Chapter 164: Chapter 164: Snacks
The day dragged by more slowly than Elias wanted to admit. Connor had finally been extracted, practically dragged out by the collar by his long-suffering secretary, Mary, leaving behind only a faint echo of noise and perfume. The quiet that followed was almost blissful.
Victor, of course, was unbothered. He worked as if the hours were only there to amuse him, long fingers flicking through contracts on his tablet, murmuring low directives to staff who came and went. Every new arrival gave Elias a quick, curious glance before dutifully focusing on Victor, as if his mate were simply another piece of high-security equipment stationed near the desk.
By early afternoon Elias was running on fumes. Hungry, sleep-deprived, and with eyes blurring from acronyms, he felt less like a mysterious mate flown in to save the company from Victor’s temper and more like a hostage at a conference. His stomach gave an accusing twist. Across the glass partition, in the common office sector where Victor’s employees were working, a vending machine glimmered under the fluorescent lights, stocked with crisps, candy bars, and energy drinks.
Elias set the tablet down with a soft thud and pushed back from the desk. "Bathroom," he muttered, not even sure if Victor heard him. The burgundy-clad man was bent over a contract with two executives, crimson eyes flicking across signatures like a blade. He didn’t so much as glance up.
Perfect.
Elias slipped out through the side door into the open-plan sector, shoulders rolling to ease the stiffness from sitting still too long. The murmur of staff at their workstations followed him, muted voices, clacking keyboards, but no one stopped him. They only watched, curious, as the boss’s rumored mate made a beeline for the vending machine.
He crouched a little to read the rows of snacks, pressing buttons with a kind of grim determination. Chips first. Then a diet coke. Then a chocolate bar for good measure. The machine whirred obediently, spitting each item into the tray at the bottom. Elias gathered his haul, aware of how absurd it looked against his pale, expensive suit and polished leather shoes.
It felt profane to march back into the glossy inner office with junk food like a student sneaking contraband into a library. So instead he veered toward the balcony, a glass-walled terrace dotted with small tables where junior staff usually took their breaks. The air outside was cooler, threaded with city noise and the faint hiss of traffic far below. Elias sank into one of the chairs, setting the coke and the chips on the table in front of him.
He cracked the can open with a soft hiss and took a long pull, eyes closing. "God of spreadsheets," he muttered to himself, tearing open the bag of crisps. "Meet the god of snacks."
For a blissful three minutes no one bothered him. The city noise rose from far below; the breeze tugged at his open collar. He ate slowly, head bowed over the table like a man at prayer, crumbs gathering on a napkin.
Then he heard the footsteps.
After three months confined to the manor, he knew everyone by sound alone; he measured the almost soundless tread of Victor, the heavier pace of Robert, and the lighter tap of Ashwin. This one was unmistakable.
"Ashwin," Elias said without even turning around, still holding a crisp between two fingers. "Take your own snacks. I’m not sharing."
A hand darted over his shoulder and plucked the crisp neatly from his fingers.
"Too late," Ashwin said around a grin, popping it into his mouth. "You left it undefended."
Elias turned in his chair, scowling without heat. "I knew you were trouble the first time you smiled at me."
Ashwin only shrugged, reaching into the bag for another chip as if he owned it. "Occupational hazard. Also, Victor told me to keep an eye on you. Something about making sure you didn’t eat junk before lunch."
Elias narrowed his eyes but didn’t snatch the bag back. "I knew there was a catch."
"There’s more than a catch," Ashwin said, still grinning. "He’s already booked a reservation for the two of you. We have to leave in ten minutes."
Elias tipped his head back, groaning at the ceiling. "Perfect. Kidnapped at dawn, ambushed at noon, dinner at dusk. Anything else on the agenda I should know about?"
Ashwin flicked another chip into his mouth. "Only that you’re late if you don’t get up now."
Elias pushed the bag across the table with a sigh. "You know what? If I have to suffer from his attachment, he can deal with chips in the car." He stood, gathering up his coke and chocolate bar like trophies. "Consider that my protest."
Ashwin grinned, holding the bag hostage. "I’ll make sure he sees the crumbs."
"Good. Maybe it’ll distract him from lecturing me about nutrition," Elias muttered, straightening his jacket and brushing salt from his fingers.
Ashwin rose as well, still chewing. "Come on. He’s wrapping up his last call. We’re all leaving together. Same car."
"Of course we are," Elias said under his breath. "God forbid I sneak off to a cab like a normal person."
Ashwin’s chuckle followed him as they headed back inside. "You’re the only one I’ve ever seen get away with teasing him like this."
"I’m not getting away with it," Elias replied, deadpan. "I’m surviving it. Big difference."
They stepped back through the sliding glass door into the cool hush of the executive floor. Victor’s office door was still shut; the muted sound of his voice drifted through as he wrapped up his last call. Staff moved quietly between workstations, eyes sliding toward Elias and then away again.
Elias adjusted his grip on the coke can, half a chocolate bar balanced on top of it. He caught his reflection in the black marble wall, expensive suit, open collar, junk food in hand, and almost laughed. ’Perfect. Corporate chic with a side of vending machine,’ he thought.
"Elias?"
The voice made him stop. It wasn’t Ashwin, and it wasn’t one of the new faces he’d half-registered this morning. He turned, frowning, and saw a man standing just beyond the reception desk. Dark hair, badge clipped to his pocket, tablet under one arm. For a heartbeat Elias’s brain supplied an older memory: cheap coffee, overworked labs, late-night code reviews.
"Luka?" he asked before he could stop himself.