Alphahole

by DD Prince

  I tilt my head. “It didn’t look like it.”

  His eyes narrow at me. “I’ll show you from my dashboard. We’ll have a one-on-one.”

  “Good, good. Now, next week, New York. Let’s talk strategy,” Mr. C says.

  “New York?” I ask.

  “Eastmark, the East Coast marketing show and conference?”

  “Oh?” I say.

  “Have you been before?”

  I shake my head. “My bosses went when I was back home, but I didn’t get to go.”

  “Well, now you will.”

  “Oh.” I’m a little surprised. That’s only days away.

  “You and Aiden fly out Monday night, I believe. So, you’ve got a few days to get up to speed before you go. Did you not get the email with the itinerary?”

  “I… don’t think so.”

  “Hm.” He looks at Aiden.

  Aiden clicks through his email. “You’re cc’d on the email, Carly.” Aiden looks at me disapprovingly.

  I feel like I’m in the principal’s office. The jerky hot alphahole principal. And his dad.

  “I… when was it sent?”

  “Yesterday, 8:32, by me.”

  “AM?” I ask.

  He looks at me like I’m a dummy. “Wouldn’t have expected you to have read it by now if it’d been PM, Miss Adler.”

  Mr. C’s pocket starts ringing, so he lifts out and glances at his smartphone. “Be right back. I have to take this.”

  “I didn’t know I was supposed to go to Eastmark. Nothing was said,” I defend.

  “You’re the new online marketing strategist,” Aiden says. “Of course you’re going. Check your email again. You’re on here.” He gestures to his screen.

  “Okay,” I say quietly.

  He’s being all business. He’s being so all business that it’s like he’s never been anything but professional. Which is not true.

  “Did you get my emails about the ads they’re running at Franklin?”

  “Uh, I’ve never had an email from you, ever. Maybe you’re defaulting to my spam folder.”

  “Spam from an internal email? Not likely. Go get your coffee, get the cobwebs out and figure out your email and then we’ll meet at 11 o’clock to talk about it,” he mutters the last bit like I’m wasting his time with my incompetence.

  “Will do.” I rise and red-faced, head out of his office to my desk.

  Not my fault if my computer thinks stuff from him is garbage.

  I’m new here, for fuck sakes. But, he’s right. Spam from an internal email address?

  God, I need coffee. And to go back and not drink seven glasses of wine last night.

  I get to my desk and take a big sip of my coffee, and Mr. C is suddenly in my cubicle behind me.

  I choke on my coffee.

  “How’s everything?” he asks. He looks concerned.

  I grab a tissue and wipe my mouth. Darn. I’ve got a coffee stain down the front of my shirt now.

  “Good. Thanks. Just a little out of sorts this morning, sorry.” I dab uselessly at my blouse.

  He waves a hand. “You’re fine. I just… I need you to check your emails, Carly. I sent you a few as well and I haven’t heard back from you.”

  I click into my email and my inbox is empty. He’s over my shoulder.

  I click to expand the folders and see a hidden spam folder. I click it and there are 68 unread emails, dating back to Monday.

  Oh shit.

  “Oh shit,” I say without even thinking.

  He sees over my shoulder and gives my shoulder a friendly squeeze.

  “Ah, that explains it. I’ll let you get through all that, then. Tip for you? Make sure you see the folder. Then if there are unread messages, it’ll be bold and stand out, so it’ll prompt you to have a peek. I skim my Spam folder once a day just in case.”

  My eyes are wide.

  Oh shit.

  “This is awful. You must think I’m such a slacker.”

  He chuckles, but doesn’t correct me.

  “I thought you all were just letting me get adjusted. I’ve been getting acquainted with all the tools, going through reports. Look.”

  I quickly click through folders on my desktop to show him I’ve actually been working the past two days, not just sitting here ignoring emails.

  “No. We needed you here to hit the ground running. That was why we brought you here so quickly. Talk to IT, make sure things are all good. Ask them why that happened, and get yourself another coffee and just get through them one at a time. Mine first.” He winks.

  I’m Miss Efficient. I always have been. I can’t believe this shit.

  The only person I’ve had emails from are Alice and the marketing intern.

  Why on earth are everyone else’s emails going into Spam?

  Ugh.

  “Don’t stress.” He smiles.

  Yeah, that’s coming from the guy who is firing everyone in my old office for being non-performers. And easy for him to say now with me looking like a slacker. A slacker who shows up late and doesn’t read her emails. Ugh.

  At least he saw they were in my spam folder, sees I have a defense.

  Now, more than ever, I need to prove myself here.

  Dreams of life in San Diego are feeling like they’re about to evaporate into a puff of smoke.

  It’s like I jinxed myself by changing my profile on Facebook last night.

  God.

  I call the internal help desk and tell them my problem. The helpdesk guy tells me he’ll be at my desk within ten minutes.

  Meanwhile, I start reading through the emails. A lot of them were just me being cc’d, thankfully. A few of them were important, though. Mr. C asked some information about my old job, which I answer quickly.

  The ones from Aiden are curt.

  “Action this”

  “Stacy, go over this w/Carly. Get her up to speed.”

  “Carly, Look @ this Franklin stuff & get me info on how we can do better than them @ this.”

  “Fresh coffee?” Ally pops her head in.

  “I can’t get away right now,” I whisper.

  “I heard. Down it, sister.” She jerks her chin toward my cup.

  I down it.

  “Give it,” she reaches.

  I hand her the empty cup.

  She returns two minutes later with the cup, two granola bars, and a banana.

  “Eat. Work. I’ll bring you lunch.”

  I nod and swallow. My chin wobbles. Shit, Carly. Don’t start crying at work.

  “It’s cool, Car. It’s day three. Okay? Don’t sweat it.”

  I nod, fighting back the tears. Thank goodness for my new bestie.

  14

  AIDEN

  Today, I’m hot for teacher, because fuck… she looks good in those sexy glasses.

  Fuck, but even her toes are cute. Painted orange. She has a little gold ring on her second toe. I’m sitting here staring at her talking to Ally over the half wall between their cubicles. Staring at her cute little fuckin’ toes in those sandals. Those toes were in my lap last night, resting against my semi-hard cock and I’d played with that toe ring while she was buzzed and clueless, calling me “Hot Sauce” and “Banana Thief”.

  I envision the tips of those toes against my shaft again.

  “You’re thinkin’ good thoughts, I see.”

  I shake it off as my father comes back in.

  “Spam folder mishap.” He shrugs.

  “Ah,” I say, knowingly.

  Because, yeah, I know.

  I’m the one who fucked with her email settings. Right after our first meeting Monday morning. Wanted to see how she’d handle it. And there are a few more tests coming her way. Frazzle her. Take down her confidence a few pegs. This’ll flush out any hidden agendas and make her more vulnerable, rather than her thinking she’s on any kind of equal footing here. Everyone here is firmly under me, in any way I can make them be. She’s gonna be under me soon.

  It’ll be interesting to watch ho
w she recovers. And how she handles what I’ll throw at her next.

  Couldn’t have planned it any better, though, her showing up late today on top of that, and my father noticing that his little golden girl wasn’t Miss Perfect.

  I listen to my father for another minute, talking about Eastmark, decline his invite to go to lunch, telling him I’ll be doing a working lunch with the errant Miss Adler, and then he smirks at me, strangely.

  When he leaves, I login to my non-company laptop and start up my VPN so I can covertly click through to the company Twitter account.

  15

  CARLY

  Until eleven o’clock, I deal with my emails. The IT guy, Bill, tells me they don’t know why, but the only two people whitelisted on my email were Alice and Stacy, the intern. Everyone else was set to go to junk by me.

  By me.

  I insist I didn’t do that. I wouldn’t have.

  He shrugs, eyes on the coffee stain that’s on my freaking boob, and then flushes red when I catch him looking. Not like he could avoid it. It’s there glaring at everyone. He checks a few other things on my laptop and then tells me I’m good to go.

  I’ve eaten my breakfast, taken two Advils, not from wine, because of a tension headache, and had my second cup of coffee and I’m feeling like things are getting closer to under control.

  At 10:59, I grab my notebook, spin my chair, and head to Aiden’s office.

  He’s on the phone when I get into the doorway. He gestures to his chair and mouths “Shut the door.”

  I close the door behind me and sit down.

  He eyes my blouse.

  I cross my arms and blow a stray lock of hair away from my face.

  He hangs up. “What’s going on with Twitter?”

  “Pardon?” I ask.

  “Twitter. Blue bird. 140 characters? Popular. You know, POTUS uses it a lot?”

  “I know what Twitter is, Aiden,” I grumble.

  “Well, what’s happened to it?” He’s glaring at me.

  I frown.

  “Our account. It’s gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Gone. Can’t find our account. Twitter feeds on our other pages are coming up with error messages.

  He’s clicking keys on his laptop and gesturing to his screen.

  “What?” I jump up and round his desk to look at his laptop.

  What the fuck?

  “What did you do?” he accuses.

  My mouth drops open. “I didn’t---"

  “This is a disaster,” he declares and grabs his office phone and starts punching buttons.

  ***

  No one is saying it, but they’re all thinking it. They think I’m the Fail Whale. They think I did something to fuck up our Twitter account.

  I haven’t even logged into it yet. We have a social media management platform that we use for pushing updates out. An aggregator that we use to view all our feeds instead of logging in individually. And I’ve barely logged into that but certainly haven’t changed any settings.

  Mr. C has been in about the issue. Stacy and Blake (the marketing interns), and a guy called Kieran in New York has been on hands-free on Aiden’s phone. We get it back, but we’re not following anyone. Thankfully, we haven’t lost our followers, though. We were following hundreds, if not thousands. I get tasked with finding who we were following and ensuring we’re following them all again.

  Ugh.

  It’s a long day. We don’t get a chance to talk about the Eastmark Conference. I see Ally twice. Once, when she brings me a sandwich and soup for lunch and then again when I let her know to get the cab home alone. I work until 8:30.

  I’m getting ready to go, figuring I’ll try to catch a bus, when I see Austin Carmichael in his father’s office. I walk by, waving. They look like they’re in a heated argument. They both stop and wave at me.

  At least Mr. C saw that I stayed late after the day’s mishap.

  ***

  It took two buses to get home, but I did it. I navigated my way around San Diego and I’m proud of myself. I’ve gotten looks at my coffee-stained boob everywhere I’ve gone, and I can’t wait to get back to the apartment and take a long, hot soak.

  But, when I open the door, I’m greeted with an auburn-haired beauty in the kitchen, wearing a men’s white dress shirt, unbuttoned, showing off a black lacy bra and matching lacy panties. She’s also got on a pair of high stilettos. She’s mixing a drink when she coyly turns to look at me. Her expression instantly changes. I’m obviously not who she expected. She’s here for him. Nearly naked.

  I freeze at the door.

  She tilts her head at me.

  “Who are you?” she asks. No. She demands, actually. She’s beautiful with her long curtain of bone-straight auburn hair and bright green eyes, but she also has that look about her, that evil wicked witch look.

  “Uh, I’m Carly.” I give her a lame little wave and shut the door.

  Me, with my coffee-stained blouse, no make-up, eyeglasses on, and feeling absolutely inferior and dumpy-looking after the dragged-through-the-dirt day I had.

  Her mouth goes tight. “Aiden’s living with someone?”

  “I work for Carmichael. I’m in the spare room,” I point toward the hall. “Excuse me.” I close the door and go right to my room, red-faced.

  I shut the door and drop my bag and then throw myself onto my bed.

  What a day. What a fucking day.

  I take off my high heels and massage my feet. They are killing me. One of Aiden’s foot massages would be in order about now.

  Hah. I’m so ridiculous it isn’t even funny. In fact, it’s the opposite of funny. I’ve felt like I’m on the verge of tears all day.

  I turn the TV on and change into pink satin pajamas. Forget the bath. Forget dinner. I’m going to veg in front of the TV and probably last ten minutes until I fall asleep. I’d already told the girls we’d do dinner tomorrow night at the steakhouse instead. I had my fill of fruit and granolas and the lunch Ally bought me, so I’m not even hungry at this point.

  My phone rings. Do I even wanna look?

  Mom.

  Oh. Oh.

  Just seeing her name makes my chin wobbly.

  I answer. “Hi Mom.”

  “Carly. So good to hear your voice!”

  I start to cry. “M-mom?”

  “Oh no. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s all screwed-up.”

  Twenty-five minutes later, I’m off the phone after getting a Mom-style pep talk, which actually helped. I spewed all of it through the phone like word vomit. She now knows all of what I’ve been through that brought me here. She knew about Jon, but didn’t know all the Cait details. And now she knows about Steph. She, too, is fed up with the Caitlin stuff, but has no news on that front. She admits that she gave Jon my San Diego number because he sounded so sincere in his desire to talk to me to “work things out”. I told her he had a date with the office skank the day he broke up with me and now is hinting that he wants me back.

  She talked me into a calmer state, which she’s great at doing.

  “You’ll prove yourself at work. They promoted you for a reason. They know you’re new.”

  She’s right.

  “Let Jon plead his case and then tell him you’re not giving him a second chance. He’ll get the message. Right now, he probably thinks you’re just making him prove he’ll work for it. He probably thinks groveling will help. It’s up to you to set him straight.”

  She’s right there, too. He might stop calling if I tell him to stop calling.

  As for Stephanie, Mom is angry with her, too and I know this because she goes quiet on that subject. She’s been a mother figure to Steph for years. Steph didn’t have a Mom.

  I let her go when I heard shouting from the other room.

  “Gotta go, Mom. Love you.”

  “Love you, sweetie. Call me on the weekend. You’re gonna be fine.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Give my love to Dad. Bye.”

  Now that I’
m off the phone, I walk to my door and strain to listen, but the shouting has stopped.

  I need to pee. I listen at my door for a minute and hearing nothing, decide to creep out of my room quietly. But I see, from the corner of my eye into the living area. He’s sitting there at the bar, still in his suit, with his forearms resting on his knees and his head down. She’s standing next to him, now dressed in regular clothes. Designer dress, actually. And her hand goes to his cheek. He shrugs her off and she looks wounded. She spots me. I rush across the hall into the bathroom.

  I stay in there way longer than I need to, hoping to avoid another sighting of them. And then, thinking they may be waiting for me to come out so that I don’t interrupt them again, I try to zip back into the bedroom. Thankfully, the pocket doors are closed when I come out, so I can slip back into my room without invading privacy.

  16

  AIDEN

  Coming home and finding Sienna Greer in my apartment does not thrill me. Not remotely. Coming home to her dressed in my shirt thrills me even less. Because she’s not only standing there dressed like that, but she’s demanding answers about my roommate.

  I’ve been purposely suggestive about Carly. And Sienna doesn’t like it one bit.

  It was one thing, seeing her in my parent’s house when I was already in a mode of defense, but here? Walking into my apartment, expecting peace and quiet, or at the worst, some amusing tête-à-tête with my cute roommate… I was in no way prepared for this. I fuckin’ hate being caught off guard.

  “Get your fuckin’ clothes back on.” I’ve already demanded to know how she got in. She’s already demanded to know who the girl that lives here is.

  “We need to talk,” she tries.

  “Change.”

  “Aiden, come on…” she’s flushed red, embarrassed. Did she really think this would work? She used to put my shirts on after I fucked her. She knew how much I got off on that. Doing it now, though, after everything? Fucking man-eating bitch.

  “I’ll repeat. What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “I…” she doesn’t finish.

  “It’s obvious you’re here to ride my cock, Sienna, but it isn’t happening. So, forget thinkin’ you can ask me about my roommate, about anything. I owe you nothing and you’ll get even less. Gimme the key to the apartment, change out of my shirt, and be on your way.”