An Excerpt from Wulf (book #1 of the Chosen)
In this scene, Luc Saint-Cyr is working at his desk when his assistant interrupts him.
"Excuse me, sir."
His concentration broken for the fifth time in as many minutes, Luc Saint-Cyr tossed aside his reading and leaned back in his desk chair. "Now what?"
The sixth person he'd hired this month to replace his former assistant stepped all the way inside, shut the door quietly, and approached his desk.
"I'm very sorry, sir. I know you didn't want to be disturbed for the next hour, but--"
He held up a hand to stop further apology. "What is it, Ms. Mead?"
"The gentleman on the holophone says it's urgent."
"They all say that."
"Sir, I know that. I'm a professional, but this --"
"Never mind." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Who is it and what's so urgent?"
"All he would say was that his name was Wulf Gabriel and that--"
"What!" Luc shot to his feet, making the woman gasp, and sending his chair flying backward into the credenza. Books on its top tumbled to the floor. "Why didn't you say so?" He made shooing motions at the startled woman. "Put him through immediately."
Eyeing him as if he were some wild animal, Ms. Mead edged out the door and snapped it shut behind her.
Once alone, Luc opened a desk drawer and swept everything on his desk into it. He stepped one foot into the adjoining bathroom, grabbed a brush, and dragged it through his short hair. A quick feel of his chin told him he didn't need a shave yet.
He slipped back into his office, seated himself at the desk, and waited for the image to glow into existence. Luc saw the young man's face every day on Imperinet. Wulf was on half the dentist ads in the Empire, and most clothing commercials.
Luc envisioned the classic beauty of Wulf's face, the strength of his jaw, the warm whiskey brown of his eyes. On his dresser at home was a picture of himself with Wulf and his parents, taken days before Thomas Gabriel's death. Before all their lives had unraveled. Before he'd--
Focus.
Luc unclenched his fists and flattened his hands on the desk. Still no holo-image. The heap of untidy books on the floor drew his attention, but judging by the angle holopics usually took, Wulf wouldn't see them. How would it appear if the call started and he was on his knees on the floor with his ass in the air? Still... Luc rolled his chair back and pushed them out of sight with his foot.
No image yet.
Luc started to press the button on his desk to call Ms. Mead, but hovered one finger above it. What if she was putting Wulf through and mangled the connection because he'd distracted her?
He folded his hands again, and waited. On the floor by the right front leg of the credenza lay another book. He scooted his chair over and pushed at it with his foot, but it wedged itself between the legs and wouldn't budge.
The indicator on his desk still showed no sign of a call.
He loosened his collar, flicked at a speck of dust on the desk, and folded his hands once more. He rolled his thumbs around each other. He tightened his collar back up. Muttering curses, he got down on the floor and straightened the damned books, dusted himself off and sat back down.
The door opened and Ms. Mead crept far enough inside to shut it behind her. Head down, hands clutched in front of her, she wet her lips.
Luc stood and went around the desk. "You lost him! Don't tell me you lost him!"
"No, sir." Ms. Mead peeked up as he approached. "He told me to forget it. He said he'd changed his mind and it wasn't important."
Wasn't important... Brought up short by those words, Luc went so still the motes of dust in the air came into perfect clarity. As if the universe had suffered as harsh a blow as his heart.
