MEET ME AT MY OFFICE
1419 Words
CHAPTER 9: MEET ME AT MY OFFICE
SOPHIE ANDERSON:
I groaned as I reached for my phone at the nightstand and answered the call.
The number wasn't known.
At first, I didn't want to pick up but what if it was Beth calling me with a new number?
It was barely past 7 a.m., and I’d only managed to fall asleep a few hours ago.
I hesitated as my thumb hovered over the green icon. Then I sighed and swiped to accept.
“Hello?”
The person on the other side didn't respond immediately. Then a deep, husky male voice came through.
“Sophie.”
I blinked. “Who is this?”
“It’s Damien.”
My heart skipped multiple beats.
What the actual hell?
“Okay?”
“I want you to meet me at my office. Today. Before noon.”
I sat up straight. “Are you… okay?”
No answer. Just silence.
“I’ll send the address,” he said. “Don’t be late.”
The line went dead.
Just like that.
I stared at the screen and sighed. He didn’t even bother with a hello or a ‘sorry I ghosted you on our wedding night.’
No apologies.
My fingers trembled slightly as I set the phone down. He didn’t say why. He didn’t explain his absence. He didn’t even say please.
And yet…
I wanted to see him.
If he says I should meet him in his office, that means he wants to see me too, right? Maybe…he was ready to accept this marriage? Or he wanted to introduce me to his staff?
A tiny bit of hope rose in my heart.
But I shook it off.
“Don’t be stupid, Sophie,” I muttered to myself. “He doesn't like you. So just focus on getting out of poverty.”
I got up and headed to the bathroom where I brushed my teeth and washed my face before I headed downstairs. Amelia was in the kitchen making breakfast.
She turned when she heard my footsteps and smiled at me. “Good morning, Sophie. Hope you slept well.”
“Yes I did,”.I lied with a nod. “How about you?”
“My night was excellent, thank you,” she responded as she played with her fingers.
“Good,” I said as I nodded again. “Can I help you with anything?”
“There's no need, I'm almost done. I'm sorry for making breakfast late. I overslept,” Amelia apologized sincerely.
“It's okay. I don't usually eat this early but I have an appointment with my husband and I don't want to be late.”
Amelia glanced at me as if she wanted to say something but chose not to. Within a moment, breakfast was served. I urged her to eat with me. That way, I won’t feel so miserably alone.
We ate in silence and I wished I could pour my heart out to her.
When breakfast was over, I headed back to my room and sat on my couch, scrolling through social media. I decided to check out Damien Sinclair's page on f*******:.
He doesn't have many posts on his page but a girl recently tagged him in a post. Her name is Cynthia and she posted a picture of her and Damien. The photo seemed to be taken in a nightclub or a party and they seemed really intimate.
“Can you boo ever look this hot?” She wrote in her post.
I swallowed a lump of saliva and left his page. I didn't want to see more.
Instead, I chatted with Beth on messenger for a couple of minutes before I headed to the bathroom to wash up.
If I was going to see Damien Sinclair at his workplace, then I had to look my best.
I washed my hair and after drying it up, I curled it into waves.
I slipped into a fitted midnight blue dress that hugged my waist and fell just above my knees. The fabric had a subtle shimmer to it, and paired with a soft gold belt and nude pumps,
I applied light makeup—enough to hide the stress bags under my eyes, with a bold red lip for confidence. I let my wavy hair fall on my shoulders, then slipped on a pair of gold hoop earrings.
When I stood before the mirror, I was satisfied with the way I looked.
“Okay,” I whispered, nodding at my reflection in the mirror. “Let’s go see your mysterious, emotionally unavailable husband.”
I already dumped my rickety car and moved around with a taxi.
Max was one taxi driver I have known for years and he's always one phone call away.
The Sinclair Enterprises building was towering, intimidating, and bustling with activities, unlike its CEO.
I made my way to the front desk where a pretty blonde receptionist chewed her gum with reckless abandon. She looked at me like I’d just walked in naked.
“Hi. I’m here to see Damien Sinclair.”
Her gum popped obnoxiously. “Name?”
“Sophie.”
Her perfectly waxed brows shot up. “Sophie who?”
“Anderson,” I responded, standing straighter.
“Ohhh,” she said as she tilted her head. “Another one, huh?”
My brows furrowed. “Another what?”
She smirked. “Girlfriend. Toy. Flavour of the week. You girls really fall for that tall, dark, and emotionally dead vibe, huh?”
I blinked. “I don't understand you.”
She laughed. “Sure you don't, honey. They all say that.”
I stared at her, speechless.
She crossed her arms. “What? Do you have anything to say to me?”
I shook my head and said nothing.
“Good. You can wait over there.”
I stared at her, stunned. “Could you at least call and tell him I’m here?”
She blew another bubble and popped it. “No I can't do that, sweetheart. Mr. Sinclair doesn’t take unannounced visits. You’ll need an appointment. And you don't have one, do you?”
I felt humiliated , especially as people were watching us. A few employees walking past gave me side-eyes, and someone even snickered.
I opened my bag and quickly pulled out my phone. Thank God he had called me this morning—I still had his number.
I typed fast:
“I’m in your lobby. Your receptionist is giving me a hard time.”
Less than a minute passed before the elevator behind the desk dinged, and a moment later, Damien Sinclair emerged.
All six feet plus of perfection.
A tailored black suit, white shirt, no tie. His dark hair was slicked back, and his silver eyes scanned the lobby like a storm brewing.
He looked devastatingly handsome.
And furious.
“Who spoke to her?” he demanded, his voice low and lethal. “Violet?”
The receptionist paled. “I..I'm sorry sir, I thought she was—”
“You thought she was what,” he snapped. “Is that how you attend to guests?”
My heart clenched. Guest.
He didn’t say wife. Didn't even say I was a friend.
Just… guests.
Still, the way the receptionist’s face drained of color gave me a small sense of petty satisfaction.
“You've been warned,” he said coldly. “Next time, you'll find yourself jobless.”
“Come with me,” Damien said without looking at me.
I followed him without saying a word into the private elevator. As the doors closed, the silence between us was so awkward.
I glanced at him. His jaw was clenched tight and his hands were in his pockets. He didn’t even look at me.
But there was a moment, when I caught him looking at me, just a moment before we stepped into the elevator. And he looked impressed.
Then his expression had shifted back to its usual cold mask.
Or had I imagined it?
The doors slid open on the top floor and before us was a sprawling space with glass walls, minimalist décor, and a view that took your breath away.
I stepped in, expecting him to say something. I don't know, maybe something like this in my office and you feel at home.
But he just walked to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a file.
He handed it to me.
“Go through this. We’ll discuss the contents once you’re done.”
- Writer
