Find Me Alastar

“Just go to level three.” She gestures to the lift. “And when you get there ask for Maureen.”

“Thanks.” I make my way up to level three.

The lift doors open and a girl around my age stands in front of me. “Emerson?” she asks.

“Yes.” Thankfully, I didn’t have to find my way to her.

She smiles warmly. “I’m Maureen.”

“Hello,” I murmur. “I’m nervous,” I blurt out. Oh, damn, why did I say that?

She gestures up the corridor. “This way.” She smiles. “Don’t be nervous.”

I follow her up the hallway and I look around at everyone we pass. Okay, I totally wore the wrong

thing. Everyone here is super cool and trendy, not business like. Shit, I feel my discomfort rise. I continue

to follow her towards the large door at the end of the corridor which opens out into a large space. My

eyes nervously glance around at the busy hive of action. The main room is large and seems to be

partitioned off into four sections and four offices branch off of the main room. Three glass offices and one

with brick walls. She turns to me. “This way.” I smile nervously and follow her as people start to look

our way. Oh, the dreaded new girl interest.

As we walk past the closed office I notice the sign on the door: Mark White. We continue around the

corner where I am shown my desk. It’s in among a group of four others.

“I’m Travis.” A young man stands and shakes my hand.

“H-hello,” I stammer nervously. Travis sits down opposite me and two other women are seated at the

desks next to me. One woman is kinda mumsy and nice looking.

“Hello.” She smiles.

The other woman looks like she crawled out of a music video clip. I fake a smile to hide my dismay at

my daggy attire. She’s wearing a short, black, tight skirt with fishnet stockings, and an off-the-shoulder

leather top. Her hair is styled in a pink crew cut. Hmm. Arty farty to a whole other level, but she looks

hot. “Hello.” I murmur.

“Hello, I’m Dulcie,” she replies as she looks me up and down. Her accent tells me she’s Irish. I feel

my heart flutter at the sound of that accent. Dear, God, I’m obsessed with anyone Irish at the moment,

especially since my street kissing incident. I need to get a grip of this new obsession.

“This is your desk.” She gestures and I fall awkwardly into the seat.

“Thank you.”

“Make yourself a coffee.” She points to the kitchen. “And then I will show you around and give you

the tour.”

I smile nervously. “Okay, thanks.” She walks off and I swing my chair around and turn my computer

on. I just want this first day over with.

Travis must sense my fear and smiles sympathetically. “Come on, let me make you a coffee and show

you the kitchen.”

“Thank you, that would be great.” I stand and follow him down the hall to the kitchen and lunchroom.

“Cutlery. Microwave…” He starts to point at the things in the kitchen before he opens the fridge.

“Fridge. The rule is that if you didn’t bring it don’t ever eat it. It may have been in here for years and you

will definitely die from salmonella.”

“Got it.”

“Except milk. Someone always buys milk. Milk is safe.”

I nod.

“You get an hour for lunch, but if you really want a break you will have to leave this place because the

dickheads in here just come and ask you shit while you’re eating.”

“Oh, okay.”

“And you end up talking work while you shovel. It sucks.”

Travis is already growing on me.

He opens the cutlery drawer. “This is where the cutlery is kept, but I keep my own knife and fork in

my desk draw, and I keep my coffee cup there, too.”

I frown.

He leans in to whisper. “Word is, someone on level two has a catchy STD and all other kinds of

fungal face shit going on.”

My eyes widen. “Oh,” I whisper mortified.

He nods in agreement. “I know. Keep your shit close.”

“Sound advice.”

I will have to remember that. Imagine catching something from a coffee cup.Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

“Any tips?” I ask, hoping he will give me an insight into how to keep my job.

He frowns as he thinks. “Just don’t sleep with any of the artists. Instant dismissal.”

“Oh.”