"Would you stop fidgeting?" demanded Emily after she'd parked the car. "You're gorgeous. You don't need to worry. Be confident and be yourself."

When I swallowed, it hurt like shards of glass.

Be yourself. Hmpf! What does that even mean?

Being myself would mean going for a walk in the woods, playing video games, reading a book, or watching a sci-fi flick. Nothing about this is normal for me.

"Deep breaths," she said. "It's a happy hour event, Vee. Not a formal conference."

Happy hour. More like torture hour.

Nodding, I tucked a stubborn curl behind my ear and stepped down from her bright yellow Jeep. Yep, Emily had the confidence to pull that off too.

No wonder why she loves this kind of crap.

Inside the fancy hotel swarmed a sea of black, gray, and blue suits with some splashes of pastels mixed in between. It reminded me of a nature show where many birds sported neutral plumage while others attracted attention with their flashiness.

Professional but plain, I kinda rocked my librarian style. Whereas Emily lit up the room with her luscious golden curls that draped down her back and her periwinkle suit with a pencil skirt. Elegant like a blonde Jackie Kennedy.

Before we talked to anyone, Emily and I had grabbed a couple of name tags. A quick glance around the room told us that people preferred using first names. So I wrote mine in block caps to make it easier to read.

"Ah, there's Neil now," she whispered. "Follow me."

Biting at a bit of loose skin on my bottom lip, I walked beside Emily until she reached a small clique. A portly, balding gentleman was arguing animatedly about the interpretation of some new tax legislation with a redheaded woman and a tall man with an awkward posture, both of whom were likely in their early to mid-thirties.

When the younger man caught Emily's gaze, he gave her an almost imperceptible nod.

"Wouldn't you agree, Neil?" the woman asked him pointedly.

"It depends on whether they qualify as a UK tax resident," he replied in a calm, thoughtful baritone. "If you call the office tomorrow, we can discuss the details further."

"Very well."

While Emily and I chatted about our new English classes, I stole an occasional glance at my potential new client.

Every man seemed giant compared to me, but Neil must have stood over six feet tall. His dark-gray suit hugged his broad shoulders and his slender frame. The businessman kept his dark hair cropped close in a short and tidy buzz cut.

My stomach gave a traitorous flip. He's kinda handsome in a nerdy sort of way.

Stop that! This is busi-ness. Not plea-sure. Be professional and serious.

"If you'll excuse me, please?" said Neil. "I've arranged a meeting."

"Of course..."

Neil stepped aside and walked toward my best friend, shaking her hand with a kind smile. "Emily, so good to see you."

"You too, Neil." She gestured at me. "May I introduce my colleague, Toria Bergwald? She's the translator I mentioned earlier. Toria, this is Neil Frost from Browning & Marshall."

"Pleased to meet you, Neil."

He shook my hand with a firm but friendly grip. "Likewise, Toria." Neil gestured at the bar. "Shall we get a coffee, perhaps?"

"Yes, please." I smiled. "That'd be great, thanks."

While the two of us walked side by side and waited in line, Emily mingled effortlessly among the cliques that dotted the foyer of the fancy hotel's bar and restaurant. My cheeks burned with a hint of nerves and embarrassment.

If only I could be more like her...

Suddenly, I didn't know what to do with myself. My hands. My posture. My words.

"Is this your first event?" asked Neil in a confident but calm voice.

"Yes, it is." I drew myself ramrod straight. "And you?"

'And you?' For the love of God, talk like a normal person.

"Oh, no. Attending these events is part of my job." A muted chuckle slipped past his lips. "It gets easier, trust me."

I exhaled a deep breath. Oh, that's a relief.

"Emily said you're self-employed, is that right?" he asked.

"Yes, I love being independent and working with my own clients," I replied. "So I teach pre-sessional English classes for university students and lead summer language classes whenever I'm not translating."

"Wow, impressive." He paused in thought. "Emily mentioned you're quite the linguist, and Bergwald sounds...German? Austrian?"

"German."

"Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" he asked with a strong British accent. Do you speak German?

"Ja, gerne." Finally in my element. "Ich nehme an, Sie sind Steuerberater?"

"I'm afraid that one sentence was the extent of my very limited German," he said with a sheepish look. "What did you ask me?"

"Whether you were an accountant...because I overheard you talking about tax law."

"Yes, we're a firm of accountants." He straightened his posture as we moved forward in the line. "My company offers tax advice as well, of course, which is my specialization...I'm surprised the gray suit didn't give it away."

"Should it have?"

"Accountants are notorious for wearing gray." Neil did that British thing of playing a joke completely deadpan, so I couldn't tell if he was being serious or sardonic. Or both. "Choosing gray cars. All of that."

"Huh! I never noticed," I admitted. "No desire to break the trend?"

God, I hope he was making a joke, or he'll think I'm the biggest asshat.

"If I did, they'd probably take away my CTA."

"CTA?"

"Chartered tax advisor," he replied. "It's a master's level qualification in tax."

I chuckled belatedly at his joke. "Ah, I see."

"You studied languages, I take it?"

"In America I studied political science and German along with some advanced courses in Spanish and French."

"Spanish and French as well?" He raised both eyebrows a fraction. "Quite the polyglot. Bachelor's or master's degree?"

"In the UK I got a master's degree in applied linguistics."

He tilted his head. "Applied linguistics?"

"We study how languages are acquired so that we can perfect our teaching methods," I replied. "It's been useful for my private tutoring business."

Before I could comment further, the customer ahead of us left with a large glass of wine—not that I blamed him. "What would you like?" the barista asked us.

"Oh, I'd like a cappuccino." Neil turned to me. "How about you?"

"A vanilla latte, please."

While the barista busied himself making our drinks, we made some small talk about the unseasonably warm weather for February. I found his voice soothing and calm.

Seriously, if that guy ever made an audiobook, I would gladly buy it.

What are you thinking? He's a potential client. Pull it together!

"A medium cappuccino and a medium latte?" declared the barista as he set the tray down in front of us.

After Neil graciously offered to pay, we both walked over to the dining area with steaming cups of deliciousness.

"What about a table with a view of the sea?" suggested Neil in a professional tone.

"Good idea."

In the far corner Emily secretly flashed me a thumbs up.

___

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