Chapter 6
6
ZARA
The man is insane.
Jobe is many things, and desperate isn’t one of them. “Surely, you have a string of girls lining up for dinner dates.” I imagine beautiful models and actors—at the same time—as I have listened to the rumors surrounding his personal life back home.
He gives me a typical Jobe look, then indicates for us to head inside, locking the terrace doors behind me. “I need someone I trust. Someone the family can count on.”
“Why are you bringing the family into this? You’re talking as though it’s a personal favor from Penny because it’s me.”
He pours another drink. “I’m sure Penny has told you about our father’s expectations. This is building the Hendricks’ portfolio. I do not want to be the one to mess it up.”
“Sounds like most of the pressure is on me, and none of it has anything to do with me. Besides, fancy dinners are not my thing. I’ll embarrass myself, then embarrass you. Your plan will backfire.” My heart speeds up thinking about it.
God, why am I even here? I should go…
“Hey.” Jobe is suddenly inches away from my face watching me carefully as though he is alerted to my pending anxiety attack. “You need to give yourself more credit. You’re beautiful, lively, and perfect to be my partner.”
I snort a laugh, but his voice is serious. “You really think I can do it?” I don’t know why I said that because I’m not considering it even though Jobe has a convincing way about him.
“I trust you, Zara, if nothing else. I know you won’t bring any harm to the family.”
Shit. He struck my Achilles.
I shake my head. I’m so confused. If we were back in LA, I would say no without hesitation. For the last few minutes, a voice in the back of my head has been saying to stay and experience opulence even for a week until I find somewhere to move with my work friends.
“Think about it,” he says gently. He leans closer, and I hold my breath. Only he moves past my face to my ear. “I promise it will all be pretend. Besides, you do owe me one,” he whispers.
I close my eyes as his breath caresses my neck and quickly compose myself. “For sending one email?” I shoot back because my credentials did the rest. Yet, he does deserve some thanks in return. “One night. I’ll do it for one dinner date. If, and I mean it’s a big if, I find it tolerable because I can’t imagine it being at all fun, then we try it on a week-to-week basis. If I want out, then you tell your boss we broke up.”
He frowns at me. “Then I’ll ensure it’s fun.”
I snort and laugh again. “You’re delusional, Hendricks. ”
He smirks as if he knows a secret I’m not in on, and I don’t trust what he’s going to say next. “If you stay here a week, I’ll make a wager you’ll want this arrangement to work.”
Arrangement. “I’m not bought that easily.”
Jobe shoves his hands into his trouser pockets. “Everything has a price, Zara.” When he grins, I want to slap it off his face.
“I’m doing you the favor, not the other way round. We are still negotiating the terms of the arrangement, and I’m still at the it will never happen end of the scale.”
His expression shifts, and I hate the way he is staring at me. It’s like he wants me, and it’s giving all the wrong information because, like he said, it is merely a business agreement between us.
“All right, let’s start with a tour of where you’ll sleep.”
“For one night,” I repeat more to myself than him. Then, I pour myself a drink before I make the dumbest decision of my life.
Five bedrooms.
Seven bathrooms.
Seven.
What universe am I in?
My hands have a nervous tremor, so I grip the rail as we descend the circular staircase with what appears to be a gold railing. I glance up at the ceiling, which is double the height of any room in my hotel. Everywhere I look, there is classical elegance. While the amenities are modern, the old-world charm remains with the wooden paneling and original decorative plasterwork. Floor-to-ceiling glass French doors open from the kitchen to the stone terrace .
“I decided to keep some of the original design though I asked Penny for some insight in remodeling some other rooms.”
Please stop talking about Penny like she is ammunition to convince me to stay.
“Down this hallway is the cinema room and the study.”
I lean on the kitchen counter. “I don’t need to see everything tonight.” I let out a long, overwhelmed sigh.
“I have not shown you where I sleep.”
“And I don’t need to see your bed,” I shoot back. “I want to go to mine. It’s been a long week.”
He nods slowly, his dark eyes watching me carefully. “You have the pick of the other four bedrooms. The pool and gym can wait for tomorrow.”
“I haven’t made a decision.” I head the opposite way of Jobe.
He hasn’t won yet. Then I catch sight of the skyline view and lose my breath at the beauty. If the mattress is even half as soft as this carpet, I’m done for.
And the Italian food was like heaven in my mouth.
Oh, God.
He’s totally won.
Unfortunately, it was the best sleep I’ve had in a month. The perfectly soft mattress and divine sheets had me dreaming of another life.
I roll over and check the time on my phone. It’s after seven, and the battery is almost dead. A remote control is on the bedside table. Curious, I press the button, and the drapes slide back, allowing sunlight to shine into my room.
Shards of light hit the mirrors on the wall and dresser, causing pretty reflections to dance around the room. It feels magical compared to my small hotel room. I push up and fluff the pillows behind me, taking in the direct view of the Thames River and the bridge.
Could I live here?
It’s hard not to imagine a new life here. Walking along the Thames, meandering around Kensington Gardens, dining at the beautiful restaurants. Then I remember the deal.
I live here rent-free if I agree to be his fake girlfriend when he has dinner meetings with Sir James. He mentioned the dinners are held once a month when Jobe is in London. The rest of the time is mine to live here and do as I please.
It’s appealing, yet equally scary when I think about the dinner dates with London’s high society businessman. I don’t have the skills to be the woman he wants me to be.
Suddenly, I’m distracted by the aroma of bacon and eggs wafting into my room.
Is it coming from here or outside?
My windows are shut.
Is Jobe really cooking?
I jump up and eyeball my dress from last night. There’s something about putting on the same dress from the night before that makes me reckless. I open the wardrobe, and a white bathrobe hangs on a hook. I swear it’s like being in a five-star hotel. The fabric is every bit as soft as it appears as I tie the band and head out to face the grumpiest man on the planet.
Before I have one foot in the kitchen, I freeze.
Jobe is shirtless, wearing only a pair of jeans and barefoot.
I have never seen him like this.
I definitely haven’t seen his naked torso in daylight. Part of the cabinetry conceals my presence, and I take a moment to watch him reach up into a cupboard. His shoulder muscles are contracting, his abs taut, and even from here, I can count the definition between each muscle in a neat line from his chest to his…
I gasp, seeing a spray of dark hair peeking out from the band of his jeans since the top two buttons are undone.
He turns. “Morning, Zara. I take it you slept well.” His smooth voice wraps around me like liquid caffeine waking me the fuck up.
Did he have someone stay over? God, part of me hopes so because he can’t look this sexy all the time for no reason. But if I’m going to stay here, I don’t want to see his just-fucked face. I don’t want to be staring at his tanned, ripped body or clothes that expose a raw man all the time. It’s not something I can handle. We are not that close, nor do I want to be. Hell, we aren’t even friends.
I clear my throat. “I slept okay.”
He stops flipping bacon in the pan and smirks.
“What?”
“Going by your hairstyle, I’d wager you slept exceptionally well.”
Shit, I didn’t even bother to check myself before the aroma of a cooked breakfast drew me out of the bedroom. I finger-comb my hair and ignore his subtle chuckles. “Excuse me, but I rushed out of the bedroom in confusion as to who could possibly be cooking or that the apartment might be on fire.”
He raises one eyebrow. “Not a black stripe to be seen when I cook.”
I lean one hip against the counter. “You cook regularly?”
“I need to eat, Zara,” he says with sarcasm.
“I assumed you had a chef.”
“I do have a chef in LA. He has worked for me for the past ten years. He also taught me how to cook, as I found it therapeutic. So much so he now works part-time. He has a young family, so it gives him time to be at home. I didn’t change his salary as he will come to my aid any time I need him. When I can, I cook for myself.”
The bread pops up from the toaster, and I jump. Nervously, I tighten my robe. I don’t know Jobe as well as I thought.
He cooks.
He is paying his chef in LA even if he’s not working for him, as he knows it benefits his young family. That speaks volumes about him.
“Can you please butter the toast?”
Could I be a tiny bit wrong about him being an asshole?
“Zara?”
Huh? “Oh yeah, sure.”
He grabs glasses and pours the orange juice, placing breakfast on the table. “The juice is cold pressed. I did it earlier while you were sleeping.” He hands me the tongs. “Ladies first.”
We serve up our plates before I take a seat. A groan slips from my mouth after the first mouthful of bacon. “This is good.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Very. Though I’m curious if this is an act of convincing me to agree to your plan.”
“I assure you it’s not part of my plan, but if it’s what it takes for you to say yes, then consider your breakfast cooked every Sunday morning while I’m here.”
I take another bite. “You know, this could seal the deal,” I say with a laugh.
He leans back into his chair and assesses me. “Done. Shall we go to your hotel and pack up your clothes after lunch?”
I choke on my food, causing pieces of bacon to shoot from my throat and onto my plate .
His eyes widen, but there is a hint of a smirk. “We can’t have that lack of etiquette in front of Sir James.”
Oh, God. I’m going to make a fool of myself in front of full-blown aristocracy. I’m trading my rent for my dignity, not exactly what I had in mind when I decided to reinvent myself in London.
This is going to be a huge mistake.