Far from home

Tammy had never been apart from Graham for more than a week, and even then only when one of them went to visit family. Now here she was, clutching her carry-on in a taxi winding through damp Glasgow streets, knowing she wouldn’t see him again for months. The thought made her chest tighten. He’d kissed her at the airport in Toronto, whispering over and over, “It’ll be good for you, Tam. A chance to grow, to shine. We’ll make it work.”

She believed him. She wanted to. But the ache in her heart was real.

The company had given her little choice. Her department was swallowed whole by a Spanish company "Jezebel’s" London arm, was to be relocated. Some had quit, some had been made redundant. But Tammy, with her sharp mind for numbers and a willingness to take risks, had been offered a lucrative contract if she’d move. It was a hard decision, but Graham had urged her to take it.

She had no idea what Jezebel did or what their main place in the market was but, one business was much like the next.

And now here she was, rolling through unfamiliar streets where sandstone tenements glistened wet from rain.

The taxi pulled up outside a block of offices that looked nothing like the sleek glass towers she’d worked in back home. This place was rough around the edges the sky dark and gloomy but that wouldn't stop her. She pain the driver with unfamiliar notes, squared her shoulders, and stepped inside.

Her new boss introduced himself with a handshake that was firm but cool.

“John McAllister,” he said. He was taller than she expected, at least six-one, with broad shoulders under a tailored jacket, greying hair cut close, and cold blue eyes that seemed to size her up in an instant.

“Tammy,” she replied, forcing her best Canadian brightness into her voice.

He gave the faintest nod, then turned on his heel, already talking about targets and deadlines. She followed him through the cramped corridors, half listening, half wondering if he’d always been this brusque or if he was simply unimpressed by newcomers.

The first days were difficult. The Glaswegian accents flew over her head at meetings, and the area around the office felt sketchy, she was sure that she could score **** or a cheep date within 50 yards of the office but Tammy told herself she’d adjust. After all, Graham believed in her.

But by the fourth evening, as she walked out with her coat pulled tight against the drizzle, two figures stepped out from a side street.

“Alright, sweetheart?” one of them jeered.

Her pulse shot up. She quickened her pace, but the other cut her off, grinning with missing teeth.

“Pretty wee thing, aren’t ye?” His hand shot out, tugging at her blouse. Buttons popped, fabric tore, and a rush of cold air hit her bare skin.

Tammy gasped, stumbling "get the fuck away from me or I'll..."

The smell of cheap wine on their breath and the glazed look in their eyes indicated that they weren't listening, and nothing she would say would stop them. Panic filled her and in a second she felt isolated and alone, missing her protector when it happened.

She hadn’t seen him step out, but suddenly John was between her and the men, his movements sharp, efficient. A fist cracked against a jaw, a boot slammed into a shin, and within moments both attackers were on the ground, swearing and scrambling away into the rain.

John turned to her, breathing hard but composed.

“You alright?” His voice was low, clipped, but steady.

Tammy stood frozen, one arm clutching her torn blouse closed. Her heart thundered, not just from the fear but from something else — something she didn’t want to name. She’d just watched her cold, arrogant boss flatten two men like they were nothing. And against her will, heat curled low deep in her.

“I— I’m fine,” she stammered, though her voice trembled.

His eyes lingered on her for a moment, piercing and unreadable, before he looked away.

“Get home. I’ll see you in the morning.”

And just like that, he strode back into the rain, leaving Tammy clutching her blouse, shaking, torn between gratitude, anger and an arousal she couldn’t admit.

When she finally reached her small rented flat, she stripped the ruined blouse away and stood in front of the mirror, chest heaving, cheeks flushed. She thought of Graham’s gentle smile, his steady love. Then John’s cold blue eyes flashed in her mind, excitement filled her but at the same time she was, appalled at herself.

This wasn’t her.

And yet…