hand with a kind smile. "Emily, so good to see you."

"You too, Neil." She gestured at me. "May I introduce my colleague, Toria Bergwald? She's the translator I mentioned earlier. Toria, this is Neil Frost from Browning & Marshall."

"Pleased to meet you, Neil."

He shook my hand with a firm but friendly grip. "Likewise, Toria." Neil gestured at the bar. "Shall we get a coffee, perhaps?"