Page 7 of Ordinary Girl

“It’s gone midnight, Skip.”

“Just do as I fucking say, Joel.”

I go behind the bar, ripping the top off a beer before downing half the bottle in one go. I’m pissed, because of a fucking woman? Because a woman rejected me, walked out on me when all I wanted to do was help her? Yeah, I wanted to fuck her, too, I’m just as pissed I lost that chance, believe me, but what’sfreaking me out more is that I genuinely just wanted to help her. A beautiful stranger got under my skin way too quick, and I liked it. And I still want her. Still want to help her, so not looking for her? Fuck that! I’m looking for her. And I’ll find her, tomorrow, before she’s even had the chance to wipe the sleep from her eyes.

“Why do you want our accountant here at fucking midnight, anyway?” Joel asks.

“I’m sacking him.”

Joel looks at me through narrowed eyes, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, he has no clue what’s going on here. And all he’ll ever know is what he needs to. Any ulterior motive I might have for helping Sofia, that’smybusiness. As far as this club is concerned we’re getting a new accountant. End of fucking story.

“Sacking him?”

I stare at my V.P. “You still here?”

He shrugs, turns to go, and I lean back against the wall, close my eyes and breathe in deep. Am I going crazy here? Am I going fucking soft? What the hell am I doing?

“Okay. Ulrich’s on his way, but he’s not happy.”

Joel’s return stops me from answering those questions, and I pull myself away from the wall, dragging a hand back through my hair. “I don’t give a shit. He’s done here.”

“Why? I thought we could trust him, he’s never fucked us over before. Has something happened? I mean, finding another accountant quickly, one who’ll do what Ulrich does for us…”

“I’ve already found one.”

Joel frowns, his expression telling me he wants me to expand on that. Like I said, he’ll know what he needs to. He doesn’t get to question my decision.

Ulrich’s out.

Sofia’s in.

She needs me.

That woman, she fucking needs me…

Five

Sofia

Ithink it might be time to move offices. Again. I’ve already moved once, from the center of Copenhagen here to Vesterbro, but even though I’m now working out of two rooms above a coffee shop the rent is still proving difficult to cover. I’ve had to let two members of staff go, now it’s just me, one other accountant – Mal – and Alice, an assistant we both share. And I know Mal’s looking for work elsewhere, he thinks I don’t hear him, making calls to different firms across the city. He thinks I don’t catch him updating his resume, asking Alice to help him, give him advice. I know, and I don’t blame him for wanting to get out before this ship sinks, because it’s sinking fast. And as each day goes by I’m finding it harder and harder to hide that fact.

Rushing across Vesterbros Torv I ignore my phone ringing in my pocket. I’m late for an early meeting with my business advisor, and I curse quietly under my breath at the choice of heels I chose to wear today. Too high, they’re not built for running.

“Shit!” I mutter as I feel my ankle give way, and I reach out to grab onto something, anything to stop me from falling, thankfully finding the back of a chair outside one of the cafés, saving me from sinking unceremoniously to the ground.

“They make your legs look incredible, but not really practical, huh?”

I look up slowly, my fingers tightening around the back of the chair as my eyes meet those of Skip Larsen. “I told you not to look for me.”

“I don’t take instruction well.”

“Evidently.”

I told him to leave me the hell alone, so why aren’t I more angry that he chose to ignore my request? He found me, and I should be worried about how he managed to do that, how he managed to find me so quickly, but there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to ask that question. It might be safer if I don’t know the answer.

He looks different today, too. Is this the real Skip Larsen? This man with the unkempt hair and slightly hooded eyes that didn’t seem that way last night. He’s dressed in jeans, battered army boots and a dark shirt, he doesn’t look like the clean-cut man I met. Wanted. I wantedthatman, but he wasn’t real.

“I haven’t got time for this. I have a meeting to get to.”

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