Chapter 10: Frustrations

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Alex's POV

Clara Bell didn't spare me a glance as she went on tapping on her cell phone. She looked distressed and fixated, so I decided to leave her to her privacy for a moment. I slipped back to the room I had used last night to get back my stuff: my keys and cell phone.

When I checked my phone, I saw thirteen miscalls from my driver aka personal security, Langdon, and my mother. Langdon is my father's personal driver's nephew. He's a few years older than me.

I hated being driven anywhere, I'd like to do that myself, but dad and mom insisted I need a personal bodyguard after Sasha Beth got robbed in Manhattan. And so not to worry my mom too much, I gave in after a few months battling with her.

I'd rather like someone shadowing me than my mom calling me every minute, to be honest. I love her to bits, but it's suffocating and annoying I must say. Every time my phone rings, it was my mom.

I dialed Langdon's number back. It didn't take a couple of rings and the line connected. "Boss," came his reply.

"I need a clean suit," then I swallowed. I hate to ask him about these personal matters, but that's where he came in. My personal sitter as I call it. "And a clean boxer," I said, swallowing back the shame that's starting to crawl into my skin.

There's no time for that, I have a meeting in several hours, and I'd like to spend a few more hours with Clara Bell.

"Copy, Boss."

I ended the call and walked back to the living room. She was pacing back and forth when I got back. She bristled when I got close, then stared me down, seething. Her cerulean eyes glinted, certain emotions swirling in her orbs but anger was dominating the rest of it. Her cheekbones were hard and strained, and her plump lips are pursed with repressed anger. Her hand clutching her phone too tightly than necessary.

Uh-oh!

"This is your fault!" she seethed, hands flinging on her hips.

I frowned in confusion.

I had an inkling idea of what transpired for the sudden change of her moods. Perhaps Claire found out about it, but she already knows. Maybe she texted her, that's why.

She better didn't threaten her, or I won't stop at anything until I dragged her ass down to the ground.

Her snort drew me out of my train of thoughts. "Apparently, someone caught you in your boxers in front of my building, and it's in the news. Now the whole world knows about it," she chides with a huffed, hands swiping through the air outward, then dropped it back on her waist. Then she looked away as she let out a sharp breath, then shook her head.

I understand her, but who cares?

Why are these people so bothered about what other people or the world think?

"Why are you so wired up?" I said, winding my way past her and the coffee table, then turned momentarily and looked at her.

"Excuse me!" she snapped, swiveling hastily and followed me. "Why Am I so wired up?" she reiterated disparagingly. "Are you serious? Claire doesn't need to know through someone...or through the media. I planned to talk to her about it, but now..." she took a pause, peeved. "Oh, God!..." she inhaled sharply, harshly brushed back the hair that was framing her face, and tucked it behind her ears with such force.

I sat on the sofa, hands propped up the top of the sofa, my back resting against the backrest as I watched her venting out her pent-up frustrations.

"She's gonna hate me," she choked out barely audible, more to herself as she ripped one hand off her hip and harshly brushed back the wild blonde waves kissing her cheek, yet again.

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