Chapter 17 - Emily

**EMILY**

The scent of freshly baked bread and expensive wines hung in the air as Emily nervously scanned the elegant tables. The restaurant was as impressive as she had expected - soft lighting, gold accents and every corner of the room screaming exclusivity. The kind of place you didn’t come to by chance. Alexander knew exactly what he was doing when he booked this table.
With a polite gesture, the receptionist led them to a romantic alcove. On the marble table was a heavy damask tablecloth with a golden rose pattern, seven red roses in a crystal vase, and even the candles were rose-shaped and gave off a pleasant scent.
Her heart pounded with excitement and goose bumps spread over her arms. So much luxury made her shiver, she was not used to it and could not imagine ever finding it normal. As she looked at the plate and the shiny silverware in front of her, an icy shiver ran down her spine. What had she let herself in for? Never in her life had she dressed so elegantly. Now she realised why he had searched for suitable clothes and shoes for her. Even her finest clothes in her wardrobe at home looked shabby in the splendour of the restaurant.
She swallowed hard. She had once heard that cutlery was used from the outside to the inside. But was that true? She had never had to find out. The last thing she wanted was to embarrass her boss by behaving like an ignorant woman. Emily decided to watch him closely. If she ate like him, she wouldn’t go wrong. She breathed deliberately and tried to relax. The soft sounds of the piano music helped. A discreetly dressed waiter approached the table and without hesitation Alexander turned to him. He ordered with the composure of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. His voice was calm, almost seductive in its certainty. “To start we’ll have the beef carpaccio with truffle oil and grated Parmesan,” he said, looking deep into her eyes as if he knew she would love it.
Emily nodded slightly, still lost in thought. But then she heard a restless voice from the reception. A man, clearly agitated, was having a heated discussion with the receptionist. Her attention automatically turned to the commotion as Alexander calmly continued with his order: “And for the main course, the roast fillet of lamb...”
“... furniture mogul... actually... he sits...” Only scraps of words reached her. Who was being addressed?
Suddenly everything happened much too quickly. The waiter, who had just turned to leave the table, was ruthlessly pushed aside. A man in jeans and a rumpled corduroy jacket rushed towards them, his face contorted with rage.
“You! You and your bloody company! My sister is dead because of you!” His voice was shrill, desperate. He pointed directly at Alexander, to Emily’s horror, and she felt the atmosphere around her turn to an ominous silence. Without warning, the man reached for a steak knife on the table. The world seemed to stop. Emily saw the blade coming towards Alexander, her heart stopped for a moment and panic filled her. She jumped to her feet, screaming, breaking the stifling silence.
But before the situation could escalate any further, Alexander was already on his feet, and with a lightning-fast movement he took a step back, just in time to avoid the attack. Two men sitting at a neighbouring table jumped up and attacked the attacker. It happened so fast that Emily could barely process what had just happened. Within seconds, the guards had overpowered the man, and his wild flailing and screaming ended abruptly as he was pinned to the ground.
“Are you all right, Mr. Fitzpatrick?” one of the men asked after the attacker had been subdued. “Sorry for the delay. The waiter momentarily blocked our view.”
Alexander nodded, his expression composed, but the tension was evident in his eyes. The deep furrow in his forehead revealed more than he cared to admit. Emily was shaking, her knees felt weak and she had to hold on to the back of the chair to keep from collapsing.
The head waiter came running over, his face pale. “Ladies and gentlemen, there has been no accident! Please don’t be alarmed. As an apology, the chef will prepare a special dessert for you.” His voice trembled as he tried to play down the situation, but Emily could see the worried expression in his eyes.
The waiter approached the table and spoke directly to Alexander. “Mr. Fitzpatrick, we apologise a thousand times. It was unforgivable that we could not stop this... man.”
Alexander remained calm, she felt his concerned gaze on her, but he could not help her. She was stunned, nausea spreading through her.
“Of course we’ll pay for everything.” Emily didn’t really hear what the waiter said, her ears were ringing and she felt miserable.
“That’s not necessary,” Alexander explained quietly but firmly.
“Excuse me,” Emily finally managed to stammer out, panic overwhelming her, and without saying another word she ran towards the toilets. Her heart was racing, her breathing shallow, and with every step she took she felt more overwhelmed by the fear raging inside her. She stumbled through the door to the ladies‘ room and threw open the stall door. Here, too, everything exuded pure luxury and stylish elegance, but she didn’t care. Her stomach rumbled. Panting, she breathed in and out, leaning heavily against the wall and feeling her knees buckle beneath her. Tears burned behind her eyes, but she fought them back. The adrenaline still coursed through her body and she tried desperately to calm herself. Her fingers trembled as she ran them over her face.
Emily was more miserable than ever. She had never thought she would have to experience something like this in person. And she was angry with herself for not noticing that he was accompanied by his security. She should have known. After all, the security men were one of her bookings. The men accompanied him on every trip, every meeting, Alexander Fitzpatrick never went anywhere alone.
With shaking hands, she held on to the edge of the toilet as her stomach tightened. Only when there was nothing left in her stomach did she collapse, exhausted, against the stall door.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered, “I was only supposed to go with him on his shopping trip. There was never any mention of assassination.” Her mind raced feverishly until she came up with an escape plan she had always seen in spy films. “I’ll sneak out the back door!”
She closed her eyes and counted to ten, then took a deep breath and stood up. She quickly flushed the toilet, closed the lid and was about to open the door when someone knocked on it.
She jumped in fright. Who could it be? Had a second assassin followed her here, taking revenge for the failure of his accomplice?
She became his hostess
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