GABRIEL #7
He shuts the window, and they drive off.
I’m suddenly left alone in the parking lot.
What the fuck?
Clenching my jaw, I grab my suitcases and head toward the building lobby, feeling a stab of stress in my stomach.
Since it’s basically an office skyscraper, personally owned by Blue, with offices rented out to different companies, the lobby is packed with people.
I stand there for a moment, looking around like an idiot while trying to swallow my shyness, until I spot a line on the left side.
After a few minutes, I finally make it to the lobby reception desk.
In a slightly uncertain voice, I tell the omega working there that I’ve come to see Mr. Blue Lowen.
The guy looks at me like I’m crazy, then says, "I’m sorry, but we don’t schedule meetings with Mr. Lowen. You need to contact Malden Pharmaceuticals headquarters and set up an appointment, but from what I know, the wait time is at least six months."
I grit my teeth, then suddenly remember the business card Blue left me with his assistant’s contact details.
Why the hell didn’t I think of that right away?
I dig it out of one of my suitcases and dial Simon Durst’s number.
He picks up almost immediately.
I clear my throat. "Good morning, this is Gabriel Nolan, I…"
"Oh, right, yes! We’re in a meeting, but I’ll come down to get you now. Wait by the elevator marked B-2." A slightly high-pitched voice comes through the phone.
A moment later I’m standing by the elevator he mentioned, watching the numbers drop from floor eighty-two.
Damn. That’s going to take a while.
But the elevator doesn’t stop even once on the way down.
Maybe it really is Mr. Lowen’s private elevator.
That would make sense, because when it finally opens, a very slight, slim beta steps out, wearing large glasses and a neat bob haircut.
He looks to be around thirty, dressed in a brown suit, and he seems a little nervous, so we kind of match in energy.
"I’m Simon Durst, Mr. Lowen’s executive assistant."
"Gabriel Nolan." I reach out and shake his thin, flimsy hand.
Unexpectedly, Simon hands me a thin black mesh mask, one of those that doesn’t really make breathing harder or protect against infections, but does make it difficult to recognize the person wearing it.
I’ve seen them a few times on bodyguards around VIPs.
"Please put this on. And you’re not Nolan. Your official last name is Lowen."
"Excuse me?"
He raises his eyebrows. "The contract you signed? Did you even read it? You take Mr. Lowen’s name."
I stare at him, completely thrown off.
I skimmed through the contract, but that detail must’ve slipped past me.
"It’s for your safety, to be fair. It’s better not to use your family name here," Simon adds vaguely, then turns and presses the elevator button.
"Now come with me. Mr. Lowen is still in a meeting, but it should be over in about fifteen minutes."
We step into the elevator and ride up. I’m still slightly dazed. Simon glances at me discreetly while I put on the mask and check my reflection in the mirror, but he doesn’t say anything. We ride in silence, and I’m not exactly in the mood to talk either.
So I’m a Lowen now? Fuck.
That’s… I can’t even wrap my head around it.
We step out at the top and walk down a corridor.
I quickly realize this entire floor belongs to Malden Pharmaceuticals.
There’s no doubt about it; their massive logo stretches across one of the walls.
Offices and conference rooms line the entire hallway.
From what I can tell, this is probably just a small administrative division of the company, located inside the skyscraper owned by Blue.
Based on what I’ve read, Blue owns several mansions, but one of them is on the roof of this building, a luxury penthouse with heavy security, a pool, and a rooftop garden.
There’s even a helipad. Apparently, Blue works literally two floors below his home.
I immediately know which conference room he’s in. It’s the one guarded by two bodyguards standing outside.
I vaguely recognize them from the fair, since they were wearing the same black mesh masks as me now. To be fair, you can kind of see through them; when you get close enough, you can make out a person’s general expression, but they definitely make recognition much harder.
Simon approaches them and says,
"Hector, Ruben, this is Gabriel, the new bodyguard. I think you've met already."
What stands out is that Simon doesn’t use our surnames; apparently, everything is confidential for security reasons.
They shake my hand. Under the masks, I can make out expressions that seem cold and guarded.
Simon turns to me. "When Mr. Lowen is inside the building, he’s usually accompanied by two bodyguards. When he leaves the building, it’s four, but right now Rolf and Lionel are in the security office."
"Security office?"
"Yes." Simon gestures toward a glass door at the end of the hallway. "That’s what we call the security control room."
"Okay," I mutter.
Hector and Ruben watch me without moving a muscle.
"What about my suitcases?"
"Oh, right. For now, you can leave them in Mr. Lowen’s office. Come with me. There’ll be time to take them up to the penthouse later."
With the silent stares of both bodyguards on my back, I follow Simon.
There’s no direct entrance to the office, so we first pass through a room where four more people are sitting. I assume they’re additional assistants. Simon introduces me, but I barely register their names because I can feel the tension building in my chest.
I only catch typical corporate job titles like Assistant to the Executive Assistant, Junior Executive Assistant, Administrative Assistant, and Office Assistant. Looks like Mr. Lowen has an entire fucking army of assistants.
Then we enter the office, and it looks exactly like I imagined. Huge, minimalist, but elegant. A mix of white, black, metal, and wood. The whole space feels stripped down, as if everything unnecessary has been removed.
Black couches sit against one wall, while a massive half-ellipse desk dominates the center, its black surface completely empty. Behind it, tall cabinets blend into the wall, and a large mounted screen hangs dark and inactive, reflecting faint shapes from the room.
Soft lighting runs along the edges of the ceiling, highlighting the geometric structure of the office. The floor is smooth and spotless, probably stone. The panoramic window stretches across the far wall, revealing the city below, distant and reduced to a gray blur.
I set my suitcases down next to the couches and turn around, meeting Simon’s gaze.
"Mr. Lowen will be done in about," he checks his phone, "seven minutes. Would you like to wait here or right outside the conference room?"
The idea of standing next to those bodyguards doesn’t appeal to me at all.
"I can wait here," I say. I’m not exactly eager to make awkward small talk with them. That’s really not part of my nerdy personality.
"Of course. Please wait here then. Dimitri is right outside if you need anything. He’s Mr. Lowen’s Junior Executive Assistant," Simon adds with a peculiar smile, as if he knows I didn’t catch the names before. "I’ll head back to the meeting for now. I had to step out for a moment."
He leaves, closing the door behind him.
I’m alone in the office.
I walk over to the desk where Blue probably works. It looks empty, but that’s just an illusion. There’s a thin seam running along the surface, probably where a laptop slides out from underneath.
The chair is very comfortable, a typical executive seat. I imagine Blue practically disappearing in it with his small frame.
Then I walk to the window and look out over the city.
My gaze drifts across the neighboring skyscrapers, the DevApp building being the closest one, and a bit farther away, Ferro Development, owned by Ennio Ferro.
Then my eyes settle on the ocean visible about a mile away.
Its deep blue surface catches my attention for a moment, and without really knowing why, I start thinking about Marcel’s eyes.
They always reminded me of the sky over the ocean… hiding some secrets, and then my thoughts cut off. What were they hiding? Nothing good, that’s for sure.
I squeeze my own eyes shut, pushing away thoughts of Marcel, suppressing the hunger he used to stir in me. I was in love with him for a year and a half, and now what do I feel? Pain and bitterness. Mostly anger. Yeah, definitely a lot of anger.
The door opens behind me. Simon steps in, holding it open for Blue Lowen, who walks in with a transparent tablet in his hand.
I catch a fragment of their conversation.
"Fine, set them for tomorrow at 10:30. And cancel the meeting with Mr. Carson. The matter is already taken care of."
"Of course, I’ll do it right away," Simon replies before closing the door behind him.
Blue walks straight to his desk, completely ignoring my very obvious presence by the window.
He sets the tablet down and presses something on the side of the desk. A thin laptop with a transparent screen slides out. He sits down and starts typing an email, still ignoring me completely.
What an asshole.
And he’s my new boss.
I turn back toward the window, focusing on the city again while irritation slowly creeps in.
The room is now filled with Blue’s scent, detergent from his dark gray, perfectly tailored suit, and I can even pick up his shampoo, something cool and minty with a hint of eucalyptus.
My sense of smell as an alpha is sharp enough to catch every nuance. I can even detect the leather of his shoes and the faint trace of tea he must have been drinking.
Slowly, I turn just enough to watch him while he types.
His slender fingers move over the keyboard, fast and smooth, almost effortless.
Words flow without pauses, corrections, or backtracking.
It surprises me that he doesn’t dictate his emails.
Who even writes them manually anymore? Most people don’t bother, but clearly Blue is different.