'A Stroke of Luck or Gift from God?
The Hand of Fate or Devil's Claw?
From below or Saint's above?
You came to me.'
Garbage; 'A Stroke of Luck'
Days later Ashleigh glanced quickly at the clock and collapsed on the bed. Despite the early hour she was ready to sleep for a week, she stretched and yawned feeling grimy and stiff. It had been a long day, ending with an interrogating video link up with M, and Ashleigh, still feeling shaky from her accident headed for the shower to let the warm jets of water soothe her.
Since her accident it seemed like they had been in constant contact with England. M was equally frustrated with the constant dead ends they were facing and advised them that they should sit tight and let the chaos after the Mariinsky incident die down. The media was howling for information, wanting to know who the terrorists were and why a minister such as Vaskov had been targeted. Now they did nothing but research, James was ready to go through the roof; disapproving of such passive techniques, feeling as if his natural instincts were being restrained by bureaucracy. Quickly she slipped into her pale blue striped pyjama bottoms, teaming them with a vest. She would sit up for a little while and catch the news at home before she slept.
All doom and gloom. It was bloody depressing, and Ashleigh found herself yawning even more. Desperate to hear a friendly voice she turned on her mobile phone, her gaze falling briefly on the other phone in her possession, sleek, silver and silent, given to her by Alec and infuriatingly quiet. On her own phone a message beeped through, her friend Evie asking her when she would be back in the UK. She sighed grumpily, when Hell froze over or when the world was saved again, whatever came quicker she supposed. Another glance at the clock confirmed her hope, it wasn't too late to phone England, and Evie's sense of humour would be the perfect thing to cheer her up. Almost immediately it clicked to the answer phone. How could she have forgotten? Her friends had a life outside of work; it was only Ashleigh who didn't. Once a long time ago she did, but now she could barely remember it. With a little mutter she collapsed back onto the bed.
*
The previous day a man walked into Elliot Enterprises, and smiled at the receptionist behind the desk. It was a pretty redhead there, Rebekah no longer worked at E.E. With devastatingly charming motion, a business card was produced, would it be possible for Ms. Elliot to contact him, he wished to take such a fascinating woman out to dinner while he was in St. Petersburg. The pretty redhead deciding that if she was on the receiving end of such an offer she would have accepted immediately scampered into Ms. Elliot's office. Sheer curiosity drove the voluptuous blonde out, her fabulous curves highlighted to perfection by the expensive suit to face the man who had made such a confident gesture. She was not disappointed; the man was tall, dark and elegantly dressed, carrying himself well, and had a roguish smile. When he asked her to dinner himself she accepted almost immediately, why not? So now she had agreed to meet him at his hotel, dressed in a beautiful, slinky black dress, smiling up at her dinner date. James smiled back, offered her his arm and led her to the waiting taxi.
*
The knock on the door surprised her. Only half ten at night, but still too late for visitors. She supposed it was James and clambered off the bed.
It wasn't James. Pulling open the door, one hand over her mouth to cover a yawn and hopefully James would get the message. She froze. Alec? What the hell was he doing there? She stared at him in silence, unable to form any coherent words, acutely aware she wore no make up and her hair was wild. She felt vulnerable, dressed only in thin cotton; her vest had risen up to expose her pale midriff, and clung to her high breasts. Alec on then other hand was dressed in a charcoal suit and a grey blue shirt, he was calm and composed compared to sleepy appearance. As he looked her up and down a smirk came onto his face.
