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Penelope hated parties. What she didn’t hate was her job, so she attended the office Christmas party and listened to Cressida fucking Cauper bragging about her “wonderful” boyfriend Bertram and how “unfortunate” it was that Penelope was, once again, alone.
Before Penelope could find a witty comeback, a flute of champagne appeared in her line of sight.
“Sorry, it took this long. I was approached by a Mister Fife who wouldn’t stop talking about how much he hates being dragged to these things by his situationship or whatever. I only got out of the conversation when he left for the copy room with a certain Maggie, or Margaret or something.” The man’s deep voice was flowing lightly as all remaining colour drained from Cressida’s already pale face, before she managed to put on another saccharine sweet smile.
“Is this your date Penelope? How lovely that you found someone who can accept all of you.” She gestured vaguely toward Penelope's form. “Why don’t you introduce us?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Penelope saw the stranger opening his mouth and cut him off: “We don’t go by first names anymore, I just call him mine.”
The stranger’s head whipped around to her, an appraising smirk on his handsome face, before he turned back to face Cressida, offering her an outstretched hand while winding the other arm around Penelope’s waist.
“To you, I’m Colin.”