Hannah
I thought I was lucky getting a six-week internship for my final year project—a foot in the door with Alistair & Co. the hottest, swankiest marketing company in Aberdeen. But the agency’s services are so much in demand that no one else can be spared, and they’ve donated my services to one of their worthy causes—a pro bono project for the Clarkstone County Council.
The people working at the county council offices don't seem any less busy than those at Alistair & Co. They just work in a less luxurious environment—a noisy open-plan office with mismatched furniture. I ask the receptionist about my appointment to see a guy called Mr. Beale. Her nails are about the only things in sight that aren't chipped. She has them painted purple with silver dots.
“Oh, he's here somewhere,” she says. And then she yells through the office. “Anyone seen Mr. Beale?” as if telephones for summoning people to meetings are an expense too far.
“Brenda, there's no need to shout.” A middle-aged guy with a pile of files, an ill-fitting suit, and a harassed expression approaches. “You must be Miss Palmer.”
He smiles and holds out his hand. I reach out to shake it and drop my bag. Nervous, me? Yes, I'm a bundle of them. I don't want to mess this up. Those student loans are not going to pay themselves and I’d like Alistair & Co. to take me on after I graduate.
I manage the handshake well enough and ask Mr. Beale to call me Hannah.
“Good, no ceremony around here,” he says. “You've probably gathered that. I'm Peter.”
I bend down to pick up my bag, nonchalantly hoping no one spotted I dropped it. I might have gotten away with it too. I could have pretended I had just put it down for a moment, if some of the contents hadn't rolled under Brenda's desk.
Maybe I should just kiss my cherry-flavored lip gloss and mascara goodbye, but they're new and I'm loathe to give them up for the sake of dignity, so I fish about on the floor like an idiot to retrieve them.
And that would have been okay too, I expect, but when I get up, I am facing a pair of grey pants. There’s no way the thighs in them could belong to Peter Beale—he doesn't look like he gets within fifty yards of a gym.
I look up past the pants and a broad chest in a white shirt and gasp. Mr. Hot Sexy Fireman is staring right back at me.
I'd know that face anywhere, even without the uniform. It’s like I just saw him yesterday. Those eyes. The fire alarm. The embarrassment of that night. The firefighter's face haunted me for at least a week.
I even dreamed about him. Those dreams had a very different outcome to him sending me down the stairs and out into the night for the roll call with the other students. It turned out I'd only had two hours sleep when that stupid alarm went off. No wonder I was confused.
“You're here for the safety awareness project?” he asks as if he can't quite believe I'm involved with such a thing.
I get to my feet wishing I'd left my lip gloss for Brenda to find, and look at Peter for help. Is that why I’m here? Paul, my manager at the marketing agency, had no details, just a contact for me.
“Yes, this is Hannah Palmer from Alistair & Co. She's an intern with them.”
“This should be good,” the fireman says. Now that I see his face properly in the stark overhead fluorescent light, rather than the gloom of the student residence, I realize just how hot he is in a mature all-man-not-boy way. Brown eyes. Short, dark hair. Not quite clean shaven, as if his beard grows too fast to keep up with. What's not to like?
But then he opens his mouth. “I'm very interested in what Miss Palmer has to say on safety. And even more in what personal items she was looking for under the desk.”
He seems to be saying it with a completely straight face but I catch a slight upturn to his lips. He knows he's making me uncomfortable, all right, and I sense he's enjoying it. Well, he can fuck right off. Hot or not.
Peter Beale looks puzzled, as well he might, about what's happening here. I'm not entirely sure myself. There's a definite undercurrent of something going on with that teasing smile. And my undercurrents are revved up for sure.
“Do you two know each other?” Peter asks.
I say “no” and Mr. Annoyingly Hot Fireman says “yes” at the same time.
“I don't know his name,” I say, just as I realize how that sounds. Peter Beale is going to think I had a one night stand and forgot or something. This is going from bad to worse.
“Kieran Forrest.” My nemesis grins and holds out his hand and I take it as if it's booby-trapped, for want of any other option. He doesn't let go quickly, maybe holding onto my hand just an extra second or two, which makes me blush more. But his hand is large, warm, and firm, and somehow safe, which is surprising given how I feel around him. I swear my legs are shaking just from being next to him in that chipped council office.
“I suggest we commandeer a meeting room. I can only stay a few minutes,” Peter says. “But feel free to make use of the facilities.”
And so help me, while we walk along the corridor to the meeting room, following Peter, I lag behind, trying to collect myself. But the very fine view of Kieran's torso and ass doesn't help that plan and my errant mind thinks of all kinds of facilities and how they could be made use of, before I give myself a metaphorical slap as a reminder of how important this project is to me. And Kieran Forrest, whatever he has to do with it, had better not mess that up.
*
The meeting room is no better decorated than the main office. We sit at a large table that looks like it has seen better days. There's a folded beer coaster under one of the legs, presumably to stop the table wobbling.
“I have all the information you need here. Previous campaigns. Printing budget. That kind of thing.” Peter hands me a blue plastic ring binder with paper and leaflets spilling out.
“So, it's for a fire safety awareness campaign?” I ask.
“They didn't tell you what you'll be working on?”
“No.”
“It's about road safety. Every year, we have a focus week for primary schools in the region. They're all involved and we hold a big exhibition and school fair somewhere. It's at Gillmore Primary this year.”
I look at Kieran Forrest still wondering what he's doing here.
“We have to cut people out when they crash,” he says as if he can read my mind. “So, the fire department is involved in the road safety education program. We'd like to have to use our cutting tools less in the future.”
“Yes, we usually have a few firefighters giving a demonstration, cutting open an old car. That kind of thing,” Peter says. “It's very popular with those who show up, but getting them there can be a challenge. So, this year, my boss asked for help at the local Rotary Club, to see what we could do better. And Kieran here drew the short straw on the fire department side.”
“Not quite how I'd put it, Peter, but yes, I was asked to volunteer.”
“Don't you have an education team for that?” I can't imagine the guys in full fire gear attending fires are the same ones who answer kids' questions.
“In some places. Not here. You get educated in road and fire safety by the real thing here. In the flesh.”
He looks at me when he says “in the flesh” and I remember the state of undress I was in when I leapt out of bed that night and blush all over again.
“There's typically a lot of dead time between emergencies,” he says. “We have to have enough crew for the worst-case scenario. We do other things, but we can be called away at short notice. That's just the nature of the job.”
“Where you come in, Hannah,” Peter Beale says, “is that we need a local advertising campaign for this year's awareness week and fair, leaflets for the kids to take home, posters for schools, advertisements for the local press, press releases for the media outlets, that kind of thing. I expect you know more than me. The more that attend the merrier. Last year we had just over two hundred, but I'd like to see more.”
I like the idea of this challenge. “When is awareness week?”
“You only have a month, I'm afraid. Not long. You'll need to get up to speed fast if you want to take it on.”
“Oh, I do.” I flick through the file. I'm sure I can do better than this but I try not to let my dislike of the previous campaigns show. For all I know, Peter Beale did them himself. It seems to be an all hands on deck kind of place.
The door opens. It's Brenda. She must have given up shouting and come to find Peter. She tells him he's running late for his next appointment. “I'll leave you two to get started then,” he says.
Brenda raises her eyebrows at me and winks. Kieran has obviously got her attention, too.
“Er... where can I find out more about the target audience?” I ask, before Peter is whisked away completely.
“Kieran will fill you in. And you should do some school visits, see the kind of education program the fire department offers and how the children engage with it.”
“I'd be delighted to fill Miss Palmer in,” Kieran says, and I feel as if there's more to his words than his completely dry delivery is indicating. “There's no need for her to visit schools.”
“To get the best results for the promotion,” I protest, “I need to meet the target group. The kids and teachers. The parents, too. I want to make sure they are all on board.”
I'm not sure how seriously Kieran Forest is going to take my role in road safety awareness week. I want to get as much information as I can. My mind wanders off, imagining how wonderful I could make this campaign—the best the council ever had. I've got to impress my boss somehow.
“Right,” Peter says. “That makes sense. Just speak to Kieran here and he'll get you set up, I'm sure. Let's have another meeting in a week or two when you have some ideas, Hannah.” He looks at his watch. “God, I should be somewhere else.”
And with that he leaves me alone with Kieran, the source of my blushes. I feel like the council office has had a heating surge.
“You! Of all people,” he says.
“Yes, me.” I won’t let him intimidate me. I have a job to do and I'm going to do it.
“What brought on this sudden interest in safety? Ignored any fire alarms recently?”
“Not since someone slapped a fifty pound fine on me.”
“It's the easiest way to make sure everyone gets out in the future, whether it's a real fire or not. No one ignores the alarm twice. Standard procedure. College rules. You should have read them along with the fire evacuation instructions.”
“I can do without the lecture, thanks.” I glare at him. I've never been keen on authority, not since Miss Marchmont told me off in front of the whole class when I was seven. I've had a rebellious streak ever since. “Do you always tell people what to do?”
“Yes, when it's good for them.”
“Maybe you should let them make their own minds up.”
“Yes, right. I can just see that. There's a major fire downstairs. I knock gently on their door. 'If you feel like getting up, why not put some clothes on and get the fuck out?'”
“I didn't mean that.”
“What other occasions do you have in mind when I might tell you what to do?” I hear the challenge in his voice that tells me it's nothing to do with fire safety. And I can tell by the glint in his eye, he knows I'm aware of it. Aware of him.