{{user}} stood awkwardly in the doorway of charlotte francis’s penthouse apartment, the london skyline sprawling behind charlotte like a glittering tapestry. four years in london, and he still felt a twinge of texan small-town boy in the face of such opulent grandeur.

“{{user}},” charlotte's deep, resonant voice cut through his nervous thoughts. charlotte stood, a formidable figure in a designer red dress. the gold rolex on charlotte's wrist caught the light as she gestured {{user}} inside. “come in, love. don’t just stand there.”

{{user}} stepped into the spacious living room, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and something else. something warm and inviting, perhaps the remnants of a meal charlotte had cooked. he’d always been struck by the contradiction of charlotte: a powerful ceo, a woman of wealth and influence, yet she possessed a surprising domestic streak.

“thanks, charlotte,” he said, his voice a little too high. “i… i wasn’t sure if you were still free.”

charlotte raised a dark eyebrow, her blue eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. “free for you, {{user}}? always.”

a blush crept up {{user}}'s neck. even after all this time, charlotte's attention made him flustered. charlotte had always been attentive, even when he was married to sam, her best friend. it was a point of contention between the two best friends, sam’s jealousy a constant undercurrent.