Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Zara
I wander along the main street, pausing to look at the scarf that had caught my eye on the way to Myles’s meeting.
But I can’t seem to make up my mind. Myles is still in the meeting, hammering out details as Ibrahim unrolls rug after beautiful rug.
I’d sat there, feeling like a rather useless third wheel, at the same time mesmerised by Myles, the way his mouth moved when he spoke, his deep voice, the way his hands stroked the rugs.
He seemed to have forgotten I existed, though, until he finally turned and looked at me.
“Why don’t you go and explore?” he’d said, sounding dismissive. “I’ll see you at the car in an hour.”
I’d nodded, getting to my feet, feeling somehow upset.
Outrageous. If I wasn’t me, I would slap me.
I’m here in a professional capacity, nothing more.
I should be grateful Myles is even involving me in design-related stuff.
Half the company would love to be in a meeting with him and a supplier, I’m sure.
And most of them probably wouldn’t spend the whole time staring at him, checking out his broad shoulders, the hint of muscle beneath his linen shirt.
I know I’ve just been dumped in the most humiliating way, but that’s no excuse.
On impulse I start down one of the sloping alleyways that run between the white-painted buildings lining the main street.
There are more market stalls, bundles of colourful textiles and clustered necklaces hanging from nails in doorways or strung against walls, children darting and playing.
And everywhere, colour. The window surrounds and shutters are painted blue, doors in ochre and brick-red, the geometric patterns similar to those woven into the rug I’d liked.
One door has an eye painted above it flanked by a pair of hands– I remember reading somewhere that it’s a symbol of protection.
I follow the alley down, past bright-painted signs and cats slinking panther-like along the painted stones.
The buildings open up and I find myself amid a cluster of blue- and white-painted wooden fishing boats, pulled up onto the shore.
Beyond them is golden sand and the glittering sea, the village following the curve of the shoreline.
Enchanted, I pull out my phone and take several photos, then continue along the waterfront.
It’s lined with a mix of cafés and buildings that are obviously homes, with more colourful doors and shutters to keep out the heat, terraces looking out to sea shaded by bougainvillea vines, their flowers like a cloud of butterflies.
I start to fantasise again, wondering how much it would cost me to get one.
But, for the first time when thinking about my dream, there’s an ache in my chest. I don’t want to do this alone.
I think our shared dream was a big part of why I thought I was in love with Dean, and the hardest thing about him betraying me the way he did.
I want to create my fantasy life with someone who loves me, and whom I love.
Someone I can walk along the water with, build a life with.
Myles popping into my head at this moment seems very inconvenient, and I try to push him away, imagining one of the characters from my romance novels instead.
But his face just keeps morphing into Myles’s face, his body into one clothed in rumpled linen.
Lost in my daydream, I don’t realise at first that someone is calling my name.
“Zara! Hey, over here!” I follow the voice to see a frantically waving arm.
It’s Jared, the guy I met at the hotel yesterday, sitting at a table on one of the shaded café terraces.
He gets up, weaving his way through the diners to me.
“G’day,” he says, leaning in to brush his lips against my cheek.
He smells nice, like coconut and a hint of musk.
“Hello,” I say, slightly flustered.
“What are you doing? You coming for a drink?” He gestures to the table where he’s been sitting. There’s another guy sitting there, blond with legs outstretched.
“Oh, I don’t know if I can. I’m supposed to be meeting my boss,” I glance at my phone, “in a half hour or so.”
“Plenty of time for a drink, then,” Jared says, with a wicked grin. “Come on. My shout.”
Yielding to the inevitable I let him lead me through the tables to join his companion.
Why the hell not, I think, as I sit down.
Myles doesn’t need me right now; he’s made that abundantly clear, so I might as well enjoy myself.
I’m supposed to be getting over Dean, and Jared seems as good a way to do so as any.
“This is Doug,” Jared says. The blond at the table stands up. He’s stocky and tanned, with white zinc suncream smeared across his nose and cheekbones.
“G’day.” He holds out his hand. I shake it. “What can I get you?” He jerks his head towards the bar.
“Uh, that looks nice.” I gesture to his drink. It’s pale, in a tall glass with lime.
“One beer coming up, then,” Doug says with a grin, heading for the bar.
I stare after him with my mouth open.
Jared laughs. “Don’t mind him,” he says. “So, tell me about this boss of yours. Why is he letting a beautiful woman like you wander about alone?”
“Why wouldn’t he?” I say. Then I blush. “Oh God, I mean?—”
Jared laughs even more. “Just taking the piss, mate. The only thing you need to worry about around here is bad boys like me.” He winks at me. “This has got to be one of the nicer places on the planet to drink a beer, don’t you think?”
I nod, laughing as well. “It is.” We’re sitting on a stone terrace, a canvas sunshade stretched over us, the sea licking against the wall below.
Waves sparkle in the sunlight like a thousand points of glitter, yet beneath the large awning it’s cool and shady, the breeze refreshing on my hot cheeks.
Jared smiles at me, his eyes crinkling attractively at the corners.
He’s very cute, I realise, especially when he laughs, his arms nicely muscled under his T-shirt.
Doug returns with my drink and the three of us clink glasses before drinking.
A while later I’m feeling very relaxed, when I’m distracted by a buzzing noise. It’s my phone. I grab it, horrified to see several messages from Myles popping up onscreen, all asking where I am with an increasing number of exclamation points and cursing.
“Everything all right?” Jared, his arm across the back of my chair, leans forward. I put my phone in my bag.
“It’s just my boss. Shit. I lost track of the time.”
“That’s the magic of Morocco, babe,” Doug says with a grin. “Come for a week and end up staying two months without even realising it.”
“Well, it’s not an option for me.” My relaxed feelings slip away as I get to my feet, pushing my chair back. Myles is going to be furious. “Sorry, I really do need to run. What do I owe you for?—”
“My shout, remember?” Jared grins up at me. “You can get me next time.”
“Next time?”
“Sure,” He lifts a shoulder. “I’ll be down at the BBQ area later. Come and find me.”
“I-I will,” I say, warmth blooming in my chest. “And, thanks.”
My phone is buzzing even more and I know I need to go. I leave the café, hurrying back towards the alley, hoping Myles won’t be too upset with me.
Myles
Where the hell is Zara?
I shouldn’t have told her to go and explore, but she was so damn distracting, sitting on the stool with her long legs crossed, a shadow of cleavage under her blouse as she leaned forward to look at the rugs, that I couldn’t keep my head on the deal at hand.
It wasn’t her fault, and I’d felt like a monster again as the light faded from her eyes when I told her to meet me in an hour. I know she’ll be thinking I don’t need her, when it’s the absolute opposite.
And now she’s not where she’s supposed to be, and I’m trying not to panic. I send what is probably the twentieth text message, hoping she might answer me. If she doesn’t, I’ll be straight onto my tech guys to trace her phone location.
When I hear the slap of sandalled feet and turn to see her running towards me, the relief is almost overwhelming.
“Myles, I’m so sorry,” she gasps, when she gets closer. “I lost track of time.”
I’m trying to come up with something nice to say so I don’t growl at her, when I catch a faint whiff of alcohol. And I lose it.
“Get in the fucking car,” I snarl.
Her eyes widen and she stops as though she’s been struck. I immediately want to take it back. But at the same time all my pent-up worry comes storming out, spiked with barbs of jealousy. I doubt she was drinking alone. Iremember the guy from the hotel and feel as though I’m about to explode.
“I-I’m so sorry,” she says again, sliding into the passenger seat, her hands clenched in her lap.
“When I ask you to be somewhere at a certain time, I expect you to be there! I didn’t know where the hell you were.” I grind out the words as I put the car into gear. Gravel squeaks beneath the tyres as I pull out, heading back towards the hotel.
“You told me to explore,” she says, an edge to her tone. “So I did. And I lost track of time.”
“Where? In the bottom of a beer glass? You’re supposed to be working!”
“I’m sorry,” she says for the third time, her head drooping. I think I spot a tear falling, crystal against her black skirt. My God. I’m a complete asshole.
“Zara, I?—”
“No, you’re right.” She won’t look at me. “It was unprofessional. It won’t happen again.”
She doesn’t say anything else, nor will she look at me, as we pull up to the hotel. She gets out and pauses for a moment. “I’ll be in my room if you need anything,” she says, all the light gone from her tone. “There are some details I need to check for the rest of the week.”
“Zara, wait.”
But she’s already on her way downstairs to her room. I watch her go, cursing myself. Why did I have to go so hard on her? But I know why, even if I’m denying it to myself. With a sigh I return to the car and take a parcel from the back seat. I need to apologise, but I’ll give her some space first.
A while later I sit on my terrace, alone. The sun is starting to slide towards the west, the shadows lengthening. The tide is on its way in, slowly creeping up the beaches on either side of us. It’s so beautiful, but I can’t relax. I still feel like shit for shouting at Zara.
I glance at my watch. I have a dinner reservation soon. Another lonely meal, sitting and looking out at this beautiful view. I wonder whether Zara might agree to join me.
I know. Don’t shit where you eat. But, as I sit and watch the light change, I make a decision.
I need to do something, because things can’t continue the way they are.
It’s how I’ve always worked. Find a problem.
Then look beyond it, to a solution. My problem, right now, is that I want to fuck Zara.
Want her more than I’ve ever wanted any other woman.
But also, and this is the part I think I’m denying, I don’t want this to be another relationship with paperwork, one where I already have an end date in sight.
And that’s something new.
So I’m going to keep things professional between us, for now. She’s my assistant for another four months, then Eloise returns. I’m going to use the time we have left to get to know her, to show her who I am. And, hopefully, she might see me as someone more than just her boss.
I’ve worked hard for everything I have and never been scared to play the long game.
And I’ll do it again. She’s more than worth it.
But, once she’s no longer working for me, if she’s not interested in anything more, I’ll have to let her go.
I’ve never forced myself on a woman, and I’m not about to start.
It doesn’t feel like much of a solution, to be honest, but it’s all I have. A faint shred of hope to cling onto, something to keep me from doing something I’ll regret. After all, I’ve no idea whether or not she feels the same way about me. And I really don’t want to screw this up.
I glance at my watch again. I stand and pick up the parcel from the car, which is propped against the wall. A peace offering. I’ll go and see her, then go to dinner. And if she wants to join me, that’s fine. If not, that’s fine too. The choice is hers.