Find Me Alastar

My heart does somersaults. Shit, what does he want? I haven’t heard from him since our fight on the

weekend and it’s Wednesday now. Should I call him back?© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

I think for a moment. No. He has been as ass. If he wants to contact me, he can keep on trying. I get

back to work, feeling a little happier, when my desk phone rings.

“Hello, Emerson speaking.” I smile.

“Why aren’t you answering my calls?” The thick Irish accent barks.

I smile as I lose my ability to think, remaining silent.

“I’m outside the front of your work building now. Come and see me for a moment, please?”

I frown. Huh? “I can’t leave work.”

“Get down here now or I will come up to your desk.”

He wouldn’t.

“Listen.” My eyes dart around all my work colleagues who are too busy working to notice me. “I

know you are a spoilt Irish twat, but some of us have to work. What do you want to say?” I whisper.

“I’d rather say it in person.”

“Tough shit.” I hang up. Fucking hell, who in the hell does this guy think he is?

Damn, I would have liked to hear what he said, though. I smirk when I imagine his face when I hung

up. Conceited prick. I get back to work, but five minutes later the lift double doors open with a ding and I

glance up. It’s rare anyone comes in at this time of the day. Wait. Don’t tell me.

Alastar

He’s standing in the lift with his hands in his sports coat jacket, his just fucked hair resting wavy on

the top of his head, and his big beautiful lips pursed.

Damn it… he looks orgasmic. And furious.

Dread fills me as he storms though the office like a raging bull that’s heading straight to my desk.

“I would like to see you, please.”

Travis and Deirdre look up from their work. Shit, shit, shit.

“And I said I am working. Go. Away.” I turn back to my computer and pretend to type.

Holy fucking shit, what next?

“I am not moving until you come downstairs with me for five minutes.”

Fury starts to pump. Is he kidding? He’s a spoilt fucking brat.

“I’m not allowed to leave my desk,” I grind out through gritted teeth.

Alastar turns to Deirdre. “I need to talk to Emerson about a customer relations emergency.”

I narrow my eyes as I start to hear my pulse pick in my ears. Is this a joke?

“That’s fine, Emerson. You go,” Deirdre replies. Her and Travis exchange looks.

I close my eyes and stand in a rage. “Fine. Out!” I snap as I walk toward the stairs in the foyer. I don’t

want to walk past the management offices.

Stupid Stephanie is sitting at the upstairs reception as we walk past toward the stairs. I glare at her.

“Excuse me,” she calls to us.

I turn around to face her as Alastar heads down the stairs.

“The broom closet is that way,” she snickers through a fake smile. She points toward the management

offices as if trying to be helpful.

I walk back to her desk as my fury hits another level. “Stephanie.” I put my hand on her desk and lean

over into her face.

“Yes.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

She smiles sarcastically. “Oh I do… often.”

My eyes hold hers.

“I personally don’t do it in cupboards, though. Although, I’m sure you would.” She raises her eyebrow

in a silent dare.