Alastair Carstairs Novels & Stories

LATIFA'S POV “Okay? Why don't you take me back to where I'm coming from if you are too mighty to be questioned like that, then get your ass a wife! pay me off and I will fucking leave your bushy evergreen forest called estate. I don't like what I hate” nagged out, creating a great stare at him nut as carless in return. “Haha, I never knew whores seek attention… Uhm. Lovely” Alastair mocked.

“You’re that philanthropist guy who owns most of Virginia.” “Most…that’s cute,” said Alastair. “That’s mostly true.” He put on an award-winning smile. “Oh don’t be too modest,” she sarcastically remarked as she poured herself a drink and took a sip of it. Whiskey. Neat. “Modest is my stock and trade,” said Alastair as his eyes continued to run the length of shimmering gold-brown skin. “So,” Alastair said. “You going to tell me your name?”

I mutter. “Let’s go!” Connor replies, giving the picture one last look before he drops it into the box and grabs his beat-up camouflage backpack. “Yeah, let’s go.” I can’t stop thinking about the picture or the implications of the card as the day wanes. Something niggles at the back of my mind at the thought of his name, too, but quickly slithers away before I can grasp the memory. Was Alistair married before he met Alva? I honestly don’t remember him mentioning being married to anyone. And who is the boy in the picture? His son. It’s funny that he has an Irish name. Alistair always had a thing for Irish names. Reading the card again, I calculate how old the boy would be now. The boy would b

concluded Alistair. "Before I was trapped in Emperor Nicholas' body, I was CEO of a hotel and was engaged to Ivy. We planned a big wedding in France and in New York City, but due to a mistake Ivy ruined her relationship with me," continued Alistair long, he glanced alternately at Vladimir and Edmund. "My relationship with Ivy was still good until one day Scarlett asked me to accompany her to go somewhere because she was sad. I then took her for a walk to the beach and Ivy accidentally saw me alone with Scarlett," said Alistair, then he pulled deep and long breath.

Escaping from Reagan was never an easy task. “Yes. He told Kai.” “May her soul rest in peace.” Alastair mumbled and again occupied himself with the keyboard, typing something on his laptop. Chelsea was unable to hear what he mumbled to himself. “What did you say?” He shook his head, eyes focused on the screen. “He is trying to decipher the blunder she has caused.” “Well, he can just leave it to his people.” Alastair scoffed. “He has no so-called his people. He does not like to have bodyguards whom he can't trust. And as for the secretaries, none of the princes or princesses require that. They don't have so much to call it workload.”

Of course, this bastard would be happy to see me embarrassed in front of my brother. I kicked him, he puts me down. Yahya was eying us curiously. "Why you were carrying Lara like that?" He asked Alastair. Alastair patted his head "Because I'm happy" Alastair told him "When you get happy, you start carrying Lara everywhere? " Yahya asked. Alastair nodded. Yahya giggles at us. "I will also carry my new friend when I am happy," He told us. My eyes widen as I gasped. Alastair burst into a laughter fit. I glared at him.

“I’m Cassian. Cassian Thorne.” The name meant nothing to her. “Are you the lawyer?” A faint, humorless smile touched his lips. “No. I’m… a friend of the family.” Before she could question him further, the door opened and Alistair Croft, a man who looked as old and dry as the law books on the shelves, entered. The reading was as cold and clinical as she had expected. Vast sums were bequeathed to charities, estates to distant cousins, and heirlooms to museums. Elara sat, her back straight, waiting for the moment her name would be read as an afterthought, perhaps leaving her a piece of jewelry she could promptly sell.

Alistair admitted without hesitation, causing Christian to turn his handsome face slightly out of interest. "Wow, a head of the Vance clan can be troubled because of a woman? This is big news," Christian teased with a crooked, playful smile at the corner of his lips. "Don't mock me, Christian," Alistair rebuked in a heavy tone of voice, though he wasn't truly angry. The middle-aged man gently massaged his forehead. "I've had a secret mistress lately. But this particular woman is truly different from all the sluts I've ever met out there. She is exceedingly stubborn, wild, and absolutely cannot be coerced by power. Even though I have paid very dearly for her accommodations, tonight... she act

Dangerous. You're not the same girl who crawled through the mud, I told myself. Remember that. The car arrived at exactly seven o'clock—a black Mercedes with tinted windows. A driver opened the door for me, and I slid inside. Alistair was already there. He wore a tuxedo. Black on black, with a white shirt and no tie. His hair was combed back, and his jaw was freshly shaved. He looked like a god carved from marble. He looked at me.

The room was heavy with the smell of old leather, fine brandy, and the bitter sting of desperation. Alistair wasn't drinking. He was just sitting in his tall-backed chair, staring at a single sheet of paper on the massive, bare desk. His face, usually ruddy with energy, was a grey, slack mask. "Father?" Alistair didn't raise his head. His voice was a rasp, lacking its former commanding presence. "Jonathan Crestwell." He said the name as if it were both a curse and a prayer combined. "My oldest friend. We started this company together. Did I ever tell you that? We built the first circuit board on his mother's kitchen table."