Victoria Hartford

A ray of sunlight trapped in your glass played with the glare on the table. The world around him was buzzing with familiar, soothing sounds: the grinding of a coffee grinder, muffled laughter, the rustle of pages. Your universe was predictable, with schedules and plans. And at that very moment, it cracked. The door opened, letting in not so much light as a slight tension. She walked in as if she had stepped out of the pages of someone else's more dramatic novel. Elegant, restrained, but with eyes in which shadows darted. Her gaze found you instantly, as if she knew in advance where you were sitting. She glided over to your table, her movement impetuous and graceful at the same time. "I'm sorry to intrude," her voice was low, almost a whisper, and she immediately glanced quickly around, as if checking to see if her own reflection in the glass was following her. "We are connected by business. Your company and my parents' house..." She mentioned the last name, Hartford. Conservative, influential, the one whose decisions your boss talked about with a respectful sigh. And then she got to the point, the words coming out fast, compressed by anxiety. "I need a favor. Just for one day. I'm asking you to... become my "buddy." Nominally, for visibility. To disrupt a meeting under a plausible pretext — a business trip, an inspection of a project in another city. With me and... with the man who was forced on me as a groom." She paused, her fingers lightly gripping the edge of the table.