Chapter 18

Sydney The adrenaline from the boardroom didn’t subside all day, so when evening came, we decided on a casual pub dinner in the Rocks. The pub we sought had stood for over a century and claimed to be the oldest brewery in Sydney. It was a non-descript sandstone building that had survived world wars and drunken brawls. Inside, the atmosphere was electric, a symphony of clinking glasses and loud laughter. The space was packed, but we managed to snag two stools at the mahogany bar.

We started with two schooners of a pale ale in the style of an English Bitter. Elena had to lean in close to be heard over the roar of the crowd and her breath was warm against my ear. She had dressed down for the outing. “Dressing down” for Elena meant swapping silk for a tight white blouse that clung to her breasts and dark jeans.

“Jack, that business meeting was amazing,” she whispered, her eyes shimmering with admiration. “You knew how to answer every question. And your CEO and research head; they were both so on the ball. Are your meetings always like that?”

“They don’t get to those positions without tracking conversations and being able to make decisions quickly. They expect me to make a case and defend it. Of course, I’m at the table because my research output has resulted in more than fifty percent of the revenue for the company,” Jack said, his voice trailing off into a self-deprecating laugh. “They value people who are proven to be effective.”

“It’s strange seeing you in a corporate environment,” she murmured, leaning in so her lips were inches from his ear to compete with the roar of the crowd. “You’re almost a different person when you’re talking business. You are focused and sharp. It’s incredibly attractive.” She let her hand slide from the bar to his thigh, her fingers squeezing firmly through the fabric of his trousers.

“Hey, I’ve got to go to the toilet,” I murmured, sliding off the stool. “Don’t let the bartender take the rest of my beer.”

Elena gave me a wink, her hand lingering on my thigh for a second longer than necessary before I navigated through the chaotic crowd in the pub. The queue for the men’s room was quite long, and by the time I emerged, five minutes had slipped away. I scanned the room for our spot and my eyes locked onto Elena. She had stood up from the bar and was now surrounded by two, obviously drunk, young men. They were leaning into her space, their voices loud and intrusive.

Elena looked composed, her expression one of mild amusement. But the dynamic shifted in a heartbeat. One of the men, emboldened by alcohol and obviously not a fan of consent, stepped to her side and draped an arm across her shoulders and his hand descended towards her breast.

Elena’s voice cut through the pub’s roar like a blade. “Step back,” she barked in a command so loud you could hear it across the room.

The man laughed and tried to pull her closer, but never got the chance to complete the gesture. In a motion that happened almost too fast for the surrounding crowd to track, Elena pivoted. She crouched and with a fluid snap of her hips, the man was launched over her body. He hit the floor with a heavy thud, his hand in a wrist lock and yelping in pain.

The man’s companion stood paralyzed, his jaw hanging open as he looked from the crumpled man on the floor to the woman who had just dismantled him. Elena stayed focused, her eyes cold and calculating, though a small smirk played on her lips.