1. Zara #2
I could stay and wallow in my attempts to regain my memory, or do some networking. I decide on the latter. Work improves my mental state.
After redoing my hair and makeup, I pull on a knee-length dress that wraps around my body like a second skin, I twist my ring so the gem faces my palm, remaining hidden from prying eyes.
I’ve been wearing it like this for so long, the diamond left a callus, just like the memories of him on my soul––an indelible mark.
Putting on an elegant blazer, I slip into my sandals, the spiky heels finishing my sophisticated look.
Downstairs, men from the underworld and some other faces crowd the hotel bar, while guards overlook the space, muscles pulled taut as if getting ready to intervene at the slightest disturbance. I exhale a breath of relief, knowing everyone will be on their best behavior.
Approaching the black marble bar, I hop on a velvet barstool and order a glass of wine. The shiny appearance and dim lighting, accompanied by slow music playing in the background, create an intimate atmosphere, perfect for illicit affairs.
I have worked hard to gain respect and make a name for myself. My business is thriving, and I am used to people coming to me.
I don’t even finish swallowing the first sip when the first prospect greets me. One after the other comes by, wanting either my men or my guns. In the next hour, I make over ten million in orders.
Relishing my win, I tip the glass back, the Merlot’s smooth and fruity taste gliding down my throat with ease when I feel him long before I spot him in the corner of my eye.
My pulse spikes, my palms getting clammy while nerves assault my stomach, knotting me up.
My visceral reaction to him is disturbing, nagging at me.
Vian is the only one who refuses to do business with me personally. I would say he’s avoiding me. I am acquainted with everyone but him. His blatant avoidance frustrates me.
Everyone in the underworld knows my products are the best, from my men to my weapons. Is he stuck in a long-past misogynistic era? Unwilling to do business with a woman?
Tossing the glass back, I finish my drink as he orders a glass of whiskey and is about to leave.
“Why are you avoiding me, Vian?” I ask, my tone light, though curiosity underlies it.
There’s something about him that keeps pestering me. I need to understand why.
He casts me an intense look over his shoulder, and his deep blue eyes pierce my chest, going straight into my heart, making the organ beat out of cadence.
He holds my gaze captive––drawing me to him, soothing like the ocean, yet just as dangerous, and I drown in him, incapable of breaking free.
That’s why I can never keep eye contact with this man, so I force my gaze away to clear my thoughts.
He scoffs. “Keep eye contact with me for longer than three fucking seconds and then ask me that question again.”
“What is your problem?” I huff, mumbling asshole under my breath.
In an instant, he gets in my face, and his decadent scent invades my senses––something woodsy with a hint of spice and leather. His heady smell does something to me, stirring a sensory memory I can’t comprehend.
He towers over me, and beneath the navy tailored suit lies a predator in waiting. He exudes power through every pore, muscles rippling with strength and features cut from the finest marble, lethal in their beauty. Carved chest, broad shoulders, trim waist, and the face of a male supermodel.
I keep his gaze just to fuck with him, even if every second it gets harder to preserve an unaffected composure, causing me to gulp.
Nostrils flaring, his hands curl at his sides as if he’s restraining himself. He clearly dislikes me.
He’s about to leave, acting like he can’t bear to be in my presence, but a desire for him to remain spurs me. “You haven’t answered.”
He cocks his head, and a strand of his thick brown hair falls over his brow. I itch to slide it back, to touch him. “Everyone is eating from your palm, Zara. Why would you want my attention?”
It’s not the question that takes me aback, but the phrasing, as if there’s more, my name rolling from his mouth with undeniable intimacy and potent sorrow.
“You have ordered nothing from me. It makes me question why.”
“Make me an offer I can’t refuse.”
This is the first time we’ve interacted beyond exchanging greetings during Syndicate meetings. Craving his nearness is both exhilarating and terrifying.
Why does this man have so much power over me?
I roll my eyes at him, more to hide that he’s affecting me.
“Roll your eyes at me again and see what happens.”
My jaw drops, and I blink, speechless. Heat rushes from between my thighs to my cheeks. I can’t believe he said that. I believe even less that I am flustered. For God’s sake, I am twenty-six.
He runs a hand through his hair, mumbles a fuck under his breath, and storms away.
I don’t understand this conundrum of a man. One second he’s cold, the next he makes a sexual remark that is extremely unprofessional, yet it doesn’t bother me as it should.
Done mingling and needing a moment to gather myself, I take the elevator to the rooftop, the night sky the only witness to my disarrayed thoughts.
New York lights up beneath me. This city gives you a terrible God complex. That explains Tristan’s ego.
Vian’s words keep playing in my head, and a heat wave rolls over me. I haven’t had such a physical response to a man since my memory loss.
Maybe he feels it too and realizes it would be a catastrophic idea to seek this strange attraction. We can’t even have a normal conversation.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing my brain to expunge him, but I fail, my mind like a broken compass, directing me to him.
Spinning my ring, I whisper the words engraved on the inside, My heart is in the palm of your hand––my life, my entire world.
A few tears slide down my cheeks, and I let them fall, wishing to be reunited with him. Longing has infected every molecule of my body, but he’s not coming back. It’s time to let go, but allowing someone in terrifies me even more than clinging to my pain.
My heart belongs to a dead man, yet I can’t ignore the future.
Though I ceased living years ago, life keeps going, not caring about my preferences.
I return to my suite and lock myself in, seeking privacy while thoughts of Vian inundate my peace.
I should stay away from him, but I wonder if I can—torn between a cruel past and an unwritten future, my fate, seemingly out of my control, leaves me bereft.