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 protectagainst 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."
