The Writing Desk Novels & Stories

The desk, made of polished mahogany no doubt- Tom was obsessed with everything being mahogany, if he was purchasing wood at all. I think it had always been a lifelong dream of his to have something the rich typically possessed and to him, Mahogany was one of them. There was a nice, plush leather chair behind the desk. The desk had a couple of documents on it, a collection of pens and a vintage inkwell. I rolled my eyes at the sight and marched up close to check his pen collection. There were no pencils in sight and that meant there wasn't a sharpener among his stationery collections.

I joked back. “Yeah, okay. Sure you did. Just a sweet little sexy goddess that now looks pretty badass.” “Badass goddess… just add that to my name.” I laughed as we came up to our office. Justina and Wade weren’t there yet, so we were able to look around. The new desk had been delivered. There was a small opening between the two, but there were two large L-shaped desks on either side of the room. He had much more paperwork and looked like it was well used. Mine was shiny and brand new. The computer was hooked up and ready for me to personalize it.

Something that could keep both of us busy. “How would you like to help me find Davenport?” I asked. We sat together and pulled up search results on my phone. Davenport, it turned out, meant two different kinds of furniture. One was a sofa. The other was a desk. The sofa use was more of a nickname, like calling tissues “Kleenex.” But the Davenport desk was something very specific. It was a writing desk with secret compartments, drawers, and a top that slanted open. Everything I’d read about George Lachlan made me certain—we weren’t looking for a couch.

In the corner, a sleek bar cart held an array of fine whiskeys and crystal glasses, a subtle nod to his refined tastes and appreciation for the finer things in life. Dominating one side of the room was a massive mahogany desk, its polished surface gleaming under the light. The desk was meticulously organized, with a state-of-the-art computer setup and a few essential papers neatly stacked. Behind the desk, a high-backed leather chair exuded a sense of command, its rich, dark material complementing the deep wood tones of the furniture. As Via approached the desk, she couldn't help but feel the weight of the environment pressing in on her. It was a space that demanded respect and attention, mu

"Yes, she will share half of your office." Klauss was feeling so defeated and devastated when he saw his Boss's men bring all the office furniture into his heavenly white office room. From the glassed black table that serves as her coffee table, her name is written on a fiery red desk name plate. An executive Big Boss swivel chair with a small bookshelf stood on the corner filled with picture books of Death's masterpiece. The luxurious dark grey desk lamp stood enigmatic modernly embellished next to her computer. It was a dark theme, well-blended together, and looks very palatable. A chromatic dance of fiery red and black shades decorated the white tinted wall: a number of adorned bizarre im

quite underachieving. Just opposite the door was a big window with a desk in from of it, it had only a leather chair that will often creak it joints each time Hamilton will choose to either withdraw his weight, or settle it in. Guess from inception, he never did plan on having any conversion by the desk anyways: it could probably be where he felt the most safest at. Two peach coloured sofas faced each other, just in front of the desk. It had a slim glass table abridging each sofa. Hamilton didn't admire the need for distances between he and his patients, so the table between the couches, was really slender.

The bed—broad, soft, wrapped in creamy linens—seemed to sigh with comfort. She dropped onto it, laughing quietly, then lay back, arms wide. For a moment, she just breathed. Then she saw it. Across the room—against the far wall—was a desk. But not just a desk. A writing station. Neat. Ready. The desktop screen glowed faintly. A cushioned chair waited, tucked in perfectly. Her heart skipped a beat. She sat up fast and rushed over. “How… how did you know I’d need this?” Christian leaned against the doorframe, a knowing smile on his face. “A little birdy told me.”

She felt a little out of place here. It was a beautiful and cozy office. There were two work tables within the office, one facing a large window from which one could see the beautiful city landscape, which was made from polished wood, fitted with a customized reclinable chair and set of drawers for file storage. The other was an executive glass desk with a swiveling chair, an iMac and a desk jet printer sitting atop of it. She assumed the polished wood was definitely Alex’s while the glass desk felt like Aaron’s.

Next to it, a jar of colorful pens, half gone because Sienna kept stealing them to draft "interkingdom peace treaties." And in the center stood my desk. An old wooden thing passed down from Bli Yana, a carpenter whose age probably rivaled my father’s ... or a dinosaur’s. He sold it cheap, claiming it was an “early investment for a strong woman like you.” The legs creaked like they’d survived the lockdown era, and the drawers stuck whenever they felt moody. But somehow… that desk kept me sane. It was my anchor. A little bit of stability in the choppy sea that was my life.

She paused for a moment, taking in the sight of a room that exuded power, success, and authority. He has a large and polished mahogany desk. A type she has never seen before. It has a few neatly arranged items on top and an engraved nameplate that reads "Desmond, CEO," and other things. The ambience of the room was commanding yet inviting, the perfect reflection of the man who occupied it.