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was just the first step.

"I won't disappoint," she said, her eyes shining with determination. "I'll do whatever it takes to prove myself."

Ms. Buchanan's smile grew. "I'm sure you will," she said. "But remember, Hannah, in this game, there are no free rides. Every victory has to be earnt."

Hannah nodded, her eyes never leaving her boss's. "I understand," she murmured. "I'm ready for whatever comes next."

Ms. Buchanan leaned back, steepling her fingers together. "Good," she said. "Your training sessions start today. You'll be learning the ropes from the best."

Hannah felt a twinge of anxiety, knowing she had a lot to learn, but she pushed it aside. "Thank you for the opportunity, Ms. Buchanan," she said, standing up to leave. "I won't disappoint."

"Now that you're on the team, you'd better call me Clare," she replied.

Hannah made her way back to her desk, only for Beth the office junior to point her towards the office that had been Shirley's. "That's your office now," she said with a grin. "I've also been told to get business cards printed for you. Hannah Jennings isn't it?"

Hannah hesitated. "No, it's Hannah Hartwell," she said. Although she was still a married woman, she decided to mark her new career by reverting to her maiden name. As she cast off her old secretarial role, she decided to cast off her marital name with it.

The next few weeks passed in a whirlwind of training sessions and meetings. Hannah was thrown into the deep end of the marketing pool, but she swam with a determination that surprised even herself. She absorbed every piece of information thrown at her, eager to prove that she was more than just a pretty face capable of closing deals in unorthodox ways. Her colleagues looked at her with a mix of curiosity and respect, and she felt a new sense of belonging that she hadn't experienced in the stifling confines of her old secretarial role.

One evening, as she was about to leave her office, one of the senior marketers, Alex, put his head around her door. "You know, Hannah," he began, his voice smooth as silk, "this job isn't just about numbers and spreadsheets. It's about knowing people, what makes them tick."

Hannah nodded, wondering what had prompted his words. "Yes I've learned that," she said, her voice measured. "It's something I first realized when I used to talk with Shirley."

Alex smiled. "That's good," he said. "It seems like we're on the same page. Maybe we can help each other out."

"How so?" she asked, her voice very cool despite the curiosity building within her.

Alex stepped fully into her office, closing the door softly behind him. "The Kraskal deal was impressive," he murmured, leaning against her desk. "But Clare's team handles the big whales. I specialize in ... emerging markets. Hungrier clients who need a more personal touch." His eyes lingered on hers. "We could make a powerful team."

Hannah felt a thrill run through her—it sounded like an opportunity to prove her worth. She remembered Shirley making a comment about Alex: "He plays the long game, but the rewards are worth the risks." Her fingers tightened around her pen. "What did you have in mind?"

Alex lowered his voice. "There's a client flying in on Monday. Young tech entrepreneur, flush with cash but skittish about traditional pitches." He paused, letting the implication hang in the air. "He needs someone who understands ... unconventional approaches."

Hannah's pulse quickened. This was her chance to demonstrate her value beyond the Kraskal success. She met Alex's gaze squarely. "Tell me what you need."

"He's staying at the Grand Plaza," Alex said, sliding a business card across her desk. "Dinner on Monday night, eight o'clock. I'll handle the numbers. You handle ... establishing rapport." His smile was all implication. "Shirley had a knack for these situations. I trust you do too?"

Hannah pocketed the card without looking at it. "I know what's required," she stated flatly, her mind already calculating the stakes. A fresh success would cement her place here, far from the typing pool. "I'll be there."

Alex nodded, satisfaction in his eyes. "Excellent. Dress to impress—this one appreciates boldness." He turned to leave but paused at the door. "Oh, and Hannah? If we pull this off, something this big, Clare's going to be very impressed with us both."

"That's good to know," Hannah replied, "since I'm on a three month trial here and a month's gone by already without me doing very much."

Alex smiled. "I think everyone's noticed your progress in the last month. You needn't be concerned about that." He opened the door. "But you're right, Hannah. This is on a different level to anything you've handled so far."

"Bigger than Kraskal?" asked Hannah.

"Definitely bigger than Kraskal," Alex replied. "Kraskal had invested with us once before. This is a potential new client. New business always makes the biggest splash."

He slipped out the door, leaving Hannah alone with the hum of the air conditioning and the weight of opportunity. If this deal was as big as Alex said it was, then it was the kind of chance that might not come her way very often, even if she had to share the credit with him.

Hannah spent Monday morning researching the client—Liam Vince, 28, founder of a blockchain startup that just secured Series B funding. His LinkedIn showed sharp eyes and restless energy; industry forums called him "brilliant but volatile." She chose a crimson dress that whispered confidence without screaming desperation, pairing it with minimalist jewelry.

At the Grand Plaza's rooftop restaurant, Vince arrived late, radiating distracted intensity. His handshake was brisk, eyes scanning the skyline before settling on her. "Alex says you're the secret weapon," he said, swirling his bourbon. "Prove it." Hannah leaned in, ignoring the menu. "Let's skip the small talk. You hate wasting time. So do I."

Over seared scallops, she dissected his startup's pain points—investor skepticism, scalability myths—matching his technical jargon with street-smart insights. When he questioned her grasp of tokenomics, she quoted his own whitepaper flawlessly. "You're not just another suit," he conceded, refilling her glass himself. The tension shifted from scrutiny to collaboration.

They moved to the lounge, sinking into velvet couches under city lights. Vince loosened his tie, confessing his distrust of "old money sharks." Hannah mirrored his posture, her knee brushing his as she leaned forward. "But you trust hunger," she murmured. "We're both building something from nothing." His smile turned predatory—a challenge accepted.

Hannah traced her fingertip around her glass rim. "You need partners who move fast, not bureaucrats." His gaze followed the motion, lingering. "And if I said I could secure you terms others wouldn't dare offer?" The air crackled. Vince's hand covered hers on the sofa cushion. "Then we'd have a very interesting night."

Hannah had memorized Alex's spreadsheets on the proposed deal and knew exactly what to say next. Vince listened and didn't withdraw his hand. Hannah seamlessly translated Alex's dry figures into visceral promises—growth charts became conquests, risk assessments into adrenaline. Alex had done a thoroughly good job and now Hannah brought his vision to life.

Vince leaned closer, his breath warm with expensive bourbon. "You're selling me hard," he murmured, thumb tracing her knuckles. Hannah didn't flinch. "Because I believe in this," she countered, suddenly getting up and waving her arm toward the balcony's glass doors. "Let me show you the view—it's the perfect metaphor for your potential." Outside, the city glittered like a circuit board. Vince followed, drawn by her certainty.

He stood beside her, shoulders almost touching. "Metaphors don't close deals," he challenged, but his voice lacked its earlier edge. Hannah pointed toward a cluster of construction cranes. "See that? Growth. Risk. But the payoff reshapes skylines." She turned, locking eyes with him. "Your move, Liam. Do you want to watch or build?"

His hand slid to her waist, pulling her against him. "You're not just selling a portfolio, are you?" The city lights reflected in his hungry stare. Hannah didn't retreat. "I'm selling results," she breathed. "And I deliver." His mouth crashed onto hers, urgent and tasting of ambition.

They stumbled to Vince's hotel suite, which fortunately wasn't far away, shedding pretense as they did so. Once inside it was Hannah's clothes than Vince wanted to shed, his hands trembling with eagerness as he fumbled with the buttons of her dress. Hannah helped him, her movements deliberate and unhurried despite his impatience. The fabric pooled at her feet, revealing the black lace beneath—a choice she'd made knowing this moment might come. Vince's breath hitched; his earlier intensity now focused entirely on her.

The suite was all cool marble and sharp angles, but the bed was deep and yielding. Hannah guided him there, her lips tracing the pulse point at his throat as she unknotted his tie. She could feel the deal hanging between them—unspoken but urgent—as tangible as the silk sheets beneath her skin. She calmly unbuttoned his shirt.

His hands roamed her body with possessive hunger, but she slowed him, arching into his touch just enough to stoke the fire without letting it rage uncontrolled. "Tell me what you want," she whispered against his ear, her breath catching as his fingers found the clasp of her bra. "The terms ... or me?"

"Both," he growled, tearing the lace away. The cold air hit her skin, followed by the heat of his mouth. Hannah gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as his mouth greedily explored one breast and then the other.

She pushed him onto his back, straddling him with deliberate slowness. Her hands traced the planes of his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart. "The terms come first," she murmured, leaning down until her lips brushed his ear. "Sign the memo of understanding tonight ... and I'll show you how thorough I am with follow-through."

He groaned, fingers tangling in her hair. "Where is it?" Hannah reached for her clutch beside the bed, extracting the folded document and a pen. Vince scanned it, eyes dark with desire rather than scrutiny. He scrawled his signature without hesitation, tossing the pen aside. "Done. Now prove your worth."

Hannah took the signed memo, placing it carefully on the nightstand. Then she slid per panties down her legs, the silk whispering against her skin as she discarded them. Vince hurriedly removed the rest of his own clothes, his movements frantic with need. Hannah watched him with a calm, predatory focus. She knew this moment wasn't just about pleasure—it was about sealing the deal in his mind, making sure the signature on that paper became an unbreakable commitment.

His mouth found one of her breasts again and then the other, whilst his hand had plunged between her legs, stroking her quite firmly. Eventually she pushed him back on the bed and moved over him and straddled him and then lowered herself onto him, a slow, deliberate descent that drew a ragged gasp from his lips. "It's a tight fit," he managed to say.

Hannah moved with deliberate grace, her body a weapon of precision, her body arching as she found her rhythm. Each roll of her hips was a sign of her promise to him being kept and each of his heavy breaths was a testament to the power she was wielding over him. But despite her focus on the physical action, her mind remained sharp. "Make him remember this*, she thought. "Make him associate every future profit with this moment."

He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her like he was anchoring himself against a storm. She leaned forward, her hair brushing his chest, her lips against his ear. "This is just the beginning, Liam. Imagine what we'll build." Her voice was a low thrum, syncing with the rhythm she set—slow, deep, deliberate. She felt him shudder beneath her, his control unraveling as she continued her steady movements, holding him captive in the sweet friction.

The city's glow spilled through the window, painting streaks of light across their bodies. Hannah watched his face—the slack jaw, the fluttering eyelids—and knew she'd won more than just tonight. When he cried out, arching off the bed, she rode the wave with him, her own feigned release a calculated concession to the moment. Afterward, she lay beside him, tracing idle patterns on his damp chest as he struggled for breath. "The paperwork," he mumbled, eyes already drifting shut. "Alex has it ... in the morning."

Hannah slipped from the bed at dawn, dressing in silence. Vince slept like a man who'd conquered the world, one arm flung possessively over her pillow. She retrieved the signed memo from the nightstand, its creases sharp against her fingers—a tangible trophy. Downstairs in the lobby's hushed elegance, she texted Alex a single word: "Done". The reply was instant: "Clare will be impressed. Meeting first thing. 9 AM."

The cab ride to the office felt electric. Hannah rehearsed her delivery—confident, concise, letting the signature speak for itself. She wouldn't mention the hotel suite, the silk sheets, Vince's trembling hands. Those were merely tools, like Shirley's old tactics, now sharpened to her own purpose. As the city blurred past, she allowed herself a small, fierce smile. This deal would silence any lingering doubts about her place in marketing.

Alex was waiting at Clare's door, his polished composure cracking into genuine surprise when Hannah handed him the memo. "He signed ... before?" he whispered, scanning Liam Vince's jagged scrawl. When they entered the office, Clare took the document without a word, her eyes narrowing as they flickered from the signature to Hannah's unreadable expression. The silence stretched, thick with unasked questions.

Alex's demeanour was triumphant, yet Clare held the memo as though she were examining a piece of forensic evidence. "Liam Vince signed this last night?" she asked, her voice unnervingly calm. Hannah nodded, keeping her posture relaxed. "He did. We discussed the terms thoroughly over dinner, and he was eager to move forward." Alex chimed in, "This could be our biggest new-client acquisition this quarter, Clare. Hannah was exceptional."

Claire placed the memo on her desk, her gaze fixed on Hannah. "And where did this discussion take place after dinner? Vince's suite?" The air in the room tightened. Hannah didn't flinch. "We finalized the details where it was most efficient. The result speaks for itself." Clare leaned back, her expression unreadable. "Results matter, Hannah. But so does sustainability. Shirley's methods burned her out—and nearly burned us."

Alex shifted uncomfortably, but Hannah met Clare's stare. "My methods secured Kraskal and now Vince. I understand the stakes." Clare's fingers tapped the memo. "Vince is volatile. If this unravels because he feels ... manipulated, it'll be your head." She paused, then added coldly, "And if you think this path is glamorous, you're in for a brutal awakening."

Hannah's smile stayed fixed, but her knuckles whitened. "It won't unravel." Clare stood, circling her desk. "Shirley's ‘success' ended with burnout and a settlement. You're talented, Hannah—don't become disposable." The warning hung like a blade.

Alex cleared his throat. "We should celebrate this win." Clare cut him off. "You pushed her into this, Alex. Vince's volatility is your gamble too." His confidence faltered. Hannah stepped forward. "Alex didn't force me to do anything. It was my choice. And it paid off."

Clare's eyes narrowed. "Shirley made those choices too. Until she couldn't." She slid the memo back across the desk. "Your trial period just got more complicated. Vince's investment requires meticulous handling—yours alone. If he so much as sneezes wrong, you answer for it." Hannah's pulse hammered, but her voice stayed steady. "I'll manage him."

Alex opened his mouth to protest, but Clare silenced him with a glance. "Leave us." As the door clicked shut, Clare stepped closer. "I know what happened last night. You've taken a leaf out of Shirley's playbook." She didn't blink. "This ends now. No more shortcuts."

Hannah's pulse roared in her ears. "I delivered Vince." Her voice was steel. "With a big investment in emerging markets. Exactly what this company wants."

Clare's laugh was sharp, brittle. "Shirley delivered too. She was a real high flier, but then one day she crashed to earth. "That," Clare hissed, "is where shortcuts lead. Vince's volatility? It's a bomb. And you lit the fuse."

Hannah kept her chin high, the hotel's silk sheets still ghosting her skin. "I secured the capital. That's what matters." Clare's knuckles whitened on the memo's edge. "Not when the cost is integrity. Or have you forgotten why Shirley left?" The silence thickened, heavy with unsaid scandals—whispers of settlements, shattered reputations.

Hannah actually didn't know why Shirley had left. She had only been a secretary at the time and nobody had told her anything about it. But she felt pointing that out now wasn't a good idea, as Clare might think she was playing dumb.

The room was still silent except for the distant sound of the morning traffic. Hannah's mind was racing, unsure of what to say. Vince's signature was leverage, but Clare had her own agenda right now. "I'm not Shirley," she countered, her voice low and deliberate. "I know where the line is." Clare's smile was ice. "You crossed it last night. And lines have a way of moving."

Clare circled her desk, the click of her heels echoing like a countdown. "Vince's deal stands—for now. But you'll handle every email, every call, every tantrum alone. No Alex, no team. Prove you can sustain this without ... theatrics." Hannah's jaw tightened. This wasn't oversight; it was a cage.

Outside, Alex hovered, his earlier triumph replaced by wary curiosity. "Well?" he asked, falling into step as Hannah strode toward her own office. "He's mine to manage. Clare's orders," she said, her voice clipped. Alex's smile faded. "That's a suicide mission. You don't have the experience. Vince needs kid gloves." Hannah didn't break stride. "Then I'll wear them."

Back at her desk, she found Clare's warning preying on her mind: "volatile." She decided to send Vince an email immediately to check that everything was still okay. It was short and professional: "Liam - Confirming our agreement. Next steps attached. Let me know if you need any further information." She deliberately omitted any hint of last night's intimacy, signing off with her formal title: "Hannah Hartwell, Marketing Associate."

When his reply landed less than ten minutes later, her stomach clenched. But it was unexpectedly warm: "Hannah—The docs look solid. Appreciate the swift follow-up. Let's schedule a call next week to discuss implementation. -LV." Relief washed over her, sharp and sweet. He hadn't regretted it. The signature was binding, the deal secure. She moved the email to a new folder she created, saving it as a shield against Clare's doubts.

Yet the calm dissolved by lunchtime. Vince's second email arrived with a jarring shift in tone: "Re: Our agreement - Upon reflection, I don't have enough information on political and regulatory risks. My legal team flagged ambiguity. Fix it." The demand was abrupt, devoid of the morning's warmth. Hannah stared at the screen, hearing Clare's warning echo: "Volatile". Had last night's intimacy made him bolder, or was this simply how he operated?

She drafted a meticulous response, citing specific clauses addressing regulatory frameworks in the attached annexes. Before hitting send, Alex materialized at her desk, his expression tight. "He just called me demanding to know why I wasn't handling this. He's furious, Hannah. Says you're being evasive." The trap was sprung—Clare had isolated her, and Vince was testing the limits of his leverage.

Hannah showed Alex the initial and approving email. "He confirmed it was solid this morning," she stated coolly. "This volatility is exactly why Clare gave him to me. Just tell him you're no longer his point of contact." Alex's eyes widened. "You're burning bridges." Hannah met his gaze, unflinching. "I'm controlling the fire."

She asked Alex to review her response to Vince's second email, and he proceeded to operate with clinical precision, adding several details, and telling her to also attach every relevant regulatory document. She followed his instructions, clicked send and went out to lunch.

When Hannah returned a reply was waiting for her. "Better. But I want a face-to-face. Tomorrow afternoon at my hotel." Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Face-to-face meant unpredictability—and vulnerability. "This is the test", she realized. "Not of the deal—the aftermath." She typed out a brief reply and sent it.

The next day she arrived precisely at 2 PM, dressed in sharp professionalism: tailored navy suit, hair pulled back, minimal makeup. Vince opened his suite door wearing a robe, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Right on time," he murmured, stepping aside. Hannah remained in the doorway. "There's a conference room available for our review. I checked at reception." His smirk faded. "Here is more ... efficient."

She stepped in and placed her documents on the glass coffee table. "Regulatory risks," she began briskly, opening a binder. "Page twelve outlines the contingency plan for Southeast Asia. Vietnam's new data laws won't impact phase one." Vince poured two whiskeys, ignoring the papers. "You're different today." Hannah didn't touch the glass. "I'm focused on your concerns."

He slid beside her, his robe gaping. "Your company has all the paperwork now. You should have received it this morning." His hand grazed her knee. "I'm a man of my word."

"I'm here to discuss your regulatory concerns, Liam. Not your word, which isn't in question." She tapped the binder. "Page fourteen details third-party compliance audits. We mitigate risk by—"

He put his arm around her shoulders, moving closer to her as he did so. "You emailed these documents to me yesterday and my legal department went through them." The robe bulged open, revealing his bare chest, and his free hand grazed her knee again.

"If your team has already reviewed everything and found it satisfactory, then we can conclude this meeting." Hannah's voice was steady, but her heart was hammering in her chest. Tension was gathering in the room like a suddenly developing storm cloud. She gathered her documents together, the papers rustling in the stillness of the room.

Vince pulled her closer, his breath hot against her ear. "I'm flying out tonight, but it won't affect the deal. The only thing remaining is to wire you the money." Hannah didn't pull away, but she didn't yield either.

His fingers traced the line of her jaw. "You didn't want me to leave without having the chance to say goodbye, did you?" he murmured, his other hand still holding her close.

Hannah remained statue-still, her eyes locked on the cityscape beyond the window as she assessed her position. On the one hand she wasn't allowed to use what Clare called "shortcuts" and was tempted to pull free, but on the other hand Clare's warning pulsed even louder: "Volatile. Handle him."

Vince's hand moved from her jaw and cupped her cheek. Hannah didn't flinch and her voice was still steady. "We've given you the wire instructions. So I believe you have everything you need."

He leaned closer, his lips grazing her temple. "Almost." His hand slid down her arm, fingers intertwining with hers. "One last detail."

Hannah suddenly had an idea. Recalling Clare's comments about Vince's volatility being a bomb and his investment needing meticulous handling, she thought why not try and get assurances from him about his future expectations and conduct. Perhaps she could put out the burning fuse that Clare was so concerned about and make her own life so much easier.

She turned slightly to face him, her expression softening just enough to seem receptive. "Liam," she said, her voice a blend of caution and warmth, "if we're going to have a long-term partnership, I need to understand your expectations. Our last meeting was ... intense. But moving forward, how do you see this working?" Her gaze held his, searching for clarity in the haze of desire. Vince's fingers tightened around hers, his eyes darkening with a mix of surprise and intrigue.

He released her hand and stepped back, his robe falling open as he paced toward the window. "You're asking for rules?" he asked, a low chuckle escaping him. "In my world, rules are for the risk-averse." Hannah remained seated, her documents forgotten as she leaned forward. "No, Liam. I'm asking for trust. The kind that survives after the champagne fades and the papers are signed." She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. "Remember we're not chasing quick returns. We're looking for long term growth."

Vince turned, the city's skyline framing his silhouette. "Trust," he repeated slowly, as if tasting the word. "You mean I should trust you to handle my investment, without interfering. Is that it?"

Hannah didn't blink. "I mean we operate transparently. No surprises like yesterday. A partnership thrives on predictability—not volatility."

He sat down beside her again and reached for her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers once more. "You're a very demanding woman."

Hannah held his gaze. "I'm demanding of myself. And I expect the same level of commitment from our partners." She didn't pull away from his touch, but her posture remained rigid, unyielding.

He leaned closer, his lips grazing her temple as before. "I guess I could surrender to your demands."

Hannah stayed still, but her pulse raced, seeing that he appeared willing to concede all that she was asking for. "Then let's agree," she said, her voice cool and deliberate, "that our partnership remains stable and settled moving forward. You trust us with your investment."

Vince chuckled softly, his breath warm against her skin. "Stability sounds boring," he murmured, his hand sliding up her thigh beneath the tailored fabric of her suit skirt. Hannah didn't flinch, but her eyes locked onto his with unwavering intensity. "Boring builds empires. Volatility burns them down. Which one do you want?"

His fingers stilled, pressing into her flesh with possessive pressure. "Fine," he conceded, his hand resuming its movement on her thigh. "We'll play it your way."

Hannah kept her focus, not allowing herself to be distracted, even though his hand was now very high on her thigh. "Just to be clear," she said, her voice remaining steady, "it's quarterly reviews from us, not midnight demands from you."

Her breath suddenly hitched, the intimacy of his touch finally threatening to unravel her composure. Struggling a little now, she managed to add "I'm glad everything's settled now."

"Almost settled," he said, his fingers reaching the lace edge of her panties. "You've got what you wanted from me, but one small detail remains."

The afternoon sun broke through the clouds and illuminated the room, as Vince's hand traveled further, his thumb moving firmly over the lace, a slow, deliberate stroke. The increasing warmth in the room was matched by the increasing warmth between Hannah's legs.

She knew that she had indeed got what she wanted. She also knew that it would be a wise move on her part to consolidate her gain. If she left Vince happy she was sure that he would stick to their agreement and she would have overcome all of Clare's concerns.

Hannah parted her legs slightly, making his access easier, but she kept her gaze locked on his. "What detail?" she breathed, her voice barely audible above the pounding of her pulse. Vince's thumb pressed harder against the damp lace, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from her. "A farewell," he murmured, his other hand working on the buttons of her blouse and then sliding inside to find the clasp of her bra. "Consider it ... sealing the agreement."

She didn't resist as he pushed her back onto the sofa, his robe falling open completely to reveal him naked beneath. His mouth claimed hers with bruising intensity, and Hannah arched into him, surrendering to the practicality of the moment—one last transaction to secure stability. His hand was busy enjoying the touch of one breast and then the other, before eventually his mouth took over the exploration of her breasts and his hand returned to her panties, almost tearing them off.

When he thrust into her, she gasped, wrapping her legs around his waist and anchoring herself in the rhythm. Her mind clung to the deal: "This ensures the wire transfer. This ensures Clare's silence." She could sense when he was about to finish and just before he did she faked a finish of her own, a strategic move to embellish the moment.

Afterward, as Vince traced the curve of her hip, Hannah rose swiftly, reassembling her suit with mechanical precision. He watched from the sofa, sipping whiskey. "I'll have Finance initiate the transfer tomorrow," he said, his tone detached now, businesslike. Hannah nodded, smoothing her skirt. "Send the confirmation directly to me."

The next day she waited for the wire transfer confirmation. When nothing had arrived by the end of the day she tried not to feel disappointed, knowing that Vince's office was in a different time zone, some hours behind, and that would slow things. But when she checked her email the following morning and there was still nothing, she couldn't help but feel the pangs of disappointment.

The office was buzzing with pre-weekend energy, but Hannah's morning felt tense. She tried to relax over lunch, chatting with Joanne who had replaced her as Clare's secretary. Returning to work, she automatically checked her inbox and this time she saw what she was looking for.

It was Vince's email: "Wire transfer initiated. Confirmation #VX-88934 attached." Hannah leaned back in her chair, letting out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The attachment glowed on her screen, a PDF from Vince's bank with the full transaction details. She smiled to herself, content now and happy with her sense of accomplishment.

She decided not to pass the news on to Alex or Clare. They fully expected Vince to go ahead anyway, so the payment confirmation wouldn't be a big story to them. Instead she took time to reflect on the week she's had and quite a week it had been. She'd pulled Vince's investment over the line and she's also got his agreement on the path forward and she'd done it without Clare's help. She'd shown she could do it her way.

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