"Don't let this get to you, E.!" P, was almost running trying to catch up with her as she stormed out of the office meeting.
"It's only a damn job, not worth stressing over..."
DAMN RIGHT. Waves of anger, frustration and helpless rage were hitting the shores of her sleep-starved brain, choking her in a storm surge of emotions she had not experienced in a long time.
E. knew she could do the job with her eyes closed - there was a routine to producing the daily news bulletins that wouldn't be too taxing TO A TRAINED CHIMP. I'M PAID PEANUTS FOR THE MONKEY'S JOB....Her eyes were stinging, but she wasn't crying. E. just didn't do tears - she doubted she even knew how.
Her miserable home life (as well as a missed credit card payment or two) made her say a meek "yes" to every extra shift, every mind-numbing office chore and every soul-destroying hour she had to drag herself through the regular 3-minutes slots nobody bothered watching unless there was an earthquake with the body count large enough to tease the hunger finely tuned to human tragedy or the obscenely inane and artfully PR choreographed celebrity break up. Both made her sick to her stomach. "Yes" that hardly ever paid and "yes" that was strangling whatever was left of her once cherished freedom, creativity and vision. MY JOB SUCKS AND I'M GAGGING ON IT.
"I cannot do this much longer, P., it's killing me.." she whispered as he gently took her by the arm and turned her to face him. Blue-green eyes beamed under the thick honey-brown fringe and somehow made her calm down.
"I know a great place to have a late lunch - or an early dinner - shall I pick you up at 4?"
E. shrugged her shoulders, her face softening up into the reluctant acceptance.
"Cool! It's a date, then?" P. winked.
"Please don't say..."
"...the "D" word - I know!" He finished the sentence off with the grin. P. hugged her and before she could find the right way to protest the young man walked back to the office, his slim frame cutting a faint silhouette against the bright studio lights.

E. sleep-walked through the day rejoining the rest of the fully functioning world only as they sat down in a small, run-of-the-mill Italian diner
"It's cozy AND affordable", P. said.
"You mean cheap." E. gave him a smiling side-glance, unfolding the starched napkin over her knees.
"This is as far as my salary strecthes - you shoud know, we work for...
"...the same company." E. had to laugh as they both finished the sentence at the same time.

The meal was everything E. though it would be - she was mostly listening to P. clowning about, impersonating the bosses, making silly jokes at the expense of the non-descript pasta dish they ordered and welcoming the effort he put in to try to lift her spirits. She could tell it was an act, designed to make her feel better - but an act none the less.
"P..." she looked at his youthful, kind face. "You are a nice guy. Any girl would be happy to have you."
The look in his eyes changed from sunny to a quiet restraint. She could always tell there was more to the him than the carefully crafted easy-going cheeky chappie persona he put out between himself and the rest of the world. E. knew the "KEEP AWAY" sign when she saw one - heaven knows she had a collection of her own - and there was one as large as life staring her straight in the face behind those languid aquamarine eyes.
"Who was she?"
The shadow that crossed his face was brief but still made E.s hair stand on end - it was something so alien and hurtful it had to be kept behind the chained doors and buried so deep no memories could reach it.
"She died a while back." His voice soft, echoing the pain all cried out long time ago.
"I am sorry..." E. felt the genuine sympathy for the young man. Loss was something she was all too familiar with.
"I watched her die, and I couldn't help.. I could do nothing to protect, to save her. Nothing..."
"I am terribly sorry..."
When he looked up his eyes were glistening with tears - he didn't need or ask for sympathy and E. understood.
"There are nights I can see her, hear her voice just before she...but waking up is the worst..."
"You remind me of Annie." P's wan smile lingered on E.s face.
"I don't think a broke, jaded, about-to-miss--the-last-train 3O-something woman with only a shitty marriage, dusty portfolio and a half a dozen unfinished manuscripts to show for has much in common with a young girl just about to start her life in earnest..." E's tried to make it sound as self-poking fun but it came out all wrong - raw, vulnerable and uncomfortably personal.
"If you could only see the beauty and power within you the way I can..." P. gently touched her cheek, dropping his hand to hers. E. pulled it away. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't bring herself to return the affection she didn't have - lying was not in her nature.
"P...", she started, "Don't you have a home to go to? A friend who will take you around and meet some nice girl who will ...love you? E.s voice was even lower than usual, laden with sadness and deep empathy.
"It's OK....I'll be always around . It doesn't matter how you feel about it. I'll always be there for you. And I want you to know that." He stood up, putting his blue padded jacket on, looking around for a waiter.
"Please, P., leave the bill to me..."
"Out of the question, I insist. It was my treat." P. walked back to the snowy Boxing Day street, and E. sunk into her chair.

"He really likes you." she recognized the voice in an instant - soft and tactile, deep tones and a faint Transatlantic twang. Startled, it made her turn around to the dark, tucked in table two rows behind. His chin was resting on the clasped hands placed casually on the empty table, looking at her, smug grin under the black beanie, his light ash-blond hair in chin-lenghth strands in a stark contrast with the black leather gloves and the sweater.
"You might be overplaying this Black theme, don't you think?" E. was buying the time. Her heart was beating that adrenaline frenzy beat she always got when faced with the very thing that scared and dragged her closer at the same time.
"I thought it suited me. I always liked Johnny Cash's style..."
IF I WANTED TO LEAVE, NOW WOULD BE A GOOD TIME... But her body failed to obey the command and she felt angry at herself for refusing to co-operate. He moved like cat - lazy, loose-limbed but at the same time with the purpose and intent. E. had no illusions that this 6ft-plus 100 or so kilos of sleek muscle and menace could move as fast as he wanted to - she has been to enough martial arts classes to recognize the type. As he settled on the chair opposite she saw in a flash in her mind's eye the scant info, just a few paragraphs she managed to eek out from the all but unusable mixture of Internet research, unsubstantiated hear-say and downright fiction. All she knew about this man could barely fit onto a page - and she would have to use a damn large font at that, too.
"I'll match this and I'll raise you a dinner."
E. looked with incomprehension he couldn't miss.
"You are clearly not a poker player, then? We are going somewhere...decent, for a change." the derision and contempt for the "affordable dining" umistakeably present in his voice .
E.sat in silence.
He made a small, circular motion with his hands: "Are we going to sulk here for a while longer playing a capricious little madam or shall I go and get the car?"
E. obliged with the curt "yes" and they left the "Primo Giusto" together just as it started snowing again.
The cold hit her and she shiverred. As they sat in the warmth of the Lexus he glanced quickly at her blowing into her hands to keep them warm, but said nothing.
"Scenic route - by my place."
E. looked at him with the stunned expession. He laughed.
"You can't be serious..."
E. was relieved.
She was looking through the window as the Lexus quietly purred through the traffic, crossing the river and cruising towards the hive-shaped luxury apartments towers in Battersea with their glass wall-to-wall fronts reflecting the city lights like a giant Christmas tree. The car stopped briefly at 10 Sycamore Crescent and she made a mental note of the address as he disappeared inside the building for a few minutes.
E. was sorely tempted to open up the glove box, but then thought better of it. WHAT DO YOU EXPECT TO FIND - A GUN? A FAKE PASSPORT?
He sat in the driver's seat and the doors made that dry thud locking noise.
"Looked in the glove compartment yet? You know, you only had to ask..." he looked straight ahead and put the seatbelt on. E. felt the red blush of embarrassment burn on her cheeks.
"Curiosity killed the cat." she muttered.
"It has 9 lives to play with...." he smiled and started the engine.