Find Me Alastar

He walks over and smiles warmly. “Brielle?”

She smiles nervously. “Yes, that’s me.”

He holds out his hand to shake hers. “Julian Masters.”

Oh. I bite my lip to stifle my smile as I watch the color drain from my dear friend’s face. Julian is a

man, not a woman as we thought.

Brielle’s saucer size eyes meet mine in shock. Oh my God. I want to burst out laughing. Her face is

priceless.

He raises his eyebrows impatiently.

“Um, so, yeah, I’m Brielle.” Her eyes flick nervously to me. “And this is my friend I am here with,

Emerson Mathews.”

He nods warmly and shakes my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Hello,” I squeak.

“I thought you were a woman,” Brielle breathes.

His brow furrows. “No, last time I checked I was all man,” he grumbles, unimpressed.

I swallow the lump in my throat. Awkward.

Brielle fakes a smile and I drop my head to hide my face.

“We will have to wait about fifteen minutes for your baggage, I’m afraid.” He gestures to the carousel

in the corner. He then paces off in front and Brielle punches me hard on the arm. “Oh my fuck,” she

whispers. “He’s a fucking man.” I giggle with my hand over my mouth like a child as we follow him

marching through the crowd.

“I can see that,” I whisper.

“Excuse me, Mr. Masters?” she calls.

He turns around. “Yes.”Content bel0ngs to Nôvel(D)r/a/ma.Org.

We both wither under his glare. “We are just going to use the bathroom,” Brielle tells him nervously.

He nods one curt nod and gestures to the right. We look up and thankfully see the neon sign.

Brielle grabs my arm and drags me into the bathroom. “I’m not working with a stuffy old man!” she

shrieks as we burst through the door.

I shake my head. “It will be okay. How did this happen?”

She takes out her phone to check the email again and I duck into a cubicle. I really am busting.

“It says woman,” she cries through the door. “I knew it said woman.”

I frown as I sit down. “He’s not that old,” I call out. “I would prefer to work for a man than a woman,

actually.” Damn it, I need to calm her or she will get on the first plane back.

“You know what, Emerson? This is a shit idea! How in the hell did you talk me into this?” she shrieks

through the door.

I smile sympathetically as I exit the cubicle and wash my hands. “It doesn’t matter, you will hardly see

him anyway, and you’re off weekends when he’s at home.” I need to diffuse this. “Stop the carry on.”

Steam practically shoots from her ears. “I’m going to kill you. I’m going to fucking kill you.”

I know I shouldn’t, but I want to laugh. This is frigging hilarious. “Listen, just stay with him until we

find something else. I will get my phone sorted tomorrow and we can start looking elsewhere for another

job,” I reassure her.

She puts her head into her hands in dismay.

“At least you got picked up. Nobody cares about me,” I scoff as I stare at my reflection in the mirror

and reapply my lip gloss. “I look like shit. Mark probably saw me and ran a mile,” I reply flatly as I try to

fluff my hair.

She looks up from her hands. “Oh, Em. What are we doing?”

I put my arm around her and we walk out through the door. “It will be okay. I will call you tomorrow

and we will work it out.”

We walk out and take our place next to Brielle’s new boss. My eyes flicker back to Mr. Masters. He’s

about forty, immaculately dressed, and kind of attractive. His hair is dark with a sprinkling of silver. I

swallow nervously as my eyes glance to Brielle who is also summing up her new house companion. “Did

you have a good trip?” Mr. Masters questions as he looks down at Brielle.

“Yes, thanks,” she whispers. “Thank you for picking us up.”