The Billionaire's Ex-Wife

Irritations

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this chapter a bit bland, hopefully the next one will be a bit more enticing.

Alison's POV.

The past few weeks have been utterly ridiculous. Blake had finally pulled himself out of his office that resembled his man cave.

But his whole demeanour had changed. He was so cold, harsh and straightforward. Many of the staff had left the restaurant in tears after being snapped at so badly that their ego could not resist the breaking within it. Luke too had been yelled at, to which he only remained silent too before approaching me, swearing uncontrollably.

But Luke's reaction was slightly amusing, and I can't help but cracking a smile as I opened a new packet of dog food for Clover. He had been muttering curses the entire weekend, even when we were binge watching our favourite Disney shows. I had no idea what Blake had said to him, but it had surely hit a nerve.

Yet it was entertaining to watch his view of Blake's harsh words. Many objects had passed away in Luke's wrath, for example, the ice cream tub, his phone and even the microwave. Luke resulted in beating up anything that came in his way.

"Luke, for the last time, leave the stapler alone."I sighed, handing him a plate of food.

He ignored me, murmuring under his breath,"Fukcing asshole, thinks he's a fucking God. I'll show him God, when I beat his ass up to fucking Mars, he'll forget his mother's fucking name."

I rolled my eyes. I had gotten used to his potty mouth, which seemed to never cease.

"Calm down Lu."

He whipped his head to my direction, narrowing his eyes at me, whining,"You're supposed to be one my side, dumbass."

I smiled gently, running a hand through his hair, and tugging gently. He grinned, closing his eyes. It was an action that I would do occasionally whenever he was stressed or hurt. I had learnt that he loved to have his hair played with. He would drop to his knees from the simple massage, and obey your every command. He was like a kitten.

"I am. He's an asshole."

"Yeah, he's an asshole."

"He's a dipshit."

"He's a fucking dipshit."

I laughed, removing my hand from his scalp, internally agreeing. He shook his head, reaching for my hand.

"Please Al, that's feels really good."he pleaded.

I rolled my eyes. He had knack of never getting enough of someone running his scalp, and would constantly bother you until you presumed your actions. I had experienced this before, and I wasn't willing to have relapse of it.

Reaching out, I tugged harshly at a strand of hair.

"Ow!"he yelped, whipping around to glare at me.

I feigned innocence, smiling sweetly,"Would you like me to continue, Lu?"

He ignored me, shifting further away from me on the couch, muttering a strange of curses. Picking up the plate of spaghetti I had offered him, he began to eat, all the while fixing me with a heated glare.

_______________________________________________________________

I sighed, pressing the damp towel against my forehead, immediately relishing the source of coolness from the object. It was a Tuesday morning, and already the restaurant was buzzing with crowds.

A man in his late 40s, frowned disapprovingly at me as he eyed my crumpled uniform. Annoyance for him bristled within me, and without thinking I stuck up my finger, mouthing a few colourful words. His eyes widened, and an audible gasp left his lips. Turning on my heel, I stormed into the kitchens.

I had been in a terrible mood the entire morning. The culprit of my harsh behaviour was Blake Ryder, himself. He had spent the whole morning, breathing down my neck and giving me helpful advice. It was purely irritating. He continued to nag me about my stance, behaviour and uniform during my shift.

"Alison, you are so fake even a blind man could see your distaste." he would state, rolling his eyes.

"Stand straighter, you look like you have spinal issues."

"Did you even iron your shirt?"

His voice continued to replay in my mind, and I increased my grip on the glass, as I walked further into the kitchens.

I mimicked his voice, rolling my eyes,"Did you even iron your shirt?"

I had desperately tried to hide my irritation but he had been quick to catch onto my anger, with the help of secret eye twitching or the clenching of my fists. And he bathed in my annoyance. The smug smirk pasted on his mouth, proved so.

Slamming the glass onto the counter, I avoided the piqued glares of the other waiter who too were helping the cleaners to brush up on the plates and utensils.

"Miss Williams."a familiar voice called out.

I huffed, closing my eyes. I was in haze of anger at the moment, and I wasn't in the mood wiht talking with anyone. I knew that I could snap at any second.

"Yes?"I drawled, turning around.

Distaste and sarcasm dripped from my voice, and I internally winced at my tone. Blake stood before me, his hands stuffed in his pockets and lips lifted up slightly in amusement and my disgruntled state.

"My office, now."

The distant sounds of his shoes walking away from the kitchens rung through the air, as the worker stopped their jobs to view our interaction with mild interest. I groaned, loudly, slamming the dish towel against the counter.

"Fucking cunt."I mumbled, as I made my way to his office.

A woman glared at my choice of words, and I rolled my eyes at her. Purposely exaggerating the sound my steps, I reluctantly dragged myself to his office. But as I stood near the door, my handle clapped around the cold handle, thoughts began to run through my mind.

What did he want? Was he going to fire me?

I shook my head, in attempt to get rid of the thoughts that began to cloud over. I had stood by the door for minutes now. Breathing in deeply, I turned the knob, shoving lightly.

Mrs André was obsessed with keeping her office tidy. Every object had to be placed in the right place. In the right angle. In the right condition. She would spend hours cleaning the room, a pale blue feather duster in her hands, the sound of classical jazz music playing in the background, as the last rays of sunshine washed the floorboards. The dust that glowed gold would fly across the room, as she stroked her duster in every nook and cranny.

Blake was never one for organisation. Back at his mansion, and the rare times I would step into his office to offer tea where I would be bluntly turned down, I would frown upon the havoc that resembled his work place. Jackets would be strewn upon the floor, joined by balls of paper that was covered in ink and damp tea bags.

But as I viewed his new office, I was thoroughly impressed. The large glass table set at the middle of the room, had stacks of paper placed neatly against it, paired with glass cylinders that carried pens and stamps. An ebony coloured stand was pressed against the right side of the room, holding his purse, keys and a picture frame...

My eyes widened at the sight.

It was our wedding picture.