His dark voice trails down her spine, lighting a path of desire that renders her breathless. "If only I were in a position of no consequence."
Alia's breath wavers when the pad of his thumb slowly glides across her bottom lip.
"Then I could give in...
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"A man that flies from his fear may find that he has only taken a short cut to meet it." - J.R.R Tolkien
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Alia tightly grips her new schedule and tries to smoothly manoeuvre her way through the quick-moving bodies within the locker room. It is a chaotic place. People frantically running around, rushing to get to their first scheduled place in time. Equipment is being scooped off of the shelves with a high intensity. Alia briefly overhears that the workers want the best tools to ensure an easy rest of the day. Alia couldn't care less about her equipment.
After unintentionally bumping into many bodies and muttering quick apologies, she manages to get to her locker. Looking down at the schedule, her eyebrows raise in surprise as her first task is to clean the King's bedroom.
Is this a joke?
Alia can't contain her shock as she had unbelievably managed to gain the goldmine of all schedules. What were the chances. Crouching down, she unzips her duffel bag and slips out a bobbed blonde wig along with a small container which has brown contact lenses. She has paid more money than she would like to admit on the wig and contacts as to ensure they look as natural as possible.
Swinging the locker door shut, the people around Alia are too preoccupied to notice her walk into a single occupancy bathroom. She places the items on a bench next to the sink and quickly ties up her hair into a small bun. The wig goes on seamlessly and Alia has to take a second to recognise her reflection. It is crazy how much a hairstyle can anonymise someone. She opens the container and picks out the contact lenses with her fingers and applies each one. Her eyes begin to water and she blinks rapidly to adjust the placement of the lenses. With a final pat down of her wig, Alia grabs the container and shoves it into one of the pockets of her black tunic as she opens the bathroom door.
It is if she hadn't even left.
Alia can no longer go to her locker looking how she looks and feels around in one of her tunic pockets for her schedule. She releases a breathe of relief at the small crinkle from the paper document. Fishing it out, Alia reads the list of tools required for her first task and swiftly grabs each one from the shelves, her hands filling up quickly.
She stands, her arms filled to the brim with equipment as she ponders whether or not her employer expected her to carry all of this to the King's bedroom. It is absolutely ridiculous. She can handle the weight just fine, but it is becoming almost impossible to stop the small tools from falling out of her hold.
