Chapter 56 - Alexander

**ALEXANDER**

The black Porsche rumbled across the Fitzpatrick Designs forecourt and Alexander steered slowly towards his usual parking space. Saturdays were quiet here - no agitated employees, hardly any suppliers and no illegally parked vehicles. It was a day when the building belonged almost entirely to him, with only a few employees on hand to assist the suppliers who were bringing in goods today. He loved this silence. It reminded him of why he was here and why he had started Fitzpatrick Designs in the first place: the freedom to realise his ideas in their purest form, without the noise of everyday life.

His eyes wandered from the gleaming front door of the office wing to the simple workshop on the other side of the site. The familiar machines, the smell of fresh wood and the scent of metal and leather - it was the place where he could really blossom. He was drawn to the place where sketches became tangible works of art. But he paused and ran his finger thoughtfully over the steering wheel. It would be wise to organise and plan the new week; the last few months had been hectic and without a firm plan, the board members would be unlikely to give him the breathing space he so desperately needed. 

With a determined breath, he slipped the key into the inside pocket of his jacket and made his way to his office. Today he would deal with the numbers, the designs, the planning - and then, when everything was in place, he would finally get started.

He walked calmly through the deserted corridors of Fitzpatrick Designs. His footsteps echoed softly on the polished marble floor, and although there was no one else in the building, he felt as if the empty rooms were literally absorbing his presence. In these moments, without the distraction of other voices, he felt completely in his element.

Opening the door to his office, he took a deep breath. The soft, warm light of the morning sun fell through the floor-to-ceiling windows onto the dark wood of his desk. He reached for the remote control on the sideboard by the door and lowered the blinds so he could work in peace later. As nice as the sun was, he didn’t want it reflecting on his screen. Then he walked around his desk and sank into his leather chair. The supple material was comfortable and enveloped him in a sense of well-being even after hours of sitting. As the computer booted up, Alexander pulled the phone towards him. A green light was on, indicating that at least one message was waiting for him - and probably more. He was itching to work on some sketches for Marcus Lancaster’s nursery, but before he got down to it, he hit the play button on his voicemail.

The first message was from one of the board members, whose voice, even in the recording, had a certain edge to it. “Hi Alexander, this is Tom, we are desperately waiting for the new proposal for the spring campaign. The figures for the last quarter are... well, to put it mildly, disappointing. We need something fresh, something that will be a crowd puller again. Prioritise - this is important.”

He winced slightly and made a quick note on his tablet. The requirements were nothing new. He already had ideas, but he found it difficult to come up with a design that could be marketed widely enough to appeal to the masses. He preferred to work for exclusive clients, for whom he could create one-off pieces, rather than mass-market products.

As if Tom’s message wasn’t enough, Mara chimed in. “Alexander, this is Mara. The board wants a concrete concept by the end of next week. They want to see at least five designs, and they have to be better than the last project. We don’t have the capacity for experiments, we need realistic approaches. The autumn campaign has already been written off as a loss, so please don’t disappoint us again.”

He growled angrily. This was not how he had imagined the weekend. The board continued to put pressure on him. Five designs in one week? Was he Mr Universe? The message was clear, but what the board considered ‚realistic‘ was often boring to him. He was a creative designer, not an assembly line producer! But there was no point in telling the board that. They wanted to see figures, black figures and good publicity. It had been a mistake to give up control of the company. But at the time he hadn’t realised what it would mean to be just the tolerated CEO in his own company.

The next message was from Dominik Davenport, a friend but also someone who had made a name for himself in the world of the powerful. “Hey Alex, it’s Dominik! When are we having dinner again so I can talk to you about some ideas for new club rooms? And I still need to know about the reservation for the torture chamber. There have been two requests and I need to know when you need it. Get back to me.”

Alexander smiled, but the smile quickly faded when the next message came from Mark Jenkins, his head of security. Mark was not one to take things lightly. “Alexander, we need to discuss the incident at the restaurant on Tuesday night. I think it’s important that we go over the protection plan. Please arrange a meeting.”

The message made him pause for a moment. This was more than a formality - and he knew it. After all, Emily’s safety was also at stake when he met her again. The last thing he wanted was for her to be scared to death again just because someone managed to get through the security barriers.

His personal assistant had left him a recorded message as his last communication. “Good morning, Mr Fitzpatrick. Just a reminder that I’m going on holiday next week. Please don’t forget - I’ve prepared everything so that you can manage without me. And remember - you should also take a weekend off and give yourself some time away from the company. And before you forget: I’m going on holiday next week!” 

Alexander smiled slightly and made a note of the reminder. Then he sat back and looked at his written notes. When he came to Mark Jenkins, he had an idea. 

“What’s the point of having a security team if I don’t use it properly?”He tapped his pen on the table and frowned. “On the other hand, I can’t trust anyone who already works for me with the delicate task of controlling the DarEnd-Agency.”

He needed someone new and respectable to audit the DarEnd-Agency. Oliver Daron had taken a little too much liberty with the undiscussed exchange of Amelie for Emily. A dinner with Dominik would be convenient. He could deal with all four issues at once. The friendly dinner. The discussion about the club rooms. The coordination of the next booking of the torture chamber in Dominik’s private castle. And he could ask him for a lawyer and a private detective who were very good and reliable.

“Emily, my dear,” he said with a satisfied expression as he leaned back in his chair, “I will soon know everything about you. Because you are definitely not an ordinary hostess.”

Maybe it wasn’t very gentlemanly to examine a woman’s handbag, but he was a businessman and a dom, there were no limits for him. He had only given the clutch to the agency so that Emily would not suspect anything, after all she had told him that according to the contract she was not allowed to give him any personal information. It was about time that he had his own contract and that the DarEnd-Agency was thoroughly checked out.

Before he started work, he picked up his mobile phone and called Dominik Davenport. If he was lucky, he would be able to meet him the same evening or the next day and sort everything out. Sometimes it was good not to put things off too long.