Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Zara
T he café is noisy and warm, the sky outside dark. I sit back in my chair, smiling at the girl who brings us our drinks. Coffee for me, and a glass of wine for Eloise. “Screw it,” she said, when she ordered. “I rarely get a night off, and I’ve pumped enough milk for the next twenty-four hours.”
She picks up the glass now, taking a sip and closing her eyes, a Cheshire-cat smile spreading across her face. A small moan escapes her lips.
I giggle. “You all right?”
“Oh God, Zara,” she says, opening her eyes. “It’s been far too long since we’ve done this.”
“Done what? We see each other all the time.”
She shakes her head. “Not like this. Not without,” she waves her hand, “all that baby stuff. It feels weird to be here without him, with just a small bag, but oh my God I needed this.”
Eloise’s little boy, Arthur, is an adorable chubby bundle of smiles. I might be his godmother, but I don’t think I’m biased when I say he’s the cutest baby I’ve ever seen. He has Eloise’s dark hair and his father’s long-lashed brown eyes.
“Everything all right?”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” she says. “I adore Arthur and Anwar, but being a mum is the hardest and most amazing thing I’ve ever done.
Like, it never stops. And I don’t want it to stop!
But at the same time, I kind of can’t wait to get back to the office.
” She takes another sip of wine, then looks stricken.
“Sorry, I know it’ll mean you’re out of a job.
But I’m sure Myles will want to keep you on in some capacity. ”
I snort. “I don’t know about that.”
Eloise frowns. “Is this about him not liking you again? Honestly, Zara, you’d be gone by now if he didn’t like you, I swear.”
“Then why is he always so short with me? It doesn’t matter what I do, I never feel as though I’m good enough.
Although the other day…” I pause, thinking back to the strange interaction we’d had.
I still can’t believe I spoke up like that.
But his grey gaze seemed to demand honesty.
I blush, thinking about how I’d criticised some of the designs. What must he think of me?
“What? What?” Eloise leans forward, her blue eyes bright.
“Well, he called me into his office, and asked my opinion on some of the new clothing line. Did he ever do that with you? And he seemed… I dunno, kind of pleased by what I told him.” My blush deepens as I remember him standing so close to me, the way he’d said very good, almost like a growl.
My thighs clench under the table, my hands coming to my face.
“What on earth is going on? What did you say? And no, he never asked me about stuff like that!”
Between sips of coffee I tell Eloise the whole story, blushing even more when I remember my insistence on pockets. Eloise, after a moment, bursts out laughing.
“But pockets are important!” she shrieks, between giggles. “Oh, Zara, you are hilarious. Genuinely though, how you can think he doesn’t like you after that is beyond me.”
I start giggling too, and it feels like a release.
Release of the tension I feel every day working with Myles, the strange dynamic between us.
I feel drawn to him while at the same time wanting to avoid his dark moods.
It will be a relief, I decide, when Eloise comes back to the office and I can go and work somewhere else.
Maybe I’ll take the plunge and go to Dubai, be with Dean.
Or I could see if there’s a spot at the Soho office.
I giggle again, telling Eloise what Georgia told me.
But she becomes serious. She reaches across the table, her hand covering mine.
“She’s right, babes. You are a dish. Far too gorgeous to sit alone in that room of yours night after night, reading romance novels. I know you love him, but I wish that bloody Dean would stop messing you around.”
* * *
I wish he would too, I think again later, as I unlock the door to my room. Inside it’s calm and quiet, the soft blue colours of my bedding soothing, the armchair and table by the window beckoning. Yet, for the first time, it feels like a lonely space. I’m the only person who ever comes in here.
My dad left when I was young and Mum died a few years ago. I don’t really have any other family. I miss Mum so much. We were close, more like friends than mother and daughter. When she got sick, I nursed her through it, hoping she’d come out the other side. But she didn’t.
It was her dream, originally, to have a little house by the sea. Just big enough for the two of us, she’d always said. So, when her estate was settled and I was left with a small nest egg, I decided to keep adding to it, determined to achieve what she’d always wanted.
Now the house will be for me and Dean. And maybe a cat. Or a dog. We haven’t really talked about children, but I’d love that as well. Mum would have adored a grandchild. Every bit of money I put away is in her memory, so that I can make something of what she left me.
There’s an ache in my chest as I get undressed, wash my face and slip between cold sheets. I toss and turn, wishing for arms around me, for lips on mine. Then my phone buzzes.
I reach for it, my heart fluttering as I see Dean’s face on the screen.
“Hello?”
“Zara, how are you?”
I melt at the sound of his voice, wishing he was here with me.
“Lonely.” The word slips out. I try not to complain about how much I miss him, or get upset when he doesn’t reply as quickly as I’d like him to. He’s working hard, saving for our future, just like I am. It’s why he can’t visit as often, why I don’t go to see him.
“Oh baby.” His voice deepens. “Where are you now?”
“In bed. Thinking of you.”
“Yeah? What are you doing?”
I know what he wants. I want it, too. “Hmmm.” I slide a hand under my T-shirt, caressing myself. “Touching myself.”
“Babes, wait. Before you get too into it, I need to tell you. I’m coming to London. Next week. And I need to ask you something important.”
“You do?” My hand stops moving.
“I do.”
Oh God. This is it. It’s what I’ve been waiting for. He’s going to propose, finally. All the waiting, all the lonely nights, will finally be over. I almost feel like crying.
“I can’t wait to see you.” I’m breathless with longing. “When do you get here?”
“Wednesday afternoon. I’ll pick you up from work.”
“Oh, Dean, I lo?—”
“I have to go. Sorry, love. I’ll see you soon. Wait for me.”
“Always.”
But he’s gone. I flop back on the pillow, slipping into a fantasy of white gowns and rose petals, excitement burning like a flame inside me.
The fantasy deepens, and I reach down between my legs, wanting to relieve the ache of longing.
But my phantom lover shifts and, instead of Dean, all of a sudden it’s Myles caressing me, Myles’s hands on my breasts, between my legs, his lips on mine.
I stop and sit bolt upright, my heart pounding, my clit throbbing.
What the hell? I cannot fantasise about my boss, no matter how hot he is.
Especially when my boyfriend is about to propose.
But I’m panting, and it takes a moment for my breath to get back to normal.
I push my hair back from my face and try not to burst into tears.
Myles
“Where the hell is he? I know Zara gave him the schedule.”
It’s an icy morning on Fistral Beach at Newquay, pale sun glinting off the waves.
My CFO, Scott, clad head to toe in black rubber, shrugs. “Who knows? That guy is a loose cannon.”
“He’s a bloody good surfer, though. And sells a lot of clothing for us.”
“Gets paid well for it, too.”
Scott’s not wrong. Zach Van Veldt might be one of the top surfers in the world, not to mention a social media superstar, but he also likes to play fast and loose with the rules. I pay him well to wear my brand, so he should damn well show up when he’s supposed to.
“We might wait in the trailer.” There’s a videographer and stylist on the beach with us.
The cameraman is also wearing a wetsuit, while the stylist is clad in a fleecy puffer jacket, jogging on the spot and swinging her arms. They’re also both being paid by me to be here.
But, unlike Zach, they showed up on time.
I’m actually pretty warm. But that’s what we’re here for, to test out the latest wet-suit tech.
Surfing isn’t just for sunny beaches and summer days; people surf all the way from Alaska to the icy waters of southern Australia, and they do it all year round.
Wetsuits tend to come in different thicknesses to accommodate the different temperatures, but the thicker the wetsuit, the more difficult they are to move in.
Ocean’s Curl has been working for a while on maximising warmth in their wetsuits without compromising freedom of movement, plus experimenting with sustainable alternatives to neoprene.
And the reason Scott and I are standing on a freezing cold beach in February is that we’re about to try out the latest prototypes. With Zach.
“Yeah, head inside. I’ll call Zara and see if she can get hold of him.”
There’s no runner here, or elaborate crew.
Just us, the cameraman and stylist. A trailer, with space to get ready plus respite from the cold.
All co-ordinated to the last detail by Zara and my marketing team.
It’s all we need. The idea is to make a few short reels for social media, stuff we can send out worldwide, real-time reactions to the new suits and how well they work.
But there’s not much point without Zach. I grab my phone and call Zara.
“Hello, Myles?” Her soft voice calms me, instantly.
“What room is Zach in?”
“Oh God. Has he not shown up? I did ask for a wake-up call and?—”
“It’s not your fault. Don’t worry.” I don’t want her to stress about this. She’s done everything and more to set us up for this trip. I should have noted his room number and banged on his door myself this morning.
“Shall I ring the hotel and see if they can get him up?”
“No, don’t bother. I just need the room number and I’ll do it myself.”
“Okay. He’s in room 203. Er, how’s it going? Is it cold?”
“It’s freezing.” I feel warm though, speaking to her.
“I thought it might be. I’ve booked hot stone massages for you all at the hotel spa, later. I should have mentioned it before you left.”
“You have?” My mind drifts, momentarily, to the image of her lying on a massage table, naked except for a towel.
“Yes. Hope that’s all right?” She sounds worried.
“Of course it is.” I make sure she can hear the truth of it in my voice.
“Great. Are you sure you don’t want me to get Zach?”
“It’s fine. Easier for me to do it. Thanks.”
I ring off. Scott is watching me, one eyebrow raised.
“What?” I say.
“How’s it going with Zara?”
“It’s going well. She’s very good at her job.”
“Uh-huh.” He doesn’t say anything else, but seems to be fighting a grin.
I glare at him. “I’m going to get Zach.”
I head across the beach towards the curving headland, the imposing Victorian hotel perched on top of it a landmark visible for miles around.
Inside is all quiet luxury and wood-panelling, stained glass and soft carpets.
Zara comes into my mind again, and I wonder whether she’d like it here.
I cross the foyer and head up the stairs.
I might be wearing a wetsuit, but the staff know me.
The fact we’re booked into three of their best suites probably helps, too.
My huge bed felt empty last night, though not because I wanted Katya with me.
I can’t really admit to myself who I want there instead, though.
I push the thought away as I head along the hallway towards Zach’s suite.
We all arrived yesterday, meeting for dinner and then drinks in the hotel bar overlooking the surf.
Scott and I had stuck to soda water and gone to bed reasonably early, but Zach stayed on.
I hope he made it back to his room in one piece.
Room 203. I bang on the door. Hard.
There’s a muffled groan, then the rattle of the lock before the door opens to reveal a naked Zach.
“For fuck’s sake.”
“Bro, what’s happening?” He drags a hand through his spiky blond hair. His blue eyes are bloodshot, and he has a sleepy grin on his face.
“What’s happening is that I’ve got a crew waiting on the beach, along with me and Scott, and you’re supposed to be there.”
“Zach, my loverrr, come back to bed.”
I raise my eyebrows. Jade O’Connell, Zach’s surfer girlfriend, is American. So, unless they’re doing some sort of role-play, the French accent coming from the bed is not hers. Nor is the glimpse of dark hair I see when I peer over his shoulder.
“Ah fuck, I’m sorry, man. My alarm didn’t go off.”
I don’t have time for this. “Sort your shit out, and come down. Breakfast and coffee are in the trailer.”
“Yeah, I’ll be there soon.”
“I’ll wait. You’ve got five minutes.” The last thing I need is for him to fall back into bed with whoever is with him.
The door closes. I lean against the wall, my arms folded, and repress my annoyance.
If Zach wants to get pissed and fuck around, that’s on him, but he’s here to do a job, and I have no problem going in there to get him if he doesn’t come back out.
I stopped drinking over a year ago, and have no desire to return to that scene. I’ve seen the damage it can do.
A couple of minutes later the door opens. Zach, clad in sweats, ambles out, yawning. He smells like sex and booze, looks like some sort of ravaged Adonis, all cheekbones and bleary eyes. I hope he’ll perk up once he gets in the water.
“Let’s do this.” He punches me in the arm, and I can’t help but laugh. He is chaos personified, I swear. Hard not to like the guy, despite the fact he can be an ass.
“Good night?”
“Yeah, it was all right.”
“And the girl?”
“She works behind the bar.” One corner of his mouth curves up. “Knows how to suck one back, too.”
Christ alive. I shake my head. “Information I didn’t need.”
We head down the stairs, getting a few curious glances as we cross the foyer, heading outside.
“Jesus.” Zach grimaces, wrapping his arms around himself as we head down to the beach. “It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here.”
“I’m actually all right. The suit’s pretty warm.”
“Yeah? Looks good, too. What’s the movement like in it?” Zach is all professional now, examining my wetsuit critically. He might be a bit of a loose cannon, as Scott says, but he knows surfing.
“Yeah, not bad at all.” I swing my arms, crossing them in front of me.
There’s a slight pull in the seams at the shoulders, and I make a mental note.
A small adjustment, but one that can make a difference.
I know I’m broad across my back, but it’ll be interesting to get feedback from Scott and Zach, too.
I wait outside the trailer until Zach emerges, sleek in black rubber. He pulls the hood over his blond hair, and fastens the Velcro on the booties. “Feels all right,” he says, stretching. “Let’s get some waves.”