The Millionaire's 'Friend' - Natasha's Story

Chapter 8 - The Tip

Riding a bike can be hazardous on any road, but London, with its narrow lanes and aggressive cabbies, was like a minefield.

Not that I cared. In fact, I thrived on the daily challenge of navigating through the crammed streets. It made me feel alive, as the constant threat and near misses made my body soar with adrenaline.

Besides, after six years on the job my mind worked in a way that would put any teenage boy and his computer games to shame. It focused as soon as I clipped the visor shut on my helmet; like a knight of old readying himself to joust. It sensed which drivers were a risk, which of the many white van men were about to shoot out hapharzadly from a side road, and even when an unaware pedestrian was about to innocently step in front of me.

I hadn't made it all this time completely unscathed, of course. Early on a couple of minor knocks and one punishingly hard nudge, which sent me sprawling onto the tarmac, were on my hospital record. Luckily, that last one was at low speed and produced nothing more than a sprained wrist, some heat burns, and a slightly bruised ego.

A loud honk of an Audi's horn sounded behind me as I weaved through a double lane of crawling vehicles. Such things were a regular soundtrack to my driving. Instead of it making me jump, or look around, it only ever had the effect of making me smile. Stupid, I know. And no doubt one day all of those people, who pound their car horns or bawl and gesticulate frantically at me, would be laughing when I finally pushed it a little too far. But, I was determined today wasn't going to be that day.

I pulled up alongside a rusting blue Corsa and wait for that amber light to flash and release me. My internal clock told me I was making good time, and yet I couldn't bring myself to ease up on the throttle. Everytime that little voice in my head told me to back off, a pair of unnervingly intense eyes flashed through my mind like they were spurring me on.

I skipped into the main reception area of Howard Shaw's sandstone building at exactly 4.46pm. I'd checked my watch as soon as I'd dismounted and kept looking down as I walked; like my life depended on it not clicking over to 4.47pm. Damn it. It did, just as I slid the tablet to the air brained looking blonde sitting meekly behind the modern reception desk. She flourished an elegant signature before I whipped it back and immediately hit submit. I smiled to myself as the image read complete; telling me that the system had just fired off a delivery confirmation to the strangely provocative Evan Cole.

I walked back to my bike and smiled to myself. Smug didn't even cover it.

**********************

Fliss let herself into my flat at half seven, just as I was cutting up an Italian dish and placing the unwanted pieces into foil cartons to be eaten at a later date.

"Hey. Wondered if you were going to make an appearance. You know it won't kill you to eat alone at your place for once."

"You don't want me here?" She asked, sounding wounded.

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

Stepping over my abandoned boots and helmet she flounced onto my pale grey sofa. She scooched forward and picked out a breadstick from the little box sitting upright on my wooden coffee table and chomped down eagerly, sending little crumbles flying all over the place.

"Anyway, I've treated you to so many takeaways recently you can't complain."

True. Her broken-hearted generosity was having a nice effect on my food budget for this month.

Shifting the subject, she said, "So, guess who showed up in the office this morning."

"That could be a long game."