Alphahole (Alphahole Roommates 1)

“I… when was it sent?”

“Yesterday, 8:32, by me.”

“AM?” I ask.

He looks at me like I’m a dummy. “Wouldn’t have expected you to have read it by now if it’d been PM, Miss Adler.”

Mr. C’s pocket starts ringing, so he lifts out and glances at his smartphone. “Be right back. I have to take this.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to go to Eastmark. Nothing was said,” I defend.

“You’re the new online marketing strategist,” Aiden says. “Of course you’re going. Check your email again. You’re on here.” He gestures to his screen.

“Okay,” I say quietly.

He’s being all business. He’s being so all business that it’s like he’s never been anything but professional. Which is not true.

“Did you get my emails about the ads they’re running at Franklin?”

“Uh, I’ve never had an email from you, ever. Maybe you’re defaulting to my spam folder.”

“Spam from an internal email? Not likely. Go get your coffee, get the cobwebs out and figure out your email and then we’ll meet at 11 o’clock to talk about it,” he mutters the last bit like I’m wasting his time with my incompetence.

“Will do.” I rise and red-faced, head out of his office to my desk.

Not my fault if my computer thinks stuff from him is garbage.

I’m new here, for fuck sakes. But, he’s right. Spam from an internal email address?

God, I need coffee. And to go back and not drink seven glasses of wine last night.

I get to my desk and take a big sip of my coffee, and Mr. C is suddenly in my cubicle behind me.

I choke on my coffee.

“How’s everything?” he asks. He looks concerned.

I grab a tissue and wipe my mouth. Darn. I’ve got a coffee stain down the front of my shirt now.

“Good. Thanks. Just a little out of sorts this morning, sorry.” I dab uselessly at my blouse.

He waves a hand. “You’re fine. I just… I need you to check your emails, Carly. I sent you a few as well and I haven’t heard back from you.”

I click into my email and my inbox is empty. He’s over my shoulder.

I click to expand the folders and see a hidden spam folder. I click it and there are 68 unread emails, dating back to Monday.

Oh shit.

“Oh shit,” I say without even thinking.

He sees over my shoulder and gives my shoulder a friendly squeeze.

“Ah, that explains it. I’ll let you get through all that, then. Tip for you? Make sure you see the folder. Then if there are unread messages, it’ll be bold and stand out, so it’ll prompt you to have a peek. I skim my Spam folder once a day just in case.”

My eyes are wide.

Oh shit.