CHAPTER 1

MARY

Five years ago…

Bong…bong…bong…

The low chime of Big Ben sounding its resonant tones pulled me out of my reverie. I snapped alert and looked around me quickly, as though I'd just been abruptly woken up from a nap. And as I came back to my senses and realized that I was still in the charming little coffee shop on Camden High Street where I'd been studying for the last few hours, I wondered what had gotten into me.

That's how you know you're an American in London, I thought, tucking my hair behind my ears and straightening my shoulders. You actually notice when Big Ben is ringing.

I checked my phone and saw that, sure enough, it was noon on the dot. The sunny, cheery shop was beginning to fill with smartly dressed men and women coming in for their lunchtime caffeine fix, all of them looking so sharp and well put together that I was certain that they were all clients of Seville Row's best tailors. And looking down at my simple, fitted t-shirt and jeans –standard fare in America for a college student like me- I couldn't help but feel a little out of place.

Maybe they're right when they say that Americans are slobbish, I thought, taking a sip of my now lukewarm coffee. Or am I just assuming they say that? I mean, the Brits have all been pretty nice to me so far.

I'd been in London for two months already and I was still being paranoid about offending the denizens of my host city in some way. I shook my head as I flipped listlessly through one of my Political Science textbooks that I'd swore I'd study the hell out of today. But for some reason, I just couldn't motivate myself to do it.

OK, Mary, focus, I thought, draining the half cup of coffee that I had left in my pink, ceramic mug and turning back to my texts with a newfound sense of determination. And for a few minutes, I managed it. I really did. But after the buzz from the coffee wore off the words on the page turned from dry text about government policy during the English Civil War to a blurry black mess. My eyes drifted to the street outside, and I couldn't help but wish I was out there enjoying this beautiful London afternoon, rather than stuck in a coffee shop cramming.

You're the one who wanted to go to the London School of Economics so badly, I reminded myself as I heaved myself out of my chair and made my way, mug in hand, to the counter for a refill.

And I did want to go badly.

"You like a top-up?" the chipper, pretty blonde behind the counter asked.

"Yes, please," I said.

She took my mug and turning to fill it up, and I considered how even now, months into my year in London, I still felt like my accent was something to be vaguely ashamed of. I couldn't help but shake the idea that it marked me as some kind of boorish American, as silly as that sounds. Really, I knew that as much as I'd been chomping at the bit to come to London, the city I'd dreamed of living in since I was a little girl, the one I'd read about in those old Victorian novels since I was able to hold books upright, I was still going through some pretty severe culture shock. Not to mention the fact that I was thousands of miles away from everyone I knew back in Iowa City.

But I knew going to a top school in a faraway city was going to be a challenge, one that I was still eager to take on, despite the difficulties. So, with a fresh cup of black coffee in hand, I plopped back down in my seat with a new sense of determination. This burst of energy afforded me about an hour more of solid studying before I realized that I wasn't going to be able to shove anything more about the Roundheads and Cavaliers in my head. Besides, I told myself, draining the last drops of coffee and gathering my things, it would be a crime to let a beautiful afternoon like this get away from me.

My books back in my bag, I placed my cup on the counter and headed out. And right as I stepped out into the brisk autumn air, the sun beaming down on my face, I knew I'd made the right decision.

There was nothing like living in London. I loved the energy, the people, the architecture- everything. Off in the distance, I could see the twirling, curved figure of Thirty St. Mary Axe, the building known by Londoners as the Gherkin, and decided to head in that direction. Once the green slopes of Regent's Park appeared in my peripheries, however, I decide the afternoon would be better spent there. Grabbing a sandwich on the way, I soon found myself at my destination. Taking a seat on a bench, the greens spreading out before me, I unwrapped my sandwich and raised it to my mouth for a bite. Before I could even get a taste, however, I felt the jarring buzz of my phone in my pocket.

Slipping my phone out, I saw that it was a message from Anne, my roommate.

- Big plans for tonight?

I smiled and shook my head. A student at the University of the Arts, Anne was probably the closest thing to a best friend I'd made since coming here.

- Not unless you count cramming as "big plans."

I shoved down a bite of my sandwich and let myself settle in my seat. Anne was always trying to get me to go out to one party or another, but rarely did I bite. I knew I should've been making more of an effort to experience the nightlife of the city while I was here, but until this first semester was under my belt I didn't find myself making time for anything but studying. Anne, on the other hand, was the opposite. A pretty, popular girl with the sort of carefree attitude that only someone from a rich family could have, Anne was definitely more the "party now, study whenever" type.

- Oh, so boring : ). I've got a lead on a great party tonight. You should come. Get out of that stuffy room of yours.

Another smile forming on my face, I typed up my response.

- I happen to like that stuffy little room of mine : )

Moments later was the response.

- Maybe if you go out you can find a charming young man to enjoy it with. Just a thought ; )

Ouch, I thought with a grin. Right where it hurts.

Anne never let me forget the fact that I'd been in the city for months and had yet to even kiss a guy. I'd sworn that I'd spend the night studying, but maybe she was right that I needed to get out of the flat once in a while. It was a Saturday night, after all.

- I'll think about it.

Moments later, the response.

- Do more than think ;)

With that, I slipped my phone back into my pocket and started the walk back to Bloomsbury, the bustling little ward where my shared flat was. After a time, I arrived back at my flat and found Anne on the couch, a glass of dark red wine on the coffee table in front of her as she sat with her iPad on her lap and the TV on mute. Her painting supplies were off to the side, and she looked up at me with her big green eyes as I entered, jumping to her feet.

"There's the girl," she said in her posh, upper-class accent. "I do hope you'd have time to consider my little offer, my Mary-Mary-quite-contrary."

Even standing there in her comfy clothes Anne was the picture of British beauty. Her face was trim and angular, her lips were red and full, her green eyes were like emeralds, and her jet-black hair was tucked behind her ears. Winding tattoos up and down her forearms made it clear that she wasn't your average upper-class girl, however, and marked her as the edgy artist that she was. It was no wonder that Anne never seemed to have any trouble finding cute boys to pass her days with, and sometimes I found myself wishing that her luck would rub off on me. In the meantime, however, I contented myself with the fact that her parents paid the majority of expenses for the apartment, and my contribution to the budget was low enough that I was able to live in a neighborhood like this that I otherwise wouldn't have been.

"I don't know…" I said, dropping my bag, my eyes drifting to the beams of light coming in through the living room window. "I've just got so much studying to do."

I plopped down in the armchair and rested my head on my hand.

"Oh, please," said Anne, tromping out of the room and returning moments later. "You see these?"

She tossed a printout of my mid-semester grades onto my lap.

"Wha- are these my grades?" I asked. "Did you take these out of my room?"

"Beside the point," said Anne, a wry smile on her lips. "But do you know what those grades tell me?"

I picked up the folded sheet of paper and looked it over. My grades were nearly perfect. Nearly.

"That I'm getting the grades that I need to in order to graduate with honors?"

Anne scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"No, darling, those grades mean that you've been working your little rear off for months and have earned a night out or two."

Anne plopped back onto the couch and brought her wine glass to her lips.

"I remember that first week you were here," she said. "You went on about how much you loved London, how you've dreamt of coming here since you were a little girl, and that now you're finally here all you can do is spend the hours with your nose buried in your texts."

I felt my face grow hot with embarrassment.

"Yeah, I know," I said, my voice weak.

"Oh, don't be ashamed- London is the greatest city in the world; you're quite right to want to live here. However, to live here requires, well, actual living."

"You're saying that I'm not living?" I asked.

"You're putting yourself on the path to the year flying by with nothing to show for it other than teacher's pet grades and intimate knowledge of the inside of just about every coffee shop within a two-kilometer radius."

"And what's so bad about that?" I asked. "Good grades are important."

"Well, sure," said Anne, tilting her head to the side and conceding the point. "But let me ask you this: when you were a girl, fantasizing about Regent Street, didn't you imagine having a gorgeous, charming, well-dressed, sophisticated British man at your side? You know, showing the town, explaining all the finer points of this lovely city of ours in that accent that you Yanks all seem to love?"

She'd gotten me there. I mean, I wasn't obsessed with finding a man, but the little scene that she’d described did sound pretty damn nice.

"I mean, you're right, but Mike…"

"Oh, Mike this, Mike that," said Anne, swiping her hand through the air and dismissing the name.

Mike was the boy who I'd dated during my last year in high school. When we both went off to separate colleges, we decided that a long-distance relationship was something we both felt up for. And, for the first semester of freshman year, all seemed to be going well. The second semester, however, was a different story. His texts became more infrequent, and our Skype calls dwindled from nearly every day to once a week to once or twice a month. And when I finally did get him on, he couldn't be less interested.

During the last month of the semester, I found out why. One of my friends from back home who'd gone off to UCLA with Mike sent me a few pictures of him at some bar where she'd spotted him. Of course, just like I'd been suspecting for the last few weeks, he was there with a girl on his lap, that curly hair of his wrapped around her finger. But just because I'd been suspecting it didn't make it any easier to accept.

After a few wine-fueled angry texts on my part, my relationship with Mike was as done as it gets. I couldn't believe that he tried to convince me that the series of pictures of him with some skank, the final one being that of him with his tongue down the girl's throat, weren't what they looked like. I felt naive for trusting him, but I wasn't stupid. And just like that, it was over.

The rest of the semester was the usual blur of studying and finals, and before I'd had a chance to relax, I got the news that I'd been accepted to the London School of Economics for the next year. The summer went by in yet another rush, and by the time I arrived here I'd realized that I'd managed to put the pain from Mike off, and now it was hitting me hard and deep.

"I'm telling you," said Anne. "Getting involved that seriously with men at this stage at our lives is a mistake. We're young! We're supposed to be chasing boys and all that. We have the rest of our lives to settle down."

I never really thought of myself as the boy-crazy type like Anne, but I knew there was some truth to what she was saying. I'd been putting off starting any sort of new relationship for too long, both out of fear of being hurt again, and fear of being viewed by any man that I might be interested in as some empty-headed Midwesterner.

"But not everyone can get guys like you," I said, looking Anne's trim figure up and down. "I mean, you're hot, Anne."

This statement resulted in the biggest eye-roll I'd seen yet from Anne.

"Please, darling," she said. "You know you're beautiful, right? Here, stand up and let me have a look at you."

I felt a hot flush of embarrassment come over me.

"Come on now, don't be shy."

Realizing that I wasn't going to get out of this, I rose from my seat. Anne placed her chin in the crook of her hand and walked around me carefully, like a collector inspecting a work of art.

"Just like I thought- you're a babe, as you Yanks say."

She reached over and ran her fingers through my hair.

"Chestnut-colored hair, beautiful hazel eyes, a face like a damned model. No, that's not even right- models would kill for plump lips and a button nose like that."

"Stop," I said, smiling and shaking my head.

"And just look at this little bum," she said.

Without a word of warning, she pulled her hand back and gave my rear a hard slap. I let out a yelp and started laughing.

"If you're trying to seduce me, you're gonna have to do better than that," I said, remembering that not all of the partners that Anne had brought home were of the male persuasion.

"Not my type," she said. "Too much of a goody-goody. I like my ladies with an edge."

Her appraisal completed, she plopped back down on the couch.

"It's official," she said. "You're bloody gorgeous. You come down to my school and there'd be boy after boy begging on his hands and knees to get you naked and paint a picture of you."

"You're just being nice," I said.

"Please," she said. "I'm a lot of things, but ‘nice' isn't one of them. And I've got the blubbering texts from boys begging to see me again to prove it."

Anne was a strange girl, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a little bit better.

"So," I said, "what's this big thing you want to do tonight?"

Anne flashed another wry smile before getting back up and leaving the room. She returned a few moments later with an empty glass of wine.

"But it's too-"

"Ah, ah, ah," she said, raising a finger as she poured me a tall glass of red wine. "Not another word."

The wine poured, she pushed the glass across the coffee table towards me. The glass was full nearly to the brim, and the ruby-colored liquid looked like it just might splash over the rim.

"Now, you're going to enjoy this delicious wine that my parents sent over from their villa in Burgundy, and I don't want to hear the slightest bit of protest about it."

Truth be told, some wine did sound nice. I'd been studying since this morning and my brain felt like it was about to burst.

"OK, you win," I said, taking the glass

"I always win," she said with a wink.

I took a sip of the wine, being careful not to spill any. It was tart and delicious.

"Nice perk of having a family with their own villa," I said.

"Don't I know it," she responded as she took another sip.

"Anyway," she continued. "Some friends and I from school are going to a gallery opening tonight. Might be a little annoyingly posh for you, but there's good networking to be done. After that, however, we're going club-hopping. And I'm going to make it my personal mission that not one of my friends goes home without a tall slice of man on her arm. Got it?"

"I hope you know what you're getting yourself into," I said, taking another sip of my wine.

"Please," Anne said. "With a hottie like you, it'll be more a matter of keeping the riff-raff off that ass of yours. I don't want you going home with any old schoolboy; only a real man will do for a proper, fit babe like you."

My face went hot again, and I was sure it was as red as the wine. Anna then hopped off the couch and started towards her bedroom.

"Here's what's going to happen- you and I are going to finish off this bottle of lovely wine, and then we're going to put on some show-off clothes, and then we're going to meet my friends. We're going to have a bloody good night, and I don't want to hear a word."

I opened my mouth to speak, not even sure of what I was going to say.

"Ah-ah-ah, what did I just say?" Anna said over her shoulder, wagging her finger as she walked away. "Now drink up- I have a feeling this is going to be a night to remember."

***

I pulled the skin-tight skirt that Anna lent me further down my legs. I was showing off far more thigh than I normally did, and it made me a little uncomfortable. Not to mention the chill from the evening air was quite brisk,

"Now, what are you doing there?" Anna asked as we walked down the busy Chelsea street towards the art gallery. "You know, the whole point of a short skirt is that, well, it's short."

"I know," I said, trying to multitask between pulling down the skirt and walk in the heels that I'd dug out of the back of my closet. "But I don't normally wear stuff like this; it feels weird."

"That ‘weird' feeling is called ‘looking hot as shit,' which you do, by the by."

As we walked, I couldn't help but notice how Anna walked with such long, purposeful strides; it was like she owned the entire city. Men's eyes latched onto her body as we walked, and she seemed to be reveling in the attention. It was all I could to do struggle to keep up.

"How do you not go crazy with all of these guys staring at you?" I asked.

"I could ask you the same question," said Anna.

"Wait, what are you talking about?" I asked, still struggling to keep up.

"Please, are you playing coy, young lady?" she responded. "You're getting eye-fucked by the second."

I didn't know whether to be flattered or offended.

"You're…just saying that," I said.

"Someone's got a case of the hard-on-herselfs," said Anna, flashing a smile over her shoulder. "I swear, my little Mary-quite-contrary, if I accomplish one thing during our time together it's going to be to get you to realize what a fit girl you are."

Before I had a chance to respond, we arrived at the art gallery. Through the glass window, I saw a swanky interior packed with young, hip twenty-to-thirty somethings, all milling about, looking at the art as they talked to one another and sipped their wine.

"Now, here we are," said Anna, taking one last look into her compact. "Shall we?"

"I guess we shall," I said, my stomach tightening.

Anna pulled open the door and we stepped in. Right away, everyone seemed to drop whatever they were doing and flock to Anna like she was some kind of celebrity. I knew that she was becoming something of a name in her art scene, but I'd never seen her in her natural habitat like this; everyone was acting like the Queen had just strolled in. Anna seemed to lap up the attention, her face beaming as she said her hellos.

Once she'd finished, she made her way back to me and ducked away from the crowd.

"Friends of yours?" I asked.

She rolled her eyes.

"Hardly," she said dismissively. "I had a piece that made something of a splash a few weeks ago and now all of these art scene dweebs are acting like they're my best friend. They'll move on to the next big thing soon enough."

We weaved through the crowds of sometimes outlandishly dressed art scene types, their eyes flicking from me to Anna to back again. Eventually, we came upon a group of four painfully stylish men and women. These were, apparently, the friends that we were going to be spending the evening with. One look at them and I felt so painfully uncool that I wanted to crawl into a hole and die, scolding myself all the while for leaving the flat.

Sure enough, the four of them all had the same disaffected air, and none of them seemed terribly interested in getting to know me better. Anna fell into a casual rapport with them and together, the six of us made our way through the gallery.

The art was…something else. To say that it was abstract would be putting it mildly. There were the standard pieces that looked like someone haphazardly flicked paint onto a canvas, there were sculptures that appeared to be made out of random bits of trash, and there was even something that incorporated…ladies toiletries in the making. The less said about that, the better.

In fact, the art was so grotesquely appealing that I eventually found myself lagging behind Anna and her friends. Once I realized that I'd lost them, I stopped in place and scanned the crowd for any sign of where they'd gone off to. The crowd was thick with gallery goers, and I couldn't spot hide nor hair of any of the group. My heart began to race; I was envisioning some nightmare scenario in which Anna's group had determined that I was far too uncool to be seen with them, and the faster that they could lose me, the better.

But before I could worry for too long about that, a deep, resonant voice spoke from just behind my left shoulder.

"Now, I don't know about you, but I have a hard time believing that any of this could be called ‘art'."

I turned on my heels, looked up, and was greeted with the sight of what had to be the most good-looking man that I'd ever seen in person.

To say he was "stunning" would be putting it mildly. The man who stood before me was like something out of a dream. He had dark blonde hair with hints of black, the style wet-looking and slicked back. His eyes were a sparkling, cutting blue and were narrowed in a manner that made them look almost scheming. His lips were red and sensual, their color a striking contrast against his fair skin. His tall, towering frame was clad in a black suit, his crisp white dress shirt underneath opened and hinting at the well-built, cut body beneath.

Looking back, I'm sure that my eyes were wide in shock at the stunning man who now stood tantalizingly close to me. I'm actually a little surprised that I didn't faint right then and there.

My mouth opened and shut like a fish out of water, and I could barely stand, let alone speak.

"Take this one for example…" he said in the silkiest, posh accent that I could imagine, an accent that almost seemed pulled out of time from the nineteenth century.

All I could do was nod along to his words as he gestured to the painting in front of us, which appeared to be a crudely-drawn nude woman framed with an eye-aching palate of reds and yellows.

"…we see here that it's meant to be a deconstruction of the masculine gaze, a commentary on the intersecting nature of sexuality, politics, and capitalism."

"Mhmm," I murmured, finally able to make some noise at all.

"I, however, think it looks like something a horny teenager doodled on the back of a sheet of paper during maths."

A clumsy little chuckle sputtered from my mouth.

"Or this one," he said, leading me over to a sculpture that was nothing more than a tiny shopping cart packed full of empty food packaging. "There's a reason we have to have a little rope around it; someone might mistake it for rubbish and toss it out otherwise."

I laughed again, a little louder this time. And when I did, I couldn't help but glance around me, worried that someone might be listening in and take offense. This man, on the other hand, didn't seem to give a damn if anyone heard him. Indeed, the sly little expression on those perfect lips of his seemed to suggest that he would've enjoyed riling up one of these pretentious artist-types.

"And you think you could make something better?"

I was a little shocked at my confrontational words, as joking as they were. But something about this man seemed to invite playful bantering. He titled his head to the side for a brief moment as he considered my words.

"Now, I'm not exactly the artist type, but I am of the opinion that art should celebrate beauty, not mock it."

He stepped closer to the crude drawing of the woman and gestured towards it.

"See, this does nothing to really pay homage to the subtle beauty of women."

"Subtle, huh?" I asked, stepping closer to the man and tilting my head to look at the art in the way that he was. "And what sort of subtlety might that be?"

"Well, take a look at you, for example," he said, turning his attention back towards me.

I felt hot under the gaze of those piercing blue eyes, like some woodland creature caught in the hunting stare of a predator. The playful smile on his lips, however, put me a little more at ease.

"What about me?" I asked.

"Well, take the shape of your lips for example," he said, his eyes drifting down to the lower half of my face. "A perfect Cupid's Bow. To capture a detail like that, you need the careful hand of a master."

My heart was pounding in my chest. He was coming on hard and fast, and I had no idea what to do with myself.

"And that's not even getting into your…other features."

I felt like I might faint at any moment. But before the conversation could progress, I heard a familiar voice behind me.

"There's my little miss Mary," called out Anna as she stepped to my side. "You gave me a little fright, dear. I was worried I'd lost you."

"Nope, just here," I said.

"I see you've met our resident art expert," said Anna, her playful tone suggesting that she knew the man.

"We actually hadn't," he said, extending his hand towards me. "Samuel Huntington. But you can call me Sam."

I took his hand, which was smooth and warm.

"Pleased to meet you," I said, his touch sending something like electricity through my body. "Mary Metzger."

His eyes stayed locked on mine as we shook hands. It was like nothing I'd ever felt before.

"Well," said Anna, "it's good you two met, since we're going to the bar where he works after this."

His bar? I was a little surprised to hear this. He was so smooth and well-dressed that I'd just assumed he was a banker or something.

"Yes, I'm going to be using my ever-so substantial clout to get this merry little gang in without a cover."

"Truly a man of earth-shaking influence, as you can see," said Anna with a wry grin.

"Hey," said Sam, that smart-alecky smile not leaving his face, "if you want to pay the ten quid, be my guest. All comes out of daddy's pocketbook anyway, right? That is, if the doorman would even let you in."

Anna gave him a playful jab to the arm. And as strange as it sounds, I couldn't help but wonder if these two had hooked up before.

Careful, Mary, I thought. Let's not get possessive over the man I just met.

"Anyway, I'm about ready to get moving," said Anna. "Shall we?"

"Ready whenever both you lovely ladies are," said Sam.

"Um, sure," I said, still having a hard time speaking.

"Then let's not waste another moment," said Sam, his eyes still fixed on me.

We gathered up the rest of the group and piled into a pair of cabs. Sam made sure to get into mine, and the feeling of his body pressed tight against mine as we made our way to the club was…something else. I couldn't believe the effect this man I just met was having on me. Soon, we arrived at the bar, which was more like a nightclub. Crowds of men and women dressed to the nines were gathered out front, and I could feel the bass of the music through the car.

As we piled out, I saw that there was a long line snaking from the front door, where a beefy bouncer was giving everyone the once over before determining whether or not to let them in. I couldn't help but feel nervous at this, wondering if I was going to be deemed cool or attractive enough to be let in. However, before I could worry about it for too long, Sam took the lead of our little group and led us to the front door. The bouncer recognized him, a friendly smile spreading across his hard face as he gestured for us to head on in.

Sam took the lead, and we entered. The club was a massive place with dark lighting, booming music, and crowds of people packed onto the dance floor. A large square bar was in the middle of the space, and Sam made his way to it as we entered. I followed along, feeling more than a little overwhelmed by the scene. And as we made our way in, Anna gave my rear another hard slap. Already on edge, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Sam returned with a tray of drinks and led the group towards a big table. We took our seats around it and Sam passed out our drinks.

"Special of the house," he said.

I took a sip of mine, and the boozy, flavorful concoction tasted heavenly. Though this just could've been because my nerves were so jangled that anything to calm them down was welcome.

"I don't know about you all, but I'm ready to dance," called out Anna over to the nearly deafening din of the club.

"Same here," said Sam.

The rest of the group seemed to agree, and they all filed out onto the dance floor, disappearing into the crowd. I watched from the sides, being the wallflower that I normally was in situations like this. I couldn't help but look for Sam in the crowd, my eyes locking onto that golden hair of his. I watched as he flitted through the crowd, glad-handing and saying his hellos to the throngs of people who all seemed to know him.

A creeping feeling of not fitting in filled my stomach, and as I brought the straw of my drink to my lips and took a sip, I realized I had no idea what to do with myself. I wasn't exactly a dancer, and the place was just too loud for any sort of conversation.

Before I could get too far into my own head, however, Sam emerged from the crowd, his eyes locked on me. Without thinking, I drained the rest of my drink down before he could close the distance between us. That same playful smile on his lips, that same sly look in his eyes, he grabbed my hand and pulled me into the nest of dancers. At first, I was totally lost- I always was unsure of myself in these types of situations. But Sam was happy to take the lead. He put his hands on my hips and began to dance.

"Just follow my lead," he said, bringing his lips tantalizingly close to my ear.

A smile formed on my lips, and I did just that. I let Sam move me to the pulsing beat of the music, and within seconds I was dancing happily along to the music. As the song went on, the alcohol swirling through my veins, I allowed myself to relax and the music to take me away. Sam brought me close to that solid body of his, the feeling of his hands on me simply sublime. The music carried me away, and I found myself pressed against him, my eyes closed as I focused on the feeling of his body against mine and the music all around me.

The time flew by, and by the time I was able to check my phone, I saw that nearly two hours had passed. I couldn’t believe how much fun I was having.

I was getting carried away, and I loved it. Sam was incredible; I was completely entranced by him in a way that I could hardly understand, let alone explain. There was something here…something special; I already knew it.

He turned me in place and as I faced him his cool, blue eyes stared right into mine. But it was different now- instead of feeling small I felt something else, something more charged with…something. I stared back into his eyes as I looked up at him, and he responded by pulling my body close. Then, he leaned close and spoke into my ear once again.

"Feel like a little break?"

I came a little back into the moment, and realized that this did sound nice. I nodded in response.

"Come with me," he said.

We left the dance floor, stopping by the bar. Sam grabbed two glasses of something sparkling and jerked his head for me to come with him. We made our way to a door towards the back of the club that appeared to be off-limits to non-staff. Sam opened it, revealing a tall stairwell. When the door shut behind us music quieted to a low, bassy roar.

"I can usually handle about fifteen minutes of that at a time," he said, now able to speak at a normal volume.

"I can usually handle about two," I responded.

"Well," he said, leading me up the stairs, "I'm glad I could bring that out of you."

We went up and up, traveling about five flights. Once at the top of the stairwell, we reached a service exit.

"Allow me to show you one of the things that makes working here worth the headaches."

With that, he opened the door, and I let out a gasp when I saw what he revealed. It was London, spread out before us. The curving lines of the road were illuminated with orange light, the London Eye towered in the distance, and the dark waters of the Thames cut gently through it all. It was a beautiful scene.

"Quite the view, huh?" he asked, walking out to the end of the roof and taking a seat on the edge.

"It's…amazing," I said as I stepped carefully towards Sam.

My stroll was slow; it was almost as if I felt that I was in a dream and the slightest jostling would wake me from it. I placed my hands on the edge of the roof and took in the scene. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before. It was the London from my dreams.

"You come up here a lot?" I asked, taking the drink that he offered.

"Whenever I can," he said. "Whenever things get a tad bit too chaotic down there, it helps to know that I've got a nice little respite whenever I want it."

"I think I could live up here," I said, my voice heavy with wonder.

Sam chuckled.

"I wouldn't recommend that come winter," he said.

I sat down next to him, the heat of his body a lovely contrast to the slight chill in the air. We both sipped our wine in silence, enjoying the breathtaking view. By the time I was halfway through my glass, the wine had long since gone to my head. I felt that familiar swirl of alcohol, and I was ready to let myself be taken away by it. And it didn't hurt one bit that there was a gorgeous man next to me. It was hard for me to decide just where I wanted to look.

"I hope this is everything that an American girl in London could hope for," he said, his eyes now on me.

"More than that," I said.

"Happy to give this to you."

I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could say a word, Sam turned towards me, took my chin into his hand, and planted a gentle kiss on my lips. I was so shocked that I nearly dropped my glass. Part of me felt that I should protest, that I should come up with some reason why kissing him wasn't the smart thing to do.

But the longer his lips remained on mine, the less I cared about anything else.

I returned his kiss, opening my mouth slightly and allowing his tongue to slip into my mouth. He tasted wonderful, like wine and sensual musk. We kissed like this for a time, our bodies moving closer together by the second. Soon, our hands were all over one another, exploring each other’s bodies as our kiss grew more passionate by the second. His hand slipped under my shirt, and mine into his, Sam's body delightfully solid under my touch.

I barely even noticed as he brought me down to the floor of the roof and prepared to do what he knew I wanted. And as he lay me down, his hand slowly making its way up my bare thigh, I somehow knew that my life was never going to be the same.

CHAPTER 2

MARY

Two months later…

"Fuck!" I shouted. "Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck!"

I jumped out of bed, scrambling to find my clothes. Sam's room, as always, was a goddamn mess. As I looked over the piles of his clothes that lay here and there, some clean, some dirty, all impossible to tell apart, I knew my chances of gathering together the articles of clothing I'd thrown off last night during the midst of another one of our drunken bouts of passion.

"What's the deal, darling?" asked Sam, rolling over in bed and giving me a look at his bare, chiseled body.

I wanted to stop and stare, but I didn't even have a moment for ogling.

"My Poli-Sci final," I said, darting a hand into one of the piles and pulling out my bra and panties. "It starts in less than an hour, and campus is forty minutes away.

"Oh," said Sam, seemingly not bothered by this new information. "Just call a taxi and be done with it."

I couldn't help but scowl at this. Sam's blasé attitude and inability to be flustered by anything was definitely one of the traits that I'd grown to appreciate during this whirlwind little courtship of ours. But sometimes, I had to admit, his lack of concern for the schedules that most of the world lived by could set me on edge, especially in a situation like this. Not to mention I'd already spent far more money than I was happy with over the last two months on last-minute cab rides like this.

But instead of saying actual words, a frustrated grunt escaped my lips.

"Darling, don't you know I love it when you grunt so," said Sam, reaching over and giving my rear a playful swat.

As frustrated and frantic as I was, I couldn't help let a smile break out across my face. No way I'd let him see it, however.

"I'm just…" I said, stepping into my panties and throwing my bra straps over my shoulders, "…really, really, really behind with a lot of my classes. You know the dream where you're in college and you remember at the very end of the semester that there's a class you've forgotten to go to?"

"Maybe a bit," said Sam. "I only managed a couple of semesters at Oxford before I gave that place the laugh."

I stopped stone still.

"Wait, you went to Oxford?" I asked, wanting to make perfectly clear I'd heard correctly what he said.

"Yeah," he said, folding his hands behind his head. "Why?"

"I mean, I knew you dropped out of school, but Oxford was that school? Why didn't you mention that before?"

"You never asked."

I guess he had me there. I threw on the rest of my clothes, this new revelation settling into the ever-growing stack of evidence about Sam's slacker nature. This new bit of information was especially frustrating. Sam was possessing of a brilliant, sharp mind, something befitting something a little more prestigious than being a bartender. But to know he threw away an Oxford education…

I set it aside for now; I had my own concerns to worry about.

Grabbing my phone, bag, and the rest of my things, I started out.

To say the last couple of months were a whirlwind would be the understatement to end all understatements. The romance between Sam and I was like a tornado in the middle of a hurricane. We were with each other nearly constantly, and when we weren't making love, we were out with him and his friends, going to the hottest and trendiest nightlife spots in the city. And though I hate to admit it, this lifestyle had begun to take a serious toll on me. Not only on my body from the constant hangovers and sleeps of three to four hours a night, but from the lack of attention I'd been giving to my studies. My grades were going down in a perfect inverse to just how hot things were getting between Sam and me, and I knew that something had to give.

I hated to do it, but I flagged down a cab and directed them to campus. I wanted to cry when I considered just how much of my semester stipend was going towards irresponsible frivolities like last-minute cab rides and greasy take-out food. The serious, student who had gotten me to London was being replaced by a reckless party girl. And I had the man in my life to thank for it.

The cab pulled up to the stately building and I got out in a hurry, shoving a crinkled bill at the driver and shutting the door behind me. My heart pounding, I checked the time and saw that I had only a few minutes to get to the class. Professor Jenson was known for his stern, uncompromising nature, and I shuddered to think how he would react to a student –an American student, no less- tromping into class after the test had begun.

But as I reached the tall door leading to the testing hall and realized that I was five minutes past, I knew I had no other option. Taking a deep breath, I placed my hand on the door handle and pulled it open. The hall was so quiet that even the soft hush of a door being opened was loud enough to attract the attention of the fifty or so students there. My face went red as their eyes all latched onto me, and heavy with shame, I made my way to Professor Jenson, who stood at the front of the hall, dressed in his usual double-breasted suit and spectacles.

His eyes flicked to me, and I knew that I was in serious trouble.

"Um, hi Professor Jenson," I said, my voice as meek as could be.

He said nothing, simply handing me the exam and directing me with a stern point of his finger towards one of the open seats. I scurried over to it, my face still flush with shame. Flipping through the booklet, I realized that so much of the material was just unknown to me; the hours that I should've been spending studying were now occupied by Sam, and a sick feeling came over me as I realized that I likely wasn't going to be turning in my best performance. I made my way slowly through the exam over the next hour and a half, the students tricking out until it was just myself and a couple of others left, and then finally just me.

I got up, my chair squeaking against the floor of the now-empty hall, and made my way to Professor Jenson.

"Mary Metzger," he said, taking my exam.

"That's…that's me," I said.

"Please meet me in my office in an hour. I wish to have an urgent conversation with you."

"Sure," I said.

Then I hurried out of there. I spent the next hour pacing around the campus and twisting myself into knots wondering what he wanted to talk to me about, but knowing deep down that it was likely about my grades during this last half of the semester. Finally, when the time arrived I made my way to his office and rapped gently on the door.

"Come in," came the voice from within.

I opened the door, revealing Professor Jenson sitting at his wide, stately desk. The campus was stretched out in the window behind him, and he gestured towards one of the old-fashioned, high-backed chairs in front of his desk.

"Have a seat," he said, his voice stern.

I did just that. As I took my seat, his elderly face was furrowed into a tight expression as he looked over the papers in front of him. Looking closer, I saw that it was my exam. I gulped.

"You know, when you started off this semester with me, I had the highest of hopes for you here," he said shuffling the exam into a neat stack and setting it aside. "I personally looked over some of your work from your first year of university in the states, and it led me to believe that you'd be a natural fit for our humble academy. However, the direction your grades have taken in these last couple of months have led me to…reevaluate this judgment."

At that moment, I wished nothing more than to be able to shrink into nothing and disappear into one of the cracks of the chair.

"I'm…sorry."

I didn't know what else to say.

"However, when I begin to think in that matter, I'm forced to remember that I was once your age, and I know that if the grades of a promising student take a turn for the worse, there's likely an…external factor at play. I'm guessing you're not the drug and alcohol type, and that you've likely not become addicted to one of those time-stealing video games, correct?"

I nodded, unsure of where he was going with this.

"Of course. A new boyfriend, perhaps?"

I was a little uncertain about discussing my dating life with an older man like Professor Jenson, but he seemed to have my situation pegged.

"Um, yes," I said, feeling a little better as soon as the words left my mouth.

Professor Jenson nodded.

"And you two started dating..." he looked down at some papers in front of him through the spectacles that were set on his bulbous nose, "…about two months ago, correct?"

"That's right," I said.

God, I couldn't believe that my relationship with Sam had impacted my grades so directly. Was I that impressionable?

"And I'm going to guess that he's not a fellow student here at our fine academy, or any other, for that matter."

"No, he's not."

I was reminded of what Sam told me today about Oxford and felt a fresh, hot wave of anger rush over me. It was so frustrating to think about the potential that he'd thrown away. And for what? To work in some stupid club? But I pushed the thought aside and brought myself back to the conversation.

"I thought as much. Miss Metzger, as I said, I was once your age. Now, things are a little different for young women than they are for men, of course, but I remember what it was like to be consumed with the opposite sex. I myself was involved with a pretty young girl, Emma Waterson was her name; I remember her face as clear as day, even so many years later."

A dreamy expression crossed Professor Jenson's face as he fell into nostalgia.

"And when you're in love it can feel like nothing else in the world can even hope to matter as much. However, the reality is still there, and doesn't go away just because one is stupefied by this particular chemical concoction."

"What…what happened with you and Emma?" I asked, my curiosity overcoming my sense of decorum.

"We were from two very different backgrounds, you see," said Professor Jenson. "She was but a shop girl from a humble family, and I was a young man from a prestigious background going to Oxford."

The word slipped into my gut like a shard of glass.

"So, when I realized that I was putting my future in jeopardy for the sake of a childish little romance, I called things off with her. She was heartbroken, perhaps not as much as I, but I'm sure she moved on. I certainly did."

His wistful tone, however, suggested that this was not entirely the case.

"Then what happened?" I asked.

"The rest of my life happened. I graduated with honors, continued my education, then my career. I met another lovely young woman along the way, one a little more suited to my situation, and married her. Four children, forty years, and that's that."

A silence hung in the air.

"Anyway," he continued, "back to the heart of the matter. You're going to be here for another semester, young lady, and fortunately for you, your stellar performance during the first half of the semester has pushed your overall grade into the bounds of what's barely acceptable. And I assume that your performances in your other classes are of a similar nature."

I said nothing; I sure hoped so.

"So, I present to you a choice. You can continue on this path and likely not see the end of your second semester here, or you can take the holiday break to reevaluate your life, to think about what sort of future you want for yourself, and what types of people you think can you get there. If you make the right decision, I would quite like to know- I'm looking for students for a research project starting in the spring that I think you would be a perfect fit for…well, the ‘you' that was here during the first half of the semester, that is."

Another silence fell. He'd said so much that I needed time to process everything; I couldn't hope to respond with anything meaningful right now.

He rose from his desk and extended his hand.

"Have a wonderful break, Miss Metzger. My mailbox is open when you're ready to give me your answer."

I took his hand and shook it.

"Thank you, Professor Jenson. For everything."

He then led me to the door. As he prepared to shut it, a quizzical expression appeared on his face, as though he wished to say something. But he quickly shook his head, apparently thinking better of it. Then he shut the door, and that was that.

The conversation swam through my head as I made my way off campus. The winter chill had set in this last week, and I pulled my coat tight against the bracing wind as I stepped onto the snow-frosted steps of the stairs leading down from the building.

He's right, I thought. I know he is. There's no reason someone like me should be continuing to date a guy like Sam, someone who wasn’t going anywhere with his life.

But as soon as the thought settled in my mind, I remembered just how sweet Sam could be, how disarming that charming smile of his was. And the sex…

And most curious of all was that despite the certainty that Professor Jenson had projected during our talk, I couldn't help but notice the way he spoke about Emma, his girlfriend from when he was my age. He seemed…almost regretful. What if, in spite of the way his life turned out, he couldn't help but wonder what his life would've gone like if he had decided to take a chance on that shop girl from a humble family? Can you really put a love like that to the side and move on as easily as Professor Jenson had tried to make it seem?

I went back and forth on my way back to my apartment, the snow picking up by the time I arrived home. Opening the door, I walked in to see that Anna was there in the kitchen, a determined, frustrated expression on her face as she stared down at a tea kettle on the stove, as if hoping that she could make the water boil faster with just a look. She was dressed in paint-splattered jeans and a t-shirt, her oversized clothes hanging loosely on her slight frame. Her hair was pulled up into a sloppy bun, a few strands hanging over her forehead.

"There's my party girl," she said. "And just in time for tea."

As if taking its cue, the tea kettle whistled. Anna took it off the stove and poured two mugs of tea as I took off my snow-dusted coat and dropped my bag onto the ground. By the time I was ready, Anna approached with a pair of mugs.

"Finals today, right?" she asked, plopping down onto her favorite spot on the couch, which was now covered in a plastic sheet to prevent the paint that was constantly covering her clothes from staining.

"Something like that…" I said.

Anna's expression turned a shade more serious.

"Something amiss in the garden of Eden?"

"Well…"

With that, I spilled my guts. I told her about my conversation with Professor Jenson, in all the gory details.

"Well, he's right, you know," said Anna, without a moment's hesitation.

"What?" I asked, nonplussed. "Aren't you the consummate party girl? I mean, you're the one who's got a new guy on her arm every week."

"Now, when's the last time you've seen me go out, darling?"

I thought about it. Now that she mentioned it, I hadn't seen Anna leave the house for anything but class and groceries in the last month or so.

"I guess…not all that often, now that I think about it."

"That's right," she said, the steam from her tea coiling around her face. "That's because the beginning of the semester is for fun and frivolities. But now that it's crunch time, and I've got more projects to finish than I can count; it's time to get serious."

"I guess I had it backward," I said.

Anna chuckled.

"Indeed you did. And this is why boys like Sam, as charming and handsome as they might be, just aren't for girls like you and I. Well, for anything more than a week or two of fun, that is. You see, girls like us are going places, and men like him, well, come back to that bar in five years and I'm sure you'll see him right in the same spot, serving the same drinks to the same people."

She was right; I knew it. I'd been spending too much time with Sam, and his influence was beginning to take its toll on my future. The pressure of my situation began to build, and I knew that I needed to make a decision that I'd been putting off for far too long.

And right at that moment, as if on cue, my phone vibrated in my pocket.

"The man of the hour?" asked Anna, her slim fingers wrapped around her coffee mug.

"Yup," I said, sighing. "This sucks; I finally find the sexy British guy that I'd been looking for, and now I know I have to cut him loose."

"Don't worry too much about it, love," said Anna. "We're young; men aren't exactly in short supply for us."

It was small consolation. After all, I didn't want just any guy- I wanted Sam.

I slipped my phone out of my pocket and read the text.

- How were exams?

I sighed softly and considered just how to word my text without giving too much away.

- The less said, the better.

Moments later came the response.

- That bad, huh? Lucky for you, I've got a lead on a party tonight that should do wonders to take your mind off things ; )

"Let me guess, another party invite?" asked Anna.

"You got it," I said.

"Just go," she said. "Go and rip that Band-Aid off. The sooner the better."

I fired back an affirmative text, and Sam let me know what time he'd be by to pick me up. I spent the next few hours bumming around the apartment, drinking tea by the gallon, the caffeine only serving to make my nerves even more frazzled. Finally, when the hour arrived, I threw on some proper clothes. Just when I put my shoes on, I heard the familiar rev of Sam's motorcycle's engine.

Yeah, he had a motorcycle. And it didn't exactly make the idea of cutting him loose any easier.

OK, I thought, let's do this. Just like Anna said- ripping a Band-Aid off.

Heading outside, I saw him seated on his bike, one foot propped on the ground. He was wearing a well-fitted pea coat, dark, tight jeans cuffed at the bottoms, and a pair of black dress boots. His gorgeous blonde hair was slicked back as usual, and his blue eyes were hidden behind a pair of Wayfarers. That sly, killer smile formed on his lips as I came out, and once I got a look at him, the motivation and urgency that I'd felt about breaking up with him melted like ice under a heat lamp.

"There's my girl," he said, his voice in its usual low purr. "Ready for another lovely night?"

"Always," I said, my determination to break up with him now being replaced by the usual excitement I felt whenever he and I started an evening together.

I hopped on the bike and wrapped my arms around his firm midsection, resting my head on his back.

Goddamn, I thought. What the hell do I want?

We rode further into town, the snow-dusted city a blur to my left and right. There were few things I loved more than to ride with Sam. Sitting on the back of his bike, my body close to his…it's like there was no one else in the world but him and me.

Eventually, we arrived a little curry spot where we'd eaten a few times before. Over chicken tikka masala, and naan, I explained the situation with my exams to Sam, leaving out the major details, of course.

"Sounds like your professors need to get a grip," he said, dunking a ripped-off price of naan into the orange gravy.

"I mean, they're right," I said. "I need to get more serious about my studies."

"See," he said, popping the dripping bread into his mouth. "This is exactly why I decided to give Oxford the laugh. Too many rules, too much shit taking away from the little time I have. I mean, we only have one life, why spend it doing things we hate?"

Typical Sam, I thought, always living in the moment.

"Another mango lassi, love?" came the sweet voice of our waitress.

"Why, don't mind if I do," said Sam, flashing the waitress his trademark smirk, a blush forming on her cheeks as he did.

That's another thing about Sam: he loved women, and women loved him right back. Sometimes it seemed like he couldn't go more than five feet without making a pass at a girl, and it didn't seem to matter if I noticed.

"Thinking of taking the waitress out back for a little dessert?" I asked.

"Just having a laugh," he said, not bothered in the slightest. "I don't mean anything by it."

More typical Sam, disregarding my feelings when he didn't think they were worth worrying about.

"Besides," he said, reaching over and taking my hand into his as he flashed me another killer smile, "what you and I've got is so wonderful that the idea of any other girl is silly in comparison."

And finally, even more typical Sam. He seemed to know just what to say to get me to forget any misgivings about his behavior.

We finished up our meal and headed over to a nearby bar where we met up with some of his friends from the service industry. There were about seven people in total, four boys and three girls, and the girls reacted in the manner that I'd grown accustomed to with Sam: looking first at him with big, eager doe eyes and then at me with the cutting stares of catty women sizing up their competition. We had a couple of rounds, and as the evening went on I noticed that Sam was spending quite a bit of time chatting with one of the girls, a heavily-made-up little blonde in a tight black dress. But I put it out of my head, thinking that it was just my usual jealousy flaring up.

"OK," said Sam, standing up. "I think it's about time we headed off to someplace a little more exciting."

The girls' eyes stayed locked on him as he spoke; he just had a way with women that no one could ignore.

So, we finished our drinks and headed over to Sam's bar, which is where I seemed to end up most of these nights. It sounds silly, but I couldn't help but love the way Sam was treated like a celebrity there- the bouncer let us cut through the line, the bartenders hooked us up with drinks and shots, and everyone there seemed to know him.

And so did every woman, of course.

Drinks in hand, our little group broke up and headed onto the dance floor. Strangely, despite how often I came here, I'd never quite warmed up to the nightclub scene. I thought back to Anna at home, comfy in her pajamas and working on her projects, and I couldn't help but feel a little envy. But as I watched Sam saunter into the center of the dance floor and become the center of attention as usual, I realized that he cast a spell on me, a spell that made me almost forget exactly who I was.

Recognizing that I was doing my wallflower thing, Sam reached towards me and pulled me into the thrumming mass of dancers, the music deafening around us. He brought me close to him as we danced, and just like with him on the bike, everything else around us seemed to drift away until it was just him, me, and the music.

But the feeling was fleeting, as always, and once the attention of the girls around us fell onto him as it always did, I melted back into the crowd, Sam disappearing among the dancers.

Making my way back to the bar, I took a seat, put my head in my hands, and considered everything that I had on my mind. Everything seemed to be back-and-forth with Sam- one moment he was dancing with me, looking at me like I was the only girl in the world, and the next he was flitting from one tramp to the next, basking in their adoration. One moment he would show a flash of the brilliance that could take him wherever he wanted in this world, the next he was living for the moment, caring nothing about drinking and partying.

It was just too much.

I finished my drink and ordered another, letting the minutes trickle away as I sipped and thought about my life to this point, and what I wanted for my future. I wanted Sam, I knew that, but was there any way to make him a part of the sort of life that I wanted for myself?

Then, like a flash of lightning, it occurred to me: I needed to talk to him.

Why hadn't it occurred to me before? There was so much that I needed to discuss with Sam, and all I was doing was burying it deep inside and hoping that he would figure me out. But that was silly; I needed to be an adult, and I needed to have a serious talk with him about our future together.

And it had to be tonight.

Finishing my drink, I felt a newfound sense of determination. I was ready to lay things out with Sam, to tell him that I loved him, and that I wanted us to have a future together. But there would be terms and conditions, of course. I'd have to make more time for my studies, and he couldn't tempt me every night with rides on his bike and nights out at clubs. I had to be serious, to remember that I'm an adult.

Maybe I'd even be able to lead by example, to bring him back over to the world of adult responsibilities. Maybe he'd even re-enroll in Oxford. Maybe we could get be rich and successful together, getting married and buying a flat on the Thames, possibly even having a few kids someday. Maybe, just maybe, I could have everything I wanted.

How painfully, painfully naive I was.

Scanning the thick crowd of the dance floor, I looked for Sam's blond hair, but I couldn't spot it anywhere. Steeling myself, I ducked into the crowd and searched around for familiar faces. One by one, I found the other members of the group that we'd arrived here with, and asked them if they'd seen Sam. Each one responded with a shrug.

But one member of the group was noticeably absent: the blonde girl with the heavy makeup.

At the time, I thought nothing of it. Instead, I continued to scan the crowd for any sign of Sam. I looked and looked, but didn't find any trace of him.

Then it hit me: the spot upstairs, on the roof.

I don't know how, but I knew that he had to be there. Snaking through the crowd, I made my way to the back door. I took a quick look around to make sure that I wasn't being watched, opened the door and stepped through. As I went up the stairs, I rehearsed all the things that I was going to say to Sam, about how we'd both have to put in work if this relationship was going to be the success that I knew it could be. My words were perfectly formed in my mind, and I was ready to say my piece. Once I reached the top of the stairs, I took one last deep breath and opened the door leading to the roof.

I wasn't ready in the slightest for what I saw next.

It was Sam, alright, sitting on the edge of the roof. But he wasn't alone, not at all- he was with the blonde, his hand running through her hair as he brought her in for a kiss.

But right as their lips were about to touch, they heard the sound of the door open and shut.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I felt sick and horrified and heartbroken all at the same time.

"What the fuck is going on here?" I demanded, my voice coming out in a shrill squeak.

"Babe!" shouted Sam, pulling his hand out from the blonde's hair and standing up. "It's-"

"If you even think about saying ‘it's not what it looks like' I swear to God I'll push you over that roof."

"Then…I won't say that."

My eyes flicked over to the girl, who was wearing a smug little expression on her gorgeous, stupid face, one that seemed to suggest that she was relishing her little victory.

I didn't know what to say, what to think, what to feel. My gut felt like someone had slipped a hot knife into it, and my vision grew blurry. All I could do was what I did next, which was turn and run. I stormed down the stairs, holding back the tears that threatened to burst forth at any moment. My shoes clomped down the stairs and I heard the door open above me.

"Babe, wait!" called Sam.

But my desire to say even a word to Sam was gone, gone, gone. I rushed down the stairs and back onto the dance floor, rushing through the crowd and hoping to lose him. Once through the crowd, I hurried to the exit and into the throngs of pedestrians.

Once down the sidewalk, I turned back one last time just in time to see Sam emerge from the club and search around eagerly for me. But it was too late; I was off with the crowd. I knew at that moment that I'd never see him again.

And as I rushed home the tears that I'd been holding back came out in torrents, the falling snow landing on my crying eyes, the flakes stinging as I ran back home on that cold, London night.

CHAPTER 3

MARY

Five years later…

It'd been years since I'd heard the chiming of Big Ben, and the first time I heard it ring out at noon, cutting through the still, spring London air, it brought me back instantly to memories of five years ago, when I'd come here for my year at the London School of Economics.

And what a year it was.

After the year was complete, my grades stellar after a brief brush with catastrophe, I returned to the states and finished my undergrad at the University of Iowa. Once done there, my grades bolstered by the project that I'd participated in with Professor Jenson back in London, I applied, and was accepted, to Harvard School of Business. I remember reading the letter that informed me of my acceptance, holding the piece of paper to my chest, feeling as though I might awake from this dream at any moment. But it was as real as it gets.

I moved to Massachusetts that summer, and what followed were two of the most difficult, intellectually taxing years of my life. There were times when I felt I might not make it through to the end, but at the cost of nearly every trace of my social and dating life, I managed to cross the finish line, MBA in hand.

And all throughout my years at school, one goal was fixed in my mind: to return to London. Sure, Boston had its charm, and the states would always be my home, but I couldn't shake the calling back to London that seemed to tug at my very heart. I had raw memories from my relationship with Sam, but everything else about my year there was dear to me; I knew I had to go back. It was like an itch that would only get worse the more I tried to pretend it wasn't there.

So, once the final year at Harvard drew to a close and I became certain that I was going to graduate after all, I began putting in applications to whatever companies I could find in the city. I was certain that I'd be able to find something, anything, but competition was fierce, and native Brits had hiring preference. Just when hope began to fade, however, I received an email from Langdon Holdings, one of the most respected financial firms in the city, informing me that they would be interested in bringing me on board on a provisional basis. I couldn't believe my luck.

I told them I would love to work for them, of course, and they were kind enough to provide me with a temporary apartment until I got my bearings. London wasn't exactly the cheapest place to live in the world, to put it very, very mildly, so a boon like this was more than I could've hoped for. I said my goodbyes to my friends and family, and headed off again for another adventure in the old country.

And now, here I was, sitting back in one of the coffee shops where I'd done my studying so many years ago.

"Mary, Mary, quite contrary!"

The familiar voice cut through the quiet ambiance of the coffee shop. Looking up, I saw the familiar, beaming face of Anna, my roommate from so many years ago. We'd stayed in touch here and there over the years, but once I learned that I was going to be back in the city, I dropped her a line and let her know. She was more than eager to meet up.

She strode towards me, decked hair to toe in hip, fancy clothes, expensive jewelry dangling from her ears and neck that jangled as she walked. Once she reached me she threw her arms around me, pulling me in for a tight hug.

"Oh my God, it's so good to see you," she said in that posh accent of hers. "We have to catch up; I can't believe how long it's been."

"I know!" I said, her enthusiasm infecting me and bringing a broad smile to my face. "I'll get the tea."

"Earl Gray," she said, giving me a wink and a finger gun.

Moments later, I returned with a hot black kettle of water and two white, ceramic mugs. I poured the tea and as the aroma of the drink wafted up to my nose I was brought back instantly to those cozy afternoons with Anna, sipping tea in our living room in our flat in Bloomsbury, chatting about school, friends, and everything else.

"Like Proust's Madeleines, is it not?" said Anna, bringing her steaming mug to her face and taking in a long sniff.

"The what's what?" I asked.

"Proust, the author," she said. "He said that smell and memory are quite intimately linked. In his case, the smell of Madeline cookies dunked in tea was enough to instantly bring him back to his childhood."

I smiled, knowing that she and I were on the same page.

"Not much time for literature in business school," I said, sipping my tea.

"Ah, that's right!" said Anna. "The Harvard girl. Back to the city, degree in hand, ready to conquer our humble little island."

I couldn't help but blush.

"I'd be happy to start with a flat that doesn't cost half of my salary."

Anna scoffed. "Good luck with that. You're damn near going to have to sell a kidney to be able to afford anything more than a sock drawer in this town.”

It was strange; I got the impression that she was speaking from experience.

"Now, you know I don't like giving you shit about your rich parents. But…"

"There's nothing to give a shit about, I'm afraid."

"Oh?"

Anna nodded grimly. "Once I graduated, my parents decided that the time for their little girl to live off their dime was over. They stuck a little graduation gift in my pocket –enough for no more than a few months’ rent- and told me that it was time for me to make my own way."

"So, the rich girl's one of us, now," I said with a wry smile.

"Please, don't kick a girl when she's down. I got my degree thinking that I'd have a little bit of a helping hand until I got my bearings, and now that I'm done with my MFA program I'm scrambling to get a portfolio together, big dreams in my eyes about maybe being able to sell some freelance work to whatever advertising firm would take me."

"Hey, it'll give you character," I said. "Nothing wrong with a little struggle here and there."

"I'd like to keep my life as struggle-free as possible, thank you very much," she said with a pout. "Just never thought I'd have to worry about making rent."

"Then again, ‘watching roaches climb up the wall/you call your dad, he could stop it all'," I said, unable to hold back a wry grin of my own.

"Clever girl," said Anna with a narrow-eyed smile.

"Hey, you're not the only one who can make high-brow cultural references."

Anna gave me a playful kick under the table.

"You might very well be right, but I've got my pride, you know. And I'd like to prevent having to crawl to daddy for rent money for as long as possible."

"Hm," I said. "And where are you living now?"

"On a friend's couch in Kensington. A very rich friend whose patience with me is growing quite thin, I might add."

A thought occurred to me.

"Well…" I started, "…the apartment that Langford Holdings set up for me is pretty big for a one bedroom. You could crash there until you find something a little more suited to your oh-so-posh tastes."

I flashed her a smile.

"That…could work," she said. "After all, we did have quite a bit of success with the roommate situation before."

Anna looked away in thought for a brief moment before turning back to be.

"Oh hell- let's do it!"

We both let out the same embarrassing, excited squeal.

"You can come over tonight," I said.

"And when's the first day at this new job of yours?" she asked.

"Tomorrow morning," I said, my stomach tightening in anxiety at the thought of it.

"Oh my," said Anna, her eyes widening. "But I wouldn't worry about it one bit. I'm sure you'll do a smashing job."

We finished our tea and headed off to a nearby sandwich shop where we ate and caught up. When we parted, I gave her my address and told her to come by anytime tonight. She must've really been eager to leave her place, because by the time I arrived home after doing a bit of grocery shopping, I was greeted by the sight of Anna standing at my stoop, flanked by a pair of designer suitcases, that same beaming, confident smile on her face. I helped her up the stairs and led her into the humble, but cozy apartment that Langford Holdings had set up for me.

"This work for you?" I asked, dropping one of her bags on the floor.

"Darling, it's a place to sleep and isn't in some back alley- it's wonderful."

I helped her get situated, and by the time we were done the evening was already well on.

"A little housewarming present?" Anna asked, slipping a bottle of her parent's wine out of one of her bags.

A quick internal debate later, I was game.

"Sure," I said. "But only one glass. I do have something going on tomorrow, after all."

"Naturally," said Anna.

She filled a pair of glasses and sat back in her seat, an expectant look on her face.

"What?" I asked.

"I do have a question for you," she asked, a scheming little smile on her face.

"Oh?" I asked.

"Have you, perchance, spoken to our little friend Sam during these last several years?"

The name was like a little jab in the gut. I hated to admit it, but there was still some rawness with that situation.

"Not a word," I said. "I saw him about to kiss that little skank, and that was all I needed to know about that."

Anna's little smirk didn't budge a millimeter.

"You know I don't believe that one bit, right?"

I took a long sip of wine.

"I mean, sure, I was kind of into him…"

"…Kind of?" asked Anna. "You were gaga for that boy."

"Fine," I conceded. "Maybe I was a little gaga. But he cheated on me, and that's that."

"You can keep saying that all you like…"

"I know, I know," I said. "Why do you ask? Have you seen him recently or something?"

As soon as the words left my mouth I realized that they'd been shot out in an excited tone. I almost wanted to clasp my hands over my mouth and prevent anything else from slipping out.

"No, I haven't- and that's the thing."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, after you and he broke up, he sort of…dropped off the map. I went to his bar every now and then, and I never once saw him there, either as a patron or an employee. I asked around a bit after you went back to the states and his friends all said that he just up and vanished one day. And his old number just went to a dead line. Neither hide nor hair, as you yanks say."

"That's…weird."

I couldn't help but feel a little worried. I mean, he wasn't a totally crazy party animal who risked death constantly, but he was certainly the type to live on the edge. What if something had happened to him?

"It is," said Anna. "He went from being the star golden boy of his little social scene to a ghost. Very unlike the Sam that I knew."

I felt like I should've said something, but no words came to mind. My thoughts felt twisted up.

"Oh, come now," said Anna, giving me a playful swat on the knee. "I'm sure he's fine, if that's what you're worried about. London's a positively massive city; he probably just moved to another neighborhood and made some new friends."

"Yeah, you're probably right," I said, only feeling a little bit better.

"Who knows- maybe he was so traumatized by your little break-up that he went off and joined some a monastery, devoting himself to a life of celibacy or something of that sort."

I couldn't help but let out a little chuckle at the thought of Sam in some dreary monastery, wearing a billowing robe and chanting in front of a big cross.

"See?" she said. "Not a big deal. And it's probably for the best that he's gone all ghosty on us; what would you even do if you bumped into him at some pub in the neighborhood?"

"I don't even want to think about that. I don't know if I'd want to throw a drink in his face or pull him into the nearest bathroom stall."

"Exactly," said Anna, pleased with her accurate assessment. "You've got so much going on in your life, the last thing you need is some little troublemaker whose only concern is where he's going to be drinking his Jaeger bombs tonight. You're back to run this city, and you don't need some man-boy dragging you down."

I felt a bit better. But still, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of…something when I thought about Sam. Was it possible that now, years later, I still had some sort of fire smoldering?

But I placed the thought aside as best I could; no point in wondering about something like this.

Anna and I finished our glass, and against my better judgment, I had another as she helped me pick out my outfit for tomorrow. I ended up going with a black pencil skirt and a fitted white blouse along with a pair of simple, but fashionable black pumps. Nothing too crazy, but professional through and through.

"Oh poo," said Anna, admonishing me for my conservative clothing choices. "At least let me do your makeup in the morning."

"We'll see," I said, looking at myself in the full-length mirror in my room.

With that, I bid Anna a good night and went to bed. I knew that I was going to need to be well-rested for my first day; pressure was high enough and I didn't want to take any chances.

When I awoke in the morning to my alarm and got ready, I saw that Anna, still asleep on the couch, likely wasn't going to be doing my makeup, after all. Which was just as well- I preferred everything to be on my own terms today. Once I was showered and dressed, I gathered my things and set off, equal parts excitement and fear roiling in my stomach.

The day couldn't have been more perfect. The weather was mild, the sky was a clear blue, and the sun was just warm enough to feel pleasant on my face. I took the train into the City of London –the downtown portion of the city where the major financial institutions were headquartered- and was soon standing under the silver, gleaming tower of Langford Holdings, the "LH" of the logo in imposing, stainless steel letters above the many sets of glass double-doors that led into the lobby. Employees were bustling to get inside, all of them sharply-dressed and moving with an air of purposeful professionalism. I did my best to set aside my feelings of anxiety and stepped into the vast, open lobby, my neck craning up at the towering ceiling of the space.

Feeling small, I made my way to the front desk, where I informed the strikingly beautiful redhead there that I was here for my first day.

"Name and position?" she asked in a lilting Irish accent, her eyes on her computer.

"Mary Metzger. Executive Assistant."

Without a word, she began to type on her keyboard, her fingers a blur of red from her glossy nails.

"Fifteenth floor. You'll be meeting with Mrs. Haverford."

And that was that. I hurried away from the desk and made my way to one of the elevators, the doors sleek and stainless steel, just like much of the other décor here in the lobby.

I stepped inside and the doors sealed shut in front of me. The interior of the elevator was quiet, chrome, and sterile; I almost felt as though I was in the inside of some kind of spaceship ready to launch. The elevator started up without the slightest bit of a lurch, and soon the doors opened, revealing the modern, fashionable office interior. Just like the lobby, this space was a bustling hive of young professionals. The front desk was a long, white swoop of a thing, and seated behind it was yet another impossibly attractive young woman, this one a brunette with cobalt eyes and hair done in a tight professional bun.

"Hello," I said in the meek voice that I'd spoken to the lobby girl with. "I'm here to meet Mrs. Haverford."

"Down the hall, take a right. Her name's on the door, can't miss it," said the girl in a prim English accent, also not looking up from her work.

So much for warm welcomes, I thought as I hurried away from the desk and down the hall.

I weaved through the professionals, all seeming to be busy beyond comprehension. I wondered if they'd slam right into me if I weren't angling my body out of the way of their power-suit-clad bodies. Eventually, after following the directions, I arrived at a large, stately door bearing the name "Mrs. Emily Haverford" in clear, crisp letters. I gave the door a gentle rap, and a voice called out from within.

"Do come in."

Here goes nothing, I said, opening the door.

The office revealed was impressive, to say the least. It was spacious and sleek, with black leather furniture placed here and there. Modern art of geometric patterns adorned the walls, and a corner desk took up nearly a fourth of the room. The tall windows gave a sweeping view of the city, the curving form of the Thames twinkling in the morning sun.

And seated at the desk was a trim, middle-aged woman with black-rimmed glasses, an immaculately-tailored suit, and dark hair worn in a simple but stylish bob. Her limpid blue eyes flicked to me as I entered, and she rose from her desk and approached me.

"Mary Metzger, I take it?" she asked, extending a slim-fingered hand to me.

"That's me," I said, taking her hand and giving it a delicate shake.

"Be seated, please," she said, returning to her desk.

With quick, short steps, I made my way over to one of the high-backed chairs and took a seat.

"Allow me to pull up your files here, young lady," said Mrs. Haverford, typing away at her computer. "Ah yes, the American from Harvard that we brought on. I could barely tell your accent from how quietly you were speaking. You're going to need to learn to project that voice of yours if you're going to hope to have anyone listen to you here, my dear."

"Yes, ‘Mam," I said in that same soft voice.

Mrs. Haverford raised an eyebrow at me. "Try that again."

"Yes, ‘Mam," I said, speaking more loudly than I was used to.

"Better, but still not quite there," she said, sitting back in her chair. "You'll find very quickly that Langford Holdings isn't the place for wilting lilies, my dear."

I nodded, the anxiety in my stomach building to a hot froth.

"But take that as a word of friendly advice rather than warning. Your CV is quite impressive; I see you did a year at our very own school of economics, doing a rather impressive project under…Wow, Professor Arthur Jenson. With a glowing letter of recommendation, to boot."

"It's a great school," I said, still trying to make my voice stern and deep.

"Quite," she said. "Then an MBA at Harvard. But you knew all this already, and so did we. Which is why you're sitting in that chair at this very moment."

I didn't know how to respond to this, so I kept quiet.

"Let me get right into it: you're going to be working with one of our executives, staying at his side, doing whatever he needs in order to get his job done. A ‘he says jump, you say how high,' sort of situation, as you Yanks say."

She took a slow sip of her coffee.

"And I'm not going to mince words: the executive you'll be working with is a…demanding fellow, to say the least. His last executive didn't last half a year. After that little debacle, he suggested that we bring a man aboard, but I think the right, tough lady could perform this job most adequately. How do you feel about this, young lady? You feel tough enough?"

"More than enough," I said, finally finding my footing. Sort of.

"Good. This executive is one of our rising stars; he's only been with us for…four years, I believe? And he' already risen to one of our top executive positions. His rapid movement hasn't made him too many friends with some of the other senior executives –they feel like he hasn't ‘paid his dues', whatever that might mean- and feel that he's even making them look poorly in comparison. Still sound good?”

She was asking me for an opinion on a man whom I've never met?

"Well," I said. "It's certainly important to put in one's time and adhere to proper protocol, but I believe that a successful company should place results before any sort of rigid pecking order, as it were. Perhaps if the employees who feel bitter about this executive's success had been turning in the same sort of performance than they'd be the ones in his position?"

A broad smile spread across Mrs. Haverford's face the corners of her lips fanned with tight wrinkles.

"I couldn't have said it better myself. And that sort of thinking will do nothing but endear you to your new boss. That is, unless you're just telling me what you think I'd like to hear."

"No," I said. "Of course not."

I was a little surprised to hear the words come out of my mouth, but I wasn't totally naive; I knew that playing by the rules was the fastest way to get lost in the mix in the world of finance.

"Very well," she said. "In that case, I believe it's time you met the man to whom you'll be attached at the hip. Come this way."

She rose from her desk and moments later we were headed down the hallway. The other professionals in the hallway deferred and greeted Mrs. Haverford as she walked past, and I couldn't help but compare it to the way I was nearly bowled over by these same people during my way to the office. And Mrs. Haverford walked with the confident, powerful strides of a woman in charge.

Perks of being a boss, I suppose, I thought to myself.

I made a silent promise to myself to one day have this sort of authority.

"Unfortunately," Mrs. Haverford started, "he's the in the middle of a meeting. But I figure this is as good of a chance as any for you to meet, at least in passing, the better part of the executive staff here."

Gulp.

Not only was I meeting my new boss, I was meeting every new boss.

We came to a stop in front of a large pair of stainless-steel double doors.

"Here we are," said Mrs. Haverford. "If I were you, I'd take the ‘speak when spoken to' approach for this particular meeting."

"Will do," I said, straightening my back taking one last deep breath.

Mrs. Haverford then opened the doors, revealing a massive conference room with a long black table in the middle. A dozen or so suited men and women were seated around it, and the tall windows gave an even more dramatic view of the city than in Mrs. Haverford's office.

But down at the end, I recognized something. Or someone. It was that familiar shock of gorgeous blond hair, those stunning blue eyes, and that trim, fit form.

It was Sam.

My eyes went wide and I felt light on my feet. My head swam and I thought I might drop in a heap at any moment.

"Greetings everyone," said Mrs. Haverford, her voice sounding like it was underwater. "Hate to interrupt, but I wanted to introduce you all to our newest executive assistant. Everyone, this is Mary Metzger. She's from the states, but try not to hold that against her.”

Dry chuckles sounded from the room.

"And that's the wunderkind down there," she said, pointing to…Sam, of course.

Sam rose and flashed a tight, wry smile.

"Come," he said in that familiar purr of a voice. "Have a seat. We're just getting started.”

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