Be My Erasthai

He's Gone

Adalia

I stood in front of the building, feeling dizzy from its intimidating height and sophisticated design. My fingers grazed the soft fabric of my dress, and a sudden sense of displacement came over me. The urge to give Addy and my brother an earful was suddenly prominent. Yes, seeing Zayn was my idea, but being coerced into a dress that made me feel like an escort was not part of the plan. I was in a tan, armless ribbed knit dress that, while not revealing, seemed a bit excessive when paired with my stilettos.

Yesterday, after our dinner with Zayn's friends, we exchanged numbers and said our goodbyes. I then asked Addy to take me back to my brother's house, with the excuse that I left my car there. I thought it would have been a good way to escape her, but who knew that my traitorous brother would welcome Addy into the house and offer for her to stay the night? Worse still he joined her in playing "Let's dress up Adalia" all night. And that is how I ended up here, standing in front of Zayn's company two hours before my work shift started.

Rubbing my hands on the dress, I clenched my palm, took a breath, then exhaled sharply. "Okay, I can do this." Joining the bustling crowd, I stepped into the revolving door and followed the smooth rotation until I was inside the building.

I felt the need to take in another sharp breath, as the atmosphere of this place was as refined as the building's design.

Several White pendant lights and chandeliers hung low from the ceiling. There were tasteful ottoman chairs settled against the wall. A wavy wood-like wall, illuminated by golden lights accentuated the receptionist's desk. On that same wall, was a line art of a beast of some sort. It bore a resemblance to a wolf, but I couldn't be sure. Then I realized I had seen that same logo on Zayn's business card and on some of his hotels.

I was both intimidated and impressed by the design.

On getting closer to the receptionist's desk, I could see the pale-skinned, blond receptionist having a conversation with a black-haired lady, dressed in suit pants, a white button-up shirt, and flats. Now that I was within earshot, I could pick up snippets of the receptionist's conversation with the lady.

"...said no, you can't see Mr. Warren and that's final." The receptionist snapped.

Wow, feisty.

The poor lady on the receiving end of the receptionist's snipe dropped a bunch of files on the desk. "But I have some proposition and offer for Mr. Warren," she protested.

The receptionist gave the file a quick glance and unexpectedly broke into laughter. She covered her red-tinted lips, with equally matching red nails, and squinted her eyes in laughter.

Both I and the black-haired lady looked at her in astonishment. I don't think the black-haired lady told her a joke that prompted much laughter.

The receptionist snorted a little, before bringing herself back to composure. She smoothed her slender fingers over her blond, tightly bunned hair, then tilted her head upwards so that her prominent cheekbones displayed her icy features. "I'm sorry ma'am, Mr. Warren doesn't accept propositions from just anybody. In fact, he almost doesn't accept propositions at all. He usually seeks out people he wants to do business with by himself."

My heart thumped at the receptionist's words. Luke's company, Carver's Studios, was a well-known company and Zayn also seemed to know Luke which would be understandable as to why Zayn came to us for business. But why did he request me specifically? It's odd. I may do a good job at designing, but other people are definitely more suited to a man of Zayn's caliber. Yet he came to find me first.

I was lost in thought when I heard a loud thump. I jolted and returned my attention to the secretary and the lady. The lady appeared to have smacked her files on the table as they flew all over the secretary's desk. It seemed like she didn't intend for the files to scatter around in her fit of rage as she hurriedly gathered the files back into her hands, despite the secretary watching her with an amused expression.