Chapter eight
Alexander’s POV
My phone was ringing.
I groaned, rolled over, and slapped around blindly for the source of the noise until my fingers hit the screen. I didn’t even check the caller ID. Just hit accept and mumbled, “Hello?”.
Brandon’s voice came in sharp and unamused. “Kingsley, do you have a clock in your bedroom?”. Why is he calling so early?
I blinked, still halfway between sleep and consciousness. “…Yes? Why?”
“Mind checking it.”
That voice—calm, deep, and cold enough to reach through the phone and freeze my bloodstream—should’ve been warning enough. But it wasn’t until I rubbed my eyes, squinted at the glowing red numbers on my nightstand, and felt my soul leave my body that I fully woke up.
10:32 AM.
“Oh my God,” I choked, bolting upright in bed like I’d just been tased.
There was another beat of silence on the line.
Then Brandon spoke again, voice cool as ice. “I assume you remember we had a departure scheduled this morning.”
“I—yes, I know— I just—” I tried to push words out, but my mouth was dry. “I must’ve slept through my alarm, I’m so sorry—”
“You didn’t answer your phone the first three times,” he said, like he was reciting a report. “Or your doorbell.”
My mouth fell open. “You… you rang my doorbell?”
“Twice,” he replied crisply. “And I was about to call HR to ask for your replacement before I tried your line again.”
I felt the color drain from my face. “Oh my God.”
“You already said that,” he murmured. And then, more clipped, “Get up.”
I scrambled to my feet like the floor had caught fire. “I’m up, I’m up!”
“You have twenty minutes to meet me downstairs,” Brandon said flatly. “I’m outside your apartment. Don’t make me regret not firing you.”
He hung up.
I stared at the phone for a full three seconds. Then I screamed internally, flailed out of bed like it was on fire, and nearly tripped over my own feet trying to launch myself into my bathroom.
He was outside. In front of my building. Right now.
I hadn’t showered. I hadn’t packed. I hadn’t even eaten. I had exactly twenty minutes to get my life together or risk becoming a cautionary tale told in hushed whispers by future assistants.
To make it worse—he’d waited.
He could’ve left. Could’ve called HR and sent a formal termination notice with a bouquet of Get Lost flowers. But no. He called me.
And now I had to survive.
I brushed my teeth with one hand while shoving clothes into my overnight bag with the other, nearly dislocated my shoulder trying to pull on pants mid-run, and cursed myself for not listening to Kira when she told me to pack the night before. “Just in case,” she’d said. “You know how he is.”
Yeah. I did.
I threw in whatever I could find—black dress shirt (wrinkled), pants (not the tailored ones, of course), three pairs of underwear (none matching), my travel-sized deodorant (half-used), and my phone charger (tangled beyond salvation).
I was sweating before I even got dressed.
It was fine. I’d survive this. Probably.
Unless I got in the car and Brandon simply turned to me and said, “You’re fired,” like it was a casual greeting.
In which case… maybe I’d fake a fainting spell. Or a stroke. Whichever bought me more time.
I don’t need anyone to remind me I spent over twenty minutes. Standing outside a sleek black car like it was his natural habitat, hands in his coat pockets, tailored suit flawless, hair perfectly in place, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose like he’d walked straight out of a luxury ad.
I froze.
He turned his head at the sound of my footsteps but didn’t speak. Didn’t smile. Didn’t frown.
Just looked at me—blank, cool, and unreadable.
This man has no right being this attractive when I’m on the verge of spontaneous combustion.
I swallowed hard and tried to look semi-put together as I approached, out of breath and deeply aware that I probably had toothpaste on my shirt.
I stopped in front of him, my grip on the strap of my bag tightening, trying to steady my nerves. He tilted his head, his eyes dragging over my face, then slowly down my body.
I swallowed hard again, as his gaze lingered, the way his Adam’s apple moved, the slight tension in his jaw. He bit his lip, then looked away, I pressed my lips together about to speak but he was faster.
“Get in the car.”