Find Me Alastar

He stops, smiles, and the group collectively turn to see who has arrived late.

“Um, hello. I’m sorry I’m late,” I murmur.

Mark smiles warmly and gestures for me to take a seat up the front. “Hello, I’m Mark.”

I nod. I know who you are. “Hello, I’m Emerson. I’m new.”

“Welcome aboard, Emerson.” His eyes hold mine a little longer than they should as if to silently

acknowledge me.

I smile as I drop into the seat with sixty-four eyes glued to my every move. This is embarrassing. Next

time that stupid witch upstairs asks me go to a meeting I’m just going to say fuck you, the answer is no.

I take out my pen and pad and stare up at the whiteboard to try and pretend I know what the hell they

are talking about.

Mark starts to speak and I unashamedly stare at him. It’s a perfect scenario really. He’s teaching and

I’m being attentive. I get to check him out without being obvious.

He starts to waffle on about some figure in from Germany while I continue with my internal

assessment. He’s good looking, sandy blonde hair, blue eyes. He’s wearing an expensive grey suite and

light green striped shirt with shiny black trendy shoes. Not as tall as I envisaged but not short, either,

Hmm. Yeah, he’s nice enough. He’s very English, if there such a thing. I sit still and watch him command

the room. He’s used to getting his own way and is very confident in whatever he’s teaching, but it’s all

going way over my head, of course. The longer I sit and listen to him, the more dejected I begin to feel.

It’s no use. I just don’t find him attractive… and I bloody should because he’s gorgeous. He looks like a

player, but he can’t be. Nobody tunes someone for twelve months, that’s just going too far. What the hell is

wrong with me?

My mind drifts to my dreamy street kisser. I wonder what he’s doing now and who he’s with. I wonder

what he does for work. My eyes flick back to

the boring presentation being run that I couldn’t care less about. My mind wanders again. I wonder

where Star lives? I think is accent was Northern Irish, but I couldn’t be sure. I smile at the floor as© NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

remember his deep, sexy voice. God, he’s hot.

“How does that sound, Emerson?”

Huh? My eyes shoot up to Mark as he and the whole room wait for my answer. What the hell did he

say? “Umm.”

Shit, shit, shit.

“I think it will be amazing for you to follow that path in this company, don’t you?”

I fake a smile. “Yes, it sounds great.”

“Great,” he answers as he goes back to his spiel. “Now that we have Emerson doing those good news

stories for us, it will be fantastic to be able to go back and look through our past successes all in print.”

I frown. Oh my God… what the hell is he talking about? What did I just agree to do? I’m terrible at

writing factual stuff. I only like to write about pretend stuff. This is a nightmare.

The meeting finally ends and I stand slowly. I want to be the last to leave so I can talk to him and tell

him I can’t do that job he wants me to do, whatever the hell it actually is.

“Emerson, can I see you in my office after this meeting, please? I want to run through the new program

with you.”

“Sure,” I reply as I stand. He’s dismissing me. I head towards the door then upstairs, back to where

our offices are. Another blonde is lingering around Mark’s desk and I know she wants to talk to him, too.

My eyes flick to them and I notice he doesn’t dismiss her. I blow out a breath, and without looking back at

their body language, I leave the room. I decide to take the stairs, because, well, frankly, I don’t want to get

in the lift with anyone. I take the stairs slowly. I don’t want to talk to him, which is uncomfortable because

I’m pretty sure he wants to talk to me.

“How did the meeting go?” Bernice asks.

“Fine,” I mutter as I throw my phone and pad into my top draw. My eyes spot Mark as he walks up the

corridor and into his office like a man on a mission. I think that playing this game of not knowing each

other is the only fun thing about the place.

Ten minutes later I stand like a child at the principal’s office outside Mark’s door. “Knock, knock.”

“Come in!” he calls.