Chapter 3 Nancy
“SHIT!” I HISSED as I struggled with the bike lock. After a wrestle, I managed to free it, flung open my sticker-covered top box, and swapped the chain for my Barbie pink crash helmet.
Of course, I’m running late, today of all days.
The street bike clung to the tarmac, allowing me to speed around the Exhibitor lorries, stalling the traffic as they queued for the Chelsea Flower Show.
Once through, I leaned over the tank, squeezed the throttle, and felt the deep rumble of the engine between my legs.
The wind rushed through the open helmet, making my eyes water.
I pushed down the visor, sealing myself in like a cockpit as I approached the chaos of Parliament Square.
On the bike, I was in control, and moving forward always felt freeing.
I parked in a motorcycle bay near the front of the Toverton building and looked up at the giant skyscraper twisting towards the clouds. It was the boss among the megaliths of Heron Tower, Twentytwo, and Leadenhall. At this angle, it gave me a lurch of vertigo.
How can a building be so imposing, like a black hole pulling everything into its gravity?
The oversized analogue clock positioned on the tower’s edge showed it was past 8:45 a.m., so I quickly locked the bike, freed my helmet hair, and ran for the revolving doors.
The lobby was so removed from anything I’d encountered before that it planted me a few steps inside.
A starscape of orb lights shone off the sparkling black tiles lining the floor of the cavernous space.
Two enormous escalators rose beyond, with a bank of brass lifts nestled in between.
But most astounding were the walls, lined with a giant vertical garden alive with every colour of the rainbow.
Ticking heels bustled past as I searched for a restroom where I could change.
But apparently, signage didn’t fit the terrarium aesthetic.
A sound cut through my panic.
“Are you lost?”
I turned to find a man standing a couple of feet behind, both hands tucked in his pockets as if he owned the place. I eyed him from head to toe.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, around thirty, with a thick mane of wavy chestnut hair, left to grow collar-length and countered by precisely shaved sideburns.
His look was all urbane: lightly tanned skin against a starched white shirt, a royal blue silk tie, and a tailored three-piece suit that drew my eyes down the length of him.
The man was devastating.
My gaze rose back up to meet two shrewd, evergreen eyes fixed on me. “Sorry, what?”
His lips rose into a knowing smile that made me realise I was frowning. “Are you lost?”
“I was just looking for the loos… I mean the ladies,” I corrected.
The man continued to look at me, bemused, clearly finding our exchange entertaining. “Of course, they’re down the hall to the right.” He gestured, but I didn’t turn. “Do you need anything else?” he added, his mouth curving higher.
My eyes retraced his body before I realised what a perv I was being to a total stranger.
Damn you, hormones! “No, that’s great, thank you.
” I let out a nervous laugh before turning in the direction of his hand.
Out of his penetrating gaze, time ticked back in, and I scooted towards the ladies at a fast trot, not daring to look back.