The morning sun, already too bright, stabbed at Ana’s eyes through a gap in her blackout curtains. She swatted at the alarm clock, silencing its insistent chirping. Another day. Another Monday. The thought tasted like ash in her mouth. She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling, already picturing the beige walls of the office, the hum of the old fluorescent lights, Marko’s infuriatingly casual lean against her desk.
She dragged herself out of bed, the cool laminate floor a shock against her bare feet. The apartment felt too quiet, too empty. Ana splashed water on her face, trying to scrub away the lingering fatigue. She chose her most conservative blouse, a muted grey, and dark trousers. Professional armour. She pulled her dark hair back in a tight ponytail, securing it with a plain elastic.
Downstairs, the coffee machine gurgled its morning song. She scrolled through emails on her phone, mostly junk, until one subject line snagged her attention: ‘Urgent Meeting – Director’s Office, 9 AM’. No sender, just ‘Admin’. A knot tightened in her stomach. Urgent meetings with Director Zupan usually meant unexpected trouble, or, worse, unexpected travel. She swallowed a mouthful of lukewarm coffee, the bitterness doing little to calm her nerves.
Traffic was a crawl. She gripped the steering wheel of her old Golf, tapping her fingers against the worn leather. Every minute felt like an hour. She hated being late, especially for Zupan. He had a way of making you feel like your very existence was an inconvenience. When she finally pulled into the office car park, the clock on her dashboard blinked 8:58. Just in time, but barely.
She power-walked through the silent corridors, her heels clicking a staccato rhythm against the polished floor. The smell of stale coffee and printer toner hung in the air. As she approached Zupan’s office, she saw Marko already there, lounging in one of the uncomfortable guest chairs, his long legs stretched out, a faint smirk playing on his lips. His dark hair was just messy enough to look artfully dishevelled. He caught her eye, and the smirk widened. Ana’s jaw tightened. She hated that smirk.
“Morning, Ana,” he said, his voice a low rumble. He didn’t bother to stand. He never did. “Looks like we’re in for a treat.”
Ana offered a tight, noncommittal smile, her eyes darting to the closed oak door. She felt the familiar prickle of irritation. Marko always seemed to know things before she did, or acted like it. She took the chair farthest from him, folding her hands in her lap. The tension in the small waiting area was almost suffocating.
The door opened. Director Zupan, a man whose permanent expression suggested he’d just bitten into a lemon, motioned them in. His office was sterile, minimalist, with a large glass desk and a panoramic view of the city. He didn’t believe in small talk. He never had.
“Sit,” he commanded, gesturing to the two chairs opposite his desk. His gaze swept over them, a quick, assessing glance. “I’m sending you both to Germany. Arbigh Pharmaceuticals. Two days.”
Ana felt a jolt. Germany? Out of the blue. She glanced at Marko, whose expression remained unreadable. He simply nodded, a slight inclination of his head. He was good at that, at maintaining a facade of calm professionalism, even when she knew he was calculating angles. She, on the other hand, felt her stomach clench again. Travel meant disruption, new environments, and with Marko, an entirely new layer of complication.
“A new development regarding the Arbigh acquisition,” Zupan continued, his voice devoid of any real enthusiasm. “They’ve brought a new proposal to the table. We need boots on the ground to assess it, make sure there are no surprises. You two are our best for this kind of… sensitive negotiation.” He paused, looking directly at Ana. “You’ll be representing the legal and financial aspects, Ana. Marko, the technical and operational side.”
Ana nodded, making a mental note of the new task. She already felt the weight of the responsibility settling on her shoulders. “When would we need to leave, sir?” she asked, her voice steady despite the internal flutter.
“Tomorrow morning,” Zupan said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Flights are booked. Hotel too. The assistant will forward you the details. Get your affairs in order. We need a full report by end of day Friday. Dismissed.” He waved a hand, already turning back to his computer screen, clearly done with them. The efficiency was admirable, if not a little dehumanising.
---
They walked out of the director’s office in silence, the heavy door clicking shut behind them. Ana felt a strange mix of exhilaration and dread. Germany. With Marko. The thought made her skin prickle. She could already feel the heavy weight of his presence, the way his shoulders brushed hers as they navigated the narrow hallway.
“Well, that was certainly… sudden,” Ana said, breaking the quiet. She tried to keep her tone light, but a tremor ran through her voice.
Marko chuckled, a low, throaty sound that vibrated through the air between them. “Zupan’s favourite move. Drop a bomb and expect us to diffuse it by morning. Classic.” He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. She caught a whiff of his cologne – something clean and spicy, like cedar and citrus. It was a scent that always lingered, subtly, in the office whenever he’d been near her desk.
They reached their shared work area. Ana’s desk was meticulously organised, stacks of files neatly aligned, pens in their holder. Marko’s, by contrast, was a chaotic masterpiece of tangled wires, half-empty coffee cups, and scattered notes. He leaned back against his chair, his eyes fixed on her. “So, Germany. Fancy a bratwurst?”
Ana rolled her eyes, a small smile finally tugging at her lips. “More concerned about the Arbigh proposal, Marko. This could be a big deal for the company.” She pulled up her email, searching for the flight and hotel details. A new message from Zupan’s assistant, Elena, had just arrived.
‘Flight LH457, 07:00 AM from Ljubljana. Hotel Adler, Berlin. Confirmation attached.’
She clicked on the attachment. Lufthansa. Good. Hotel Adler. She typed the name into a quick search. A respectable-looking establishment, four stars, not too flashy, not too budget. She scrolled through the images: a modern lobby, a decent-sized restaurant. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She felt a sliver of relief. At least the accommodation would be comfortable.
“Looks straightforward,” she murmured, more to herself than to Marko. He was already on a call, his voice a low murmur, probably arranging something last minute for his part of the presentation. She started to make a list of everything she needed to pack: her smart suit, presentation notes, laptop, chargers. Two days, one small carry-on. She was a master of efficient packing. Still, the thought of spending two full days in close proximity with Marko, even just for work, made her nerves hum with an unfamiliar energy.
She looked up to find Marko off his call, watching her. His eyes, a startling shade of blue, held a glint she couldn't quite decipher. It wasn't predatory, not exactly, but it was observant, intense. It made her feel exposed, even in her professional armour. She shifted in her seat. The air between them suddenly felt thicker, charged with an unspoken current. She cleared her throat.
“Right,” she said, trying to sound brisk. “I should go home and pack. Get some rest. Early start tomorrow.”
“Indeed,” Marko said, that small smirk back. “Don’t want to miss our flight. Or our exciting new Arbigh adventure.” He pushed himself off his desk, stretching, his shirt pulling taut across his chest. She noticed the subtle ripple of muscle beneath the fabric, the way his jeans hugged his thighs. Her gaze lingered for a beat too long before she tore it away, heat rising to her cheeks. She blamed the stuffy office air.
---
The next morning, the airport was a blur of hurried footsteps and hushed announcements. Ana, impeccably dressed and carrying a sleek, black roller bag, arrived forty-five minutes before boarding. Marko, predictably, sauntered up fifteen minutes later, sunglasses perched on his nose, looking like he’d just stepped out of a fashion shoot rather than arrived for a seven AM flight. He carried a battered leather duffel bag that looked like it had seen more countries than she had.
“Morning, sunshine,” he greeted, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He lowered his sunglasses, revealing those piercing blue eyes that always seemed to see too much. He took a sip from a tall coffee cup. “Ready to conquer Germany?”
Ana offered a tight smile. “As I’ll ever be. Did you remember the latest sales figures?”
He patted his duffel bag. “Everything crucial is in here. And some not-so-crucial items, for good measure.” He winked. Ana chose to ignore it. They boarded the plane, settling into their economy seats. She took the window, he the aisle. A stranger sat between them. Ana found herself breathing a small sigh of relief. A buffer. A necessary one, she thought, trying to focus on the in-flight magazine rather than the subtle scent of Marko’s cologne wafting over from the next seat.
The flight was uneventful. Ana tried to review her notes, but found her mind wandering. She kept catching Marko’s reflection in the window, seeing him engrossed in his laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard. He was good at his job, she couldn’t deny that. Maybe too good. He had a way of cutting through bureaucracy that she admired, even as she bristled at his casual disregard for protocol. When they landed, the air was crisp, grey, and distinctly German.
A short taxi ride later, they pulled up to the Hotel Adler. It was exactly as the pictures suggested – modern, understated, with a sleek glass facade. The lobby was quiet, bathed in soft, diffused light. Ana approached the reception desk, feeling a familiar surge of professional competence. She presented her passport, then Marko’s. “Two rooms, please. Under Arbigh Pharmaceuticals.”
The receptionist, a young woman with a polite smile, tapped at her keyboard. Her smile didn’t falter, but her brow furrowed slightly. She looked up, her gaze flicking between Ana and Marko. “Ah, yes. Arbigh Pharmaceuticals. We have… one room reserved for two nights. A double occupancy.” She slid a single key card across the polished counter. “Room 412. Enjoy your stay.”
Ana stared at the key card, then at the receptionist, then at Marko. Her blood ran cold. One room. Double occupancy. Her mind reeled. Zupan. That cheap, utterly thoughtless son of a bitch. She felt a flush spread across her neck, creeping up to her face. Marko, standing beside her, had gone still. His sunglasses were off now, those blue eyes wide with disbelief, then a slow, dawning comprehension. A flicker of something else, too – amusement, perhaps, or a challenge.
“Excuse me?” Ana managed, her voice tight. “There must be a mistake. We need two separate rooms.”
The receptionist checked her screen again, her smile apologetic now. “I am so sorry, ma’am. The booking clearly states one room, double bed. Made by your company, Mr. Zupan. We are quite full tonight, I’m afraid. There are no other rooms available.”
---
Ana felt a wave of impotent rage wash over her. Zupan. Always Zupan. His frugality was legendary, but this was a new low. A shared room. With Marko. The absurdity of it was almost comical, if it wasn’t so utterly mortifying. She snatched the key card from the counter, her fingers trembling slightly. She didn't look at Marko. She couldn't. She could feel his eyes on her, feel the heat of his gaze. The air suddenly felt thin, suffocating.
“Let’s just… go,” she muttered, her voice barely a whisper. She turned on her heel and headed for the elevators, her mind racing. What were they supposed to do? Call Zupan? At this hour? From Germany? He’d just tell them to make it work. He always did.
Marko followed, his footsteps unnervingly close behind her. The elevator ride up to the fourth floor was excruciatingly silent. Each floor they passed felt like another notch in the tightening spiral of tension. The doors slid open with a soft chime. Room 412. The number seemed to mock her. She pushed the key card into the slot, the small light flashing green. The door clicked open with a soft thud.
She pushed it open, stepping inside, and froze. The room was standard hotel fare, clean and modern, but undeniably small. And there it was: a single, king-sized bed, perfectly made, dominating the space. Not two singles. One large, inviting expanse of mattress. There was a small desk, a single armchair, and a window looking out onto a grey Berlin street. The bathroom door stood ajar, revealing a pristine white tiled space. Everything felt too intimate, too close.
Ana’s breath hitched in her throat. Her eyes swept over the bed, then back to Marko, who had stepped in behind her, closing the door with a soft click that echoed in the sudden silence. His gaze, uncharacteristically serious, was fixed on the bed, then on her face. Her own heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the wall of her chest. She could feel the blood rushing to her ears, a hot, insistent thrum. The small room suddenly felt charged, buzzing with an unspoken energy. The scent of his cologne, stronger now in the confined space, filled her nostrils, a heady, disorienting aroma.
“Well,” Marko said, his voice a low, rough murmur, breaking the silence. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face, not the usual casual smirk, but something deeper, more potent. His blue eyes glittered with an unsettling mix of surprise and undeniable interest. He took a step closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming. “Looks like Zupan really outdid himself this time. One bed, Ana. A king, no less. Guess he really wants us to bond. And if we’re sharing a bed, I’m going to want to see a lot more than just your professional face. My *kurac* is already stiff just thinking about it.”
Her gaze met his, and in the sudden, suffocating quiet of their shared room, she felt her own *pička* clench in a way that had nothing to do with indignation, and everything to do with the unexpected, dangerous proximity, and the raw, explicit hunger in his eyes. Her breath caught, trapped somewhere between a gasp and a moan.