The Story of Our Lives: A heartwarming story of friendship for summer 2018. Helen Warner

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      ‘You looked great on the bike in that skirt and those boots.’ Matt eyed her legs appreciatively, as they sat opposite each other on soft red velvet chairs in the private members’ lounge he had taken her to. ‘Did you see that cab driver’s face when he pulled up alongside us? I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head.’ Matt took a long, slow drag on his cigarette and exhaled, his eyes narrowing behind the tiny wall of smoke, giving him the aura of a fifties matinee idol.

      Sophie laughed, a little nervously. The evening had taken on a surreal quality. It was gone midnight and she knew that she shouldn’t be here, alone with another man. A man she had fantasized about ever since she’d started working for this company just over a year ago.

      Matt Whitelaw was the main anchor of the late news show. He was arrogant and vain and had been known to have more than the odd petulant outburst behind the scenes, but he was also undeniably sexy. His pale blue shirt strained against the honey-coloured skin on his taut, flat stomach. His blue-grey eyes were framed by long, dark lashes that gave him a look of innocence, even when he was saying the most outrageous things, which meant that he could get away with just about anything. He had that rare quality that drew both men and women to him in droves and probably stemmed from his sharp intellect and fierce wit. They had been discussing the story about Bill Clinton and the White House intern that was just beginning to surface and Sophie was in thrall as he assessed the mounting evidence. ‘Watch this space. It’s going to cause him trouble, this one…’ he finished, with a knowing smile.

      Sophie smiled back, alcohol dulling her ability to give a meaningful response. Matt then moved on to talking about the team at work, taking apart each character like a surgeon with a scalpel. ‘I dread to think what you say about me behind my back.’ Sophie’s comment was meant to be light-hearted but as she finished speaking, their eyes connected and Matt’s face took on an intense expression.

      ‘Oh, I do definitely talk about you behind your back.’ He spoke slowly and deliberately, rolling his words with his tongue. ‘But nothing for you to dread, I assure you.’

      Sophie wished he would be the one to look away first, but he had dropped his head slightly and was looking up at her through those lashes in a way that told her he was going nowhere. With an effort, she pulled her gaze away from his and took a sip of her champagne. She felt woozy and slightly sick. She was out of her depth and they both knew it. ‘I think I’d better go home.’

      Matt blinked sleepily, not betraying the faintest hint of disquiet. Still he watched her. ‘No, you don’t. The night’s only just begun…’

      Suddenly Sophie’s senses, which seemed to have been floating in the ether above her all evening, snapped sharply back into focus. ‘Yes. I really do.’ She grabbed her bag and jacket and stood up. ‘You stay. I’ll get a cab. Thanks for the drink. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Her words came out like the rattle of a machine gun, nerves making her gabble. She glanced back over her shoulder as she headed for the door. Matt was watching her with a tiny smirk of surprise. And was it her imagination or did he look ever so slightly impressed?