Page 1 of Surprise Me Tonight
Chapter 1
Callum
My feet hammer thetreadmill as if I’m trying to outrun my own life. The speed’s up to fourteen but I’m still not feeling the burn.
The gym in my office building is all glass, chrome, and that faint scent of overpriced eucalyptus. Everything about it saysyou’ve made it, Wright. Except I’m not so sure I give a shit anymore.
Two hours ago, I was sat across from some slick-haired government rep with a clipboard and a condescending smile, trying to talk me into handing over my new SRT valve. Of course they’d like my sustainable pressure regulator that could cut industrial water waste by sixty percent. And they want it for free. For the greater good. National interest. Public bloody service.
I didn’t crawl my way up from an RAF bunk to the thirty-eighth floor of a building with my name on half the companies in it just to be guilt-tripped into handing it over for free. I'm not a bastard, I support my share of charities, but I'm not stupid either.
I push the speed up. Fifteen. My calves burn and sweat trickles down my spine, but it's not enough. The tension from that meeting still coils tight in my chest.
I’m so bloody tired. Not physically. Physically I could run for hours. It's everything else. The meetings. The politics. The polite power games wrapped in smiles and networking lunches. The endless grind that’s meant to be success.
This city used to excite me. Now it feels like it’s choking me.
By the time I hit cooldown, my lungs are dragging in air like I’ve run a half-marathon, not five bloody miles. I towel off, ignoring the curious glance from some city boy in designer gym kit who’s barely broken a sweat. He’s probably here for the selfie.
I head to the showers, scrubbing off the slick of frustration along with the sweat. The hot water helps, a bit. Doesn’t fix the gnawing feeling in my gut, but it takes the edge off.
Back upstairs, the office is quiet. Late afternoon lull. Most of the team’s either working from home or out on meetings with clients. Sometimes I wonder if it’s time to downsize the office to match the modern way of working.
After all, I’m about to swap the office for home working myself, and I can’t wait for the quiet. It gives me space to think. Or brood, depending on the day.
Jess, my PA, pokes her head round the door as I’m sifting through specs for a new cooling system we’re trialling in Ghana.
“Movers are all confirmed for Friday, just so you know,” she says. “They’ll be there from eight.”
“Cheers.” I nod, resisting the urge to sigh. “Remind me what time Luciana’s call is tomorrow?”
“Ten sharp. She’s already sent over the agenda.”
Luciana. Best bloody decision I’ve made in the last year. Hiring her as General Manager was a gamble, but she’s exceeded every expectation. Sharp. Strategic. Doesn’t take shit from anyone—including me. Which is exactly what I need.
She’s the reason I can do this…thisbeing partial retirement at thirty-three, which sounds ridiculous every time I think about it, but here I am. Moving to the countryside like some burnt-out city exec who’s had an epiphany after one too many green juices.
Little Hadlow. Quaint village in Kent, small enough that the postie greets you by name. Close enough to London that I can be in the office if I really need to. But far enough that maybe, just maybe, I can finally breathe.
I glance up from the screen. “And the PA interviews? Still lined up for tomorrow?”
Jess steps fully into the room now, tablet in hand like she’s ready for battle. Always efficient, always ten steps ahead… honestly, I’ll miss her more than I’ll ever admit.
“Yep,” she says. “Two candidates. That’s it. Apparently the supply of personal assistants in and around Little Hadlow is… limited.”
“Shocking,” I mutter. “Not exactly a corporate hotspot, is it?”
She gives me a flat look. “You’re the one moving to the countryside.”
“Midlife crisis,” I correct. “Just arriving early.”
Jess snorts. “Right. Anyway, both interviews are virtual for now. One’s based in Tunbridge Wells, the other justoutside Maidstone. Neither is exactly around the corner, but it’s manageable.”
I nod, leaning back in my chair. “They’d need to be able to come to the house every day.” It feels a bit mean to make my PA travel in while I work from the comfort of home, but what’s the point of having an assistant if she’s not here to make a coffee or welcome visitors?
“Understood. I’ll make that clear.” She pauses, looking at me for a beat too long. “You sure about this, Callum? You don’t do ‘quiet’. You do ninety-hour weeks and meeting marathons and stress-fuelled brilliance.”
“Exactly,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’ve been doing that for ten years. Thought I’d try something mad like… not burning out.”
