Page 38 of The Alpha Escort Agency
“Please … Alpha.”
Shit! He drags his hand through his hair. “If it would make you happy, then fine.”
She grins. “It would.” Then she takes his hand once more, cocooning it between both of hers.
???
The next day, he’s developing photos in his darkroom, watching as an image swims into being beneath the liquid, when the phone rings. He cocks his head. It’s the landline. Nobody ever calls the landline these days, he’s been considering getting rid of it.
It’s probably a sales call but the long rings continue and he sighs, pinching the wet paper between the tongs and leaving the picture to dry on the side before sprinting down the stairs and grabbing for the receiver.
“Hello,” he says, ready to slam down the phone if it’s a recorded voice.
“Hello, this is Karen from the agency. Am I speaking to Mr West?”
A cold shiver races down his spine and he straightens up. “Yes, it is … which agency?”
“The Alpha Escort Agency,” the woman says, sounding confused.
Why are they phoning his landline? They always call his mobile or email him. Does this mean they’ve heard? About Alice. And him.
Shit!
He doesn’t recognise the name or the voice. Is it a lawyer?
“I’m afraid there’s been a problem with your last medical check.”
“What?” He shakes his head.
Are they calling him in to sack him? What does she mean?
“It’s nothing to worry about. The swabs were contaminated on the way to the lab and can’t be used. We need you to pop along to the clinic and do another.”
He rubs his knuckles over his forehead. The meaning of the woman’s words still arranging in his mind. “You’re calling about my STD test? There’s something wrong with them?” His mind jumps to Alice. Has he given something to Alice? Sickness swims in his stomach.
“No, no, please don’t worry. Honestly, this is nothing to worry about. There’s just been a technical hitch with the swabs and we need you to do another.”
“Are you sure?” he says, gripping the phone. “This isn’t just a way to get a second confirmation or something.”
“Mr West, no, we wouldn’t do that — it would be highly unethical. Please do not worry. Just come along and redo the test. Anytime next week is fine.”
“OK,” he says, hanging up and crumpling into a chair, his heart beating in his throat and bile burning his throat.
For a moment he thought ... he really thought …
He stares at the phone as if it might start ringing again any second with the news that he’s been found out, that he's fired.
The feeling lingers for the entire day. He jumps skittishly at every noise, peering at the silent phone. Then his eyes automatically travel around his house, over his furniture and belongings. He’s risking everything, all he has. What the fuck is he doing?
Chapter 11
He doesn’t send her the photos straight away, so in between refining the pitch proposal, pulling together the powerpoint slides and practising the presentation with her team, she badgers him until finally he does. Three photos. She knows they are good. They have a wistfulness to them, almost a sorcery.
She attaches them to an email and sends them to the gallery owner, Hugo.
He doesn’t reply straight away either, and she starts to doubt herself and her eye. Maybe they aren’t as good as she thought.
But before heading to bed late on Friday night, she finds a response from Hugo waiting for her in her inbox. Eagerly she opens it, cursing the way her phone seems to falter in the evening.
