Episode 4: The Refusal
1753 Words
The only sound in the kitchen was the kettle’s low burble. Avery slid bread into the toaster, leaned on the counter, and watched her inbox. No messages overnight; her shoulders eased. Maya came out of the bedroom, hair pulled into a ponytail, opening a heavy book as she walked.
“Morning.” She lifted a hand. “I’m heading to campus in a bit. You staying in or going out?”
“Home, fixing samples,” Avery said. “I’ll decide about lunch later.”
The toast popped. She spread the butter and took the plate to the table. Maya sipped warm water; her eyes flicked to Avery’s phone. “Did the health center get in touch?”
“No.” Avery cut off a corner of toast and paused. “If they email, I’ll read and not reply. Or delete.”
Maya nodded. “Your call. If you meet anyone, pick a busy place and loop me in.”
Avery murmured assent. She rinsed the dishes, set the three trial scents on her desk, opened her notebook, and worked through the shop owner’s edits one by one. No music; the flat was quiet, the street occasionally breathing through the window. She kept her mind on the work, steady and unhurried.
Her phone buzzed. A new message: an institutional address, full-name salutation, polite tone—requesting a “meeting to discuss potential cooperation.” Location up to her, “for convenience.” Two outlines attached—an NDA and a “framework agreement,” neither with actual terms.
Avery forwarded it to Maya with a single line: “Saw it.”
Maya replied at once: “Don’t sign anything. If you talk, make it public. I can’t make it—send me the exact spot.”
Avery set the phone down and kept going. Two revisions done; the third halfway there. On the way to make tea, she tied off the trash. Another follow-up arrived—still courteous—asking if she could meet. Avery thought a beat and typed, “This afternoon, near Old Street station, Marlow Café. I’ll only talk briefly. I won’t sign anything.”
She sent Maya the address: “I’ll be by the window.” Then she pulled out Luca’s card and saved his number. After a moment staring at her contacts, she sent a short text: “Meeting someone from an institution in a public place. If you see this, no need to come. I’ve told my roommate the location.”
She flipped the phone over and finished the third sample.
Near midday, she put on her trench coat, dropped a notebook and pen into her bag, and headed out. The wind was dry; the cloud cover thin; foot traffic light. At the café, soft music played; the window table was open. She ordered hot tea and a light lunch, set her phone to vibrate, and kept her bag at her side.
The door swung twice. First a pair of students; then two people in neutral black coats with a document pouch. Up close, Avery recognized the woman from the crossing. The woman smiled and reached out. “Good to see you.”
Avery rose, nodded, shook her hand, then glanced at the man. He held a cap in one hand, a line pressed into his hair. Recognition pinched—he was one of the men from the alley, hatless today and with his gaze trimmed back.
Catching the look, the woman said, “He’s on our project. We brought some materials.”
“I’ll only talk for a bit,” Avery said, not smiling.
“Of course.” The woman sat, opened the pouch, and produced two sheets. “This is our NDA. All partners sign it.”
The server set down Avery’s tea. Avery glanced over the pages, let her gaze settle on the blank fields, and didn’t take them. “I’m not signing. I said that in the email.”
The woman’s smile didn’t slip; she set the papers aside. “No problem. Let’s talk concept. We’re building a scent-therapy program and need a steady supplier. Your work has a distinctive hand—we want that indie feel. We’ll start with a base set plus a few you choose yourself. We can prepay part.”
The man opened a small box—paper strips and a tiny vial. “You can smell a reference. We have a preferred direction; see if it suits you.”
Avery laced her fingers on her knee, counted three beats, and slid the box back. “No. I don’t test in public. If we’re talking, specify use cases, quantities, and deadlines. I’ll draft a proposal at home.”
The woman glanced at him, then back. “We can. We’re budgeting a fixed volume for a project phase. We’d like to sign a basic framework now; SKUs and ratios are listed inside. You can read it—if it works, we move.”
She nudged the papers closer. Avery didn’t touch them. “Email. I’m not signing today, and I’m not taking anything.”
The man finally spoke, softer than in the alley. “We’d like to move fast. A colleague tried to reach out yesterday—the approach wasn’t ideal. Sorry.”
Avery met his eyes; memory clicked. She didn’t take the cue. “Email,” she repeated.
The woman’s smile thinned. A fingertip tapped the table. “We understand caution. Then at least smell the direction. It isn’t medication—just a standard blend. As a professional—”
“I’m not doing this ‘as a professional,’” Avery said, cutting in. “I only work with what I can personally verify. No testing today. I’ve said so.”
Silence held for a beat. The server set down her lunch; Avery thanked them. The woman closed the box, eased it into the pouch, and softened her tone. “No need to be tense. This is just process. You have our cards.”
“I’ll read your email,” Avery said. “If you need exact timing and quantities, write them. Without that, I won’t take it.”
The man’s gaze slid to her bag and snapped back. The woman twirled a pen, weighing her next move. She tried again. “One more option. A small trial pack—not to use here. Take it home, choose a direction, give us an initial note. We’ll log it; no contract.”
“No.” Avery stood. “That’s all for today.”
She reached for the bill. The woman stood too, half-ready to stop her, then stepped aside. The man stayed seated, eyes tracking from Avery’s hands to the door.
Avery paid and stepped out. Wind flipped her collar; she pressed it flat and turned left. The pair followed, half a pace faster. The woman drew even. “We’ll walk you to the tube?”
“No,” Avery said, not stopping.
The sidewalk ahead was narrow and crowded. Her phone buzzed; she ignored it and kept her stride. On the far curb it buzzed again. She shifted the strap, freed a hand, and glanced down: an unknown number—“I’m nearby. Say if you need anything.”
She paused less than a heartbeat and walked on. Luca’s number. She didn’t reply.
“Avery,” the woman called gently behind her. “We don’t mean harm. Don’t misunderstand.”
“I don’t,” Avery said, pocketing the phone. “Send an email. That’s it for today.”
She moved on. Footsteps shadowed her for a stretch, then faded. At a newsstand she stopped long enough to tuck the health center card into the last page of her notebook. She didn’t want to sort anything on the street. She zipped her bag.
A shoulder bumped her—light, deliberate. She looked up, alert. The man from before stood there, mouth tight. “Sorry. Didn’t see you.”
“It’s fine,” Avery said, stepping back. He didn’t leave—his foot angled, as if waiting. Avery ignored him, cut into the thicker flow of pedestrians, and thumbed a text to Maya: “All done.”
Another text came in before she tucked the phone away: “Right rear, close. Don’t stop. Straight to the corner.”
Avery hesitated half a beat and kept moving. She didn’t ask who. She tightened her grip on the phone, pace steady. At the corner, a black car idled at the curb, doors shut. She didn’t approach—she waited for the light. When it turned, she crossed. A figure matched her stride at her side: Luca.
“Straight,” he said. “Stop at the bookshop.” His tone was even.
Avery kept her eyes ahead. At the door she stopped and faced him. “Why are you here?”
“Your text,” he said, pocketing his phone. “We have people nearby.” He glanced past her. “They followed you to the door.”
“I know,” Avery said. “Are they still behind me?”
Luca looked toward the street behind her. “They’ve left.” He paused. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her fingers were cold on the phone; she switched hands. “They wanted me to take a trial pack. I said no.”
“Good.” He nodded. “What’s your plan?”
“Have them email. Read, then decide.” She pressed her lips together. “I don’t like being followed.”
“I know,” he said—no argument. “I won’t follow you.”
“You’re still around me,” she said, meeting his eyes.
“I got your message,” he said again. “And one more thing: the two from the alley were around today too. They overlap with those project people. We’ll watch them. We won’t go near you.”
Avery let that sit. She put her phone away. “Thanks. That’s it for today.”
“Okay,” Luca said. “I’ll see you to the station.”
“I’ll go myself.” She shook her head. “You go do your job.”
He didn’t press—stepped aside. “Then I’ll head off.”
He passed two storefronts, glanced back once. Avery didn’t move. Only then did he go. She stood a moment, evened her breath, then slipped into the bookshop and pretended to browse new releases. When her heartbeat settled, she came out and took a different street toward the tube.
- Writer
