Find Me Alastar

by T L Swan

  “Hello.” I smile to the kids as I climb into the high vehicle.

  “Hi,” the boy answers while the girl just grunts. I glance at Brelly and she smiles broadly, grabbing my hand. “I’m missing you.”

  “Me, too.” I turn in my seat to face the kids. Willow rolls her eyes and looks out the window.

  This girl is just as she described: a moody little witch. I can’t remember being that age but Mum says I was woeful. We arrive at soccer and Willow grabs her stuff and runs across the fields to her game. Samuel retrieves his soccer ball and disappears to the opposite end to kick his ball around.

  “Spill,” Brielle says, deadpan, as she slams the car trunk closed. Of course I text and told her the minute Mr. Twinkle left the office earlier today.

  I shake my head because I can hardly believe it myself. “He turned up at work today and asked for my number.”

  She frowns and puts her hands on her hips. “What?” she replies before she gestures to the café to buy coffee.

  I nod as we start walking. “It’s true.”

  She smiles broadly and bites her bottom lip. “It was your first frigging day on the job. How did he know where you work?”

  “He didn’t, it was a coincidence. He’s a bloody artist,” I snap.

  She shakes her head. “Jeez, what are the chances?”

  I smile stupidly. Truth be told, I was excited beyond belief when I saw him there.

  She holds both of her hands up. “Okay. I’m lost. Last time you saw him he ignored you.”

  I glare at her, not saying anything in response.

  “Oh no, sorry. I forgot. That’s right he kissed you on the street without saying a word.” I smirk. “This is true.”

  “Right before he walked off...”

  I nod. “Also true.”

  She frowns. “And you like this guy? I thought you said he was an arrogant dick?”

  I shrug as we arrive at the cafeteria and stand at the back of the line. “Maybe I was wrong? Today I saw a weird, hot vulnerability in him.”

  She raises her eyebrows as she listens.

  “When he looks to the right, one of his eyes is different. It’s a bit of a turn on, to be honest.” She frowns again. “What’s wrong with his eye?”

  I shake my head annoyed at her eye questions. “It’s slightly turned. I didn’t notice it at first.”

  She pulls a disgusted face. “Somebody probably poked it out with a pencil.”

  I look at her, stoney faced. “Are you finished? This isn’t funny.”

  She smiles. I check my phone for the tenth time. “He hasn’t called, though,” I whisper as we move to the front of the line.

  She rolls her eyes. “Give it time.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What’s going on with Mark?” she asks.

  “He’s...” I hesitate as I try to articulate my words.

  “Two lattes, please,” she asks the server behind the till. “He’s what?” She smirks.

  The coffee lady is listening, so we choose to wait in silence for our coffees, then head back to the car. “He’s not really my type, I don’t think,” I mumble as I climb into the Venga bus.

  “Why not?”

  I throw my head back into the headrest and slam the car door. “I don’t know. There is definitely no lightning striking me.” I think for a moment. “But I have to tell you, I have been having the weirdest of dreams.”

  She looks over at me. “What kind of dreams?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know, a young girl with dark hair. She’s, like, in old fashioned times.”

  She screws up her face deep in thought and we both watch the kids kick the ball in front of the car. “Hey, maybe you are going to be an author?” I smirk as my eyes flicker back to her face. “Why do you say that?”

  “Apparently authors do this weird thing where the characters just come to them and wont leave until they tell their story.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Maybe you are going to be an author and your first subject has long brown hair.” She widens her eyes in excitement and I laugh out loud.

  “That could be cool, actually,” I whisper.

  “Write down what you dream about. You never know? There could be a novel in there somewhere.”

  I smile and lean my head back against the headrest as I think. Yeah, I might just do that. You never know until you try, I suppose. I have always loved writing. Hmm, maybe London is having an artistic effect on me?

  “Oh, look there’s Julian.” She jumps out of the car and waves to her boss as she walks towards him. He smiles as he approaches her and they talk for a moment. She laughs freely and pulls her hand through her hair. He seems to study her face as he talks. I narrow my eyes as I watch them. Oh my God, are you kidding me? They are flirting. I sit, stunned as I watch them, until finally she turns and comes back to the car, but my eyes stay on Julian, and as she walks away his eyes drop to her behind.

  Oh. My. God. He’s checking her out. She bounces into the car, all effervescent and dreamy until my horrified eyes meet hers.

  “What?”

  “Are you for real?” I snap.

  “What?”

  “He’s forty-something.”

  “He’s thirty- eight.”

  “You like him?” I can’t hide my mortification.

  “No!” she snaps.

  “Well, he definitely likes you.”

  “He does not.”

  “He was checking your ass out as you walked away.”

  “Really?” She smiles excitedly.

  “Oh my God, this is a disaster. I bought you here to get away from that dickhead and now you’re falling for old men.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “I’m not falling for anyone, and you have bigger worries on your plate with your boss, that artist, and the fact that they know each other to be worrying yourself about me.”

  “Uch. I’m becoming a nun.”

  She smiles. “You won’t become a nun. You love sex too much.”

  I blow out a deep breath. “Not that I would remember.”

  She smirks. “So, London is making you artistic and me as horny as hell.”

  “This is a nightmare.” I shake my head. “If you sleep with your boss, I’m going to kill you.”

  She smirks. “I’m not going to sleep with him, but you do have to admit he’s kind of hot.”

  My eyes find him out on the field and I smile. “I suppose he is… in a rich, old man kind of way.”

  * * *

  I have been summoned to Mark’s Office and I am dreading it like the plague. I have worked with him for three days now, and here it is, Wednesday afternoon, and I don’t even want to talk to him at work, let alone socialize with him after hours. His eyes are lingering on me longer than they should and I know he has more on his mind than friends. I have to tell him it’s a no go, but how?

  This is why you don’t fuck with bosses, Emerson, you stupid idiot. I didn’t think this through at all.

  I walk up to his office door. Knock, knock.

  “Yes!” he calls seductively.

  I walk in and stand silently next to his desk. “Take a seat,” he orders as he looks at some spreadsheets.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and drop into the seat.

  “How have you been going with the good news stories?” he asks.

  “Um, okay. I really only started it today.”

  His eyes shoot up. “Why are you only starting now?”

  “I had other things I had to get finished before I started on this,” I murmur nervously. “Filing and stuff.”

  “Could you get on with it today, please?” he asks with a sexy smile.

  “Yes.” I drop my head in shame. I feel bad for what I am feeling, or lack of the way I’m feeling, and the only way to make this up to him is if I do the best work I can possibly do on this project. I want to be friends with Mark. He’s a descent guy who really does deserve a chance. That’s it. I’m making a conscious decision to not think about tha
t street kisser and those beautiful lips. My heart drops at the thought, though. Gosh, those lips. I wish they were on me now. Stop it, you stupid woman! I stand with renewed purpose and head back to my desk. The job that I have been assigned to do is to create a good news story folder for future reference. I have to contact past clients and interview them about our service. It sounds easy enough, however, I am not so sure how it will go or if I will be able to do it. I open the folder of names and contact details and I go to the first name on the list.

  Bartholomew Anslow. Jeez, he sounds like a stuffy old sod. I look up his details and dial the number.

  “Hello,” a posh voice answers, sounding just as I imagined.

  “Hello, Mr. Anslow? This is Emerson Mathews and I work for Chesters Auction House. I understand you purchased some art from us eighteen months ago.

  “Ahh.” He thinks. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

  I quickly scroll through his file with my finger. Three pieces. “Our records show that you purchased three paintings, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent. We are just doing a service follow up to see how the artwork is going and to ask if you were happy with the company’s service.”

  “Yes,” he replies in a toffee voice. “Excellent service.”

  I smile in relief. I can imagine I’m going to come across real whiners doing this.

  “I see that you bought the two paintings and the sculpture?”

  “That’s right.” “I was wondering if it would be okay if we came out to do a small interview with you and take some photos of the art.”

  He hesitates. “What for?”

  Oh shit, I’m losing him. “We are putting together a book of our happy clients and I thought you may be interested in participating.” I screw up my face. Shit, please say yes. I need to get this stuff right for Mark.

  He stays silent as he thinks. “You can come out and take the photos, although I only have two of the pieces now.”

  “Oh, you sold one?” I ask.

  “No. One of the paintings was stolen from my house three nights after I brought it home.”

  “Oh no, how terrible,” I gasp. “Which one?”

  “It was called…” He thinks. “It was titled My Love. It was an oil painting of a woman.” I scribble the name down into my diary. “I’m sorry to hear that got taken from you., Are you sure it’s alright if I arrange a photographer to come and see the other two pieces.” “Of course.”

  I smile gratefully. “I will come, too, if that’s okay? It would be lovely to meet you in person.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  “Bye, Mr. Anslow.”

  “Goodbye Dear.”

  I hang the phone up excitedly. That wasn’t too hard. I think I can do this job. I write down his notes and fill out a job card for the photographer and move onto the next customer on my list.

  * * *

  I frown at the notepad on my desk as I add the sixteenth name to the stolen art piece list. What the hell is going on? It’s Thursday, I have been ringing clients all day, and I have noticed a disturbing trend. Sixteen of our clients have had artwork stolen from their homes in the first week after the auction. Sixteen of those drawings and paintings were of naked women, all ranging from last century back to several centuries prior to that. Sixteen of those people all had their homes broken into and reported it to the police, yet none of them reported it back to us? What does this mean? I tap my pen on my desk as I think. Should I take this to management? My eyes flick around at the people busy working around me. Are any of them criminals, scamming people and stealing the art back just to resell it and make more money? My eyes widen. What if management is doing this? Is this an inside job?

  I pack my folder of clients up and turn off my computer. I will think on it over the weekend. I’m really not sure what to make of this, and the fact that I haven’t even been here for a week yet may make me look like a drama queen if I bring it up this early.

  For once, I am going to really think this one through before I jump to conclusions.

  Alastar.

  My eyes scan the travel catalogues as I sip my beer. We are at the pub and it’s a normal, noisy Friday night.

  Thomas, my brother, is trying to convince me to go to Canada and the US for an extended holiday. He points to the highway on the map. “And then we could finish in Vegas,” he murmurs around his burger.

  “Hmm.” I sigh, not convinced that running away is the answer.

  He looks at me without expression. “You have done what you said you were going to do.” I nod as my eyes drop to the floor.

  “Now let’s leave before you do something you know you’ll regret.”

  “I’ve got two more paintings to get.”

  He rolls his eyes in disgust. “Fuck the paintings. It isn’t worth it, Star. What if you get caught?”

  I glare at him. “It isn’t worth it to you. It is important to me.”

  He shakes his head. “You didn’t get the ring. We need to get out of here and you damn well know it. You are going to fuck up this whole plan.”

  My elbows rest on the table and I rub my face in my hands. I retrieve the brochure and flick through it again. Maybe he’s right.

  “Who is paying for this trip?” I sigh.

  “You, of course.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Where am I going to get that type of money?” He smirks. “This is why I have a rich brother.”

  I scratch my head as I run through my schedule in my mind. “I have two covers to shoot over the next three weeks, then we can go.”

  He smiles and winks cheekily as he throws a chip into his mouth. “We are going to have fun, man.”

  I retrieve my wallet and slide one of my credit cards across the table to him. “You book it.” I sigh. “Surprise me.”

  He takes the card and smiles like the cat that got the cream. “How long do you want to go for?”

  “Just buy one way tickets. I need to get out of here and stay out.”

  “Yes.” He laughs and drains his beer. “Now we’re talking.”

  “I’m going to head off.” I stand and throw some money onto the table for our dinner.

  “What are your plans for the weekend?” he asks.

  I shrug as I yawn. “Nothing much. Working.”

  “You want to go out tomorrow night?”

  “Maybe. I will call you tomorrow.” I walk through the noisy pub toward the door. The music has just started playing and the crowd noise has just increased another notch.

  “Star!” I hear a man yell.

  I turn and see Mark White. Oh, God, shit. I can’t be rude, so I walk over to the table. He’s sitting with a large group of people I have seen in his office and my eyes immediately scan everyone to find her.

  She’s not here.

  Fuck.

  “Hello.” I smile.

  “How are you?” he yells. “Come join us.”

  I glance up just as Emmaline is returning from the bar with her drink. She sees me and stops dead in her tracks.

  It’s there again—that chemistry that I cannot deny.

  My eyes stay fixed on her. She’s wearing tight blue jeans and a crisp white shirt. Her thick honey hair is down and loose over her shoulders. She smiles, and when she does everyone else in the room disappears while she holds my gaze and returns to her seat.

  “Will you?” asks Mark.

  Huh? My fall back to the annoying imbecile in front of me: her boyfriend. How the fuck did he get her? I didn’t hear what he said. “I’m just on my way out.” My eyes find her again and she smiles in acknowledgement. I nod in return.

  Fuck, she’s hot.

  Stop it.

  “Goodbye. Nice to see you all.” I give them a wave and push past the table in a rush. Fucking hell, why did I have to run into them here? I push the heavy doors open to find it’s raining.

  Shit.

  I go back and stand next to the door in the darkness against the wall, deciding to wait
until the worst of the storm passes.

  The front doors open in a rush and I see her running out onto the curb, looking up the street one way and then down the other. Her eyes search the darkness and I know she’s looking for me.

  She blows out a frustrated breath and puts her hands on top of her head. “Shit,” she groans.

  She turns to go back inside and spots me up against the wall and stops.

  I smirk. “Looking for something?”

  She smiles. “You, actually.”

  The electricity crackles between us. I’ve never felt an attraction like this before. It’s unsettling.

  I raise a brow. “Oh, yeah? Why?”

  She swallows and frowns as she gathers her thoughts and steps towards me. “I just...” She hesitates.

  I hold my breath as I wait for her.

  “You didn’t…?” she whispers nervously.

  “I didn’t what?” I breathe.

  She rings her hands in front of her nervously. “You didn’t call me.”

  “You noticed?”

  She nods as her eyes search mine.

  Please don’t look at me like that.

  “I didn’t have a customer relation emergency,” I reply.

  Her face falls. “Oh.” She bites her bottom lip as she thinks. “I thought that was code for you wanting my phone number.”

  “It was,” I breathe before I can stop myself.

  Shut up and go home, I remind myself.

  End this now.

  “I have to apologize.”

  She frowns. “What for?”

  I narrow my eyes as I force the words from my lips. “I shouldn’t have kissed you last week.”

  She frowns as her eyes search mine again. “Oh.”

  We stand in silence; the tinge of regret hangs heavily between us.

  “I’ve been thinking.” She fumbles around with her hand. “If you wanted the ring for your mother, maybe I shouldn’t have taken it from you, and I shouldn’t have made fun of your name. It wasn’t very nice of me.”