Chapter 7
7
JOBE
Zara has packed her LA life into three suitcases.
I can’t envision bringing so little to live in a foreign country. Apart from a few framed photographs of her family and friends, one including my brother and Penny holding their baby, the rest is mainly clothes. It intrigues me how Zara sold off most of her possessions, her past life meaningless to her. If it’s a new life she craves, I’m going to help her achieve it. And I want to show her the privilege of not being committed to a relationship.
“We need to write down a set of house rules,” she says, placing her luggage in her room.
“Later. You need to unpack, and then I’m taking you out for dinner.”
“Already?”
“You’ll need heels and a nice dress. Not to mention familiarity with the restaurants where we’ll be with Sir James, so it won’t be overwhelming when we are on our first date.”
She unzips her case.
For the love of God, what a mess.
“So tonight is not a proper date?”
“Tonight is practice.” I walk out of the room because her mess overwhelms me, and that is no easy feat.
I open my laptop to a never-ending list of emails. Several are from Hayley, my PA, in Los Angeles, telling me to take action on certain emails as soon as possible.
Hayley has worked for me for the past eight years. Her work ethic exceeded my expectations and in time, I knew I could count on Hayley even as my partner to important functions and gala balls. People judge without intention when I continually attend meetings and special occasions with my PA or alone. They doubt my responsibility and integrity, and some older businessmen, like Sir James, have a dated opinion that my personal life reflects on business matters. If I cannot be loyal to one woman, then how can I be trustworthy in business negotiations?
My cell buzzes on the table with email alerts from Hayley. Why is she working this early on a Sunday?
I have everything open in front of me. Hayley is almost as competitive as me. It’s why I pay her well. If I land this deal, her bonus triples.
I send her a text.
Any news on Sir James’ previous business partners?
She replies within seconds.
I have a few more contacts to reach out to. My email is to alert you to other business matters. The merger. Let me know if you want me to action anything. Have a nice Sunday.
I lose track of time following up on emails and attending to business. When I glance up, Zara is standing in the kitchen, and I no longer have the desire to work.
“Wow,” I murmur as though I have lost the ability to speak.
Her gold dress glimmers under the lights, the fabric hugging her curves and falling loosely from the hips. The cut is perfect, with a slight dip to show her cleavage, but still classy.
Where the hell does she wear this?
I close my computer and stand. “Gold suits you.” Her eyes are outlined in black lines, with long seductive and mesmerizing lashes.
“Thank you. I bought it when I first arrived and haven’t had a chance to wear it.”
I stare at her plump, red lips as she speaks. I’m doing everything in my power not to take her face in my hands and kiss her. I’ve never forgotten the way she kissed me on the night we pretend to have forgotten.
“What?” I snap out of the trance.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, I’m remembering…”
Her gaze flicks over my face. “Remembering what?”
I shake my head. We can’t do this now. My attraction to her on that first night will distract me from what we are really doing here.
“I’ll call Ben and ask him to meet us out front in ten minutes. Would you like something to drink before we go?” Because I fucking do. I need to pull myself together and remember this is a convenient arrangement for both of us.
I pour myself a whiskey, then change my shirt and tie. Walking back into the room, I’m finishing knotting my tie when Zara smiles as she approaches me. Then, with delicate hands, she helps me tighten it.
“If anyone were to own a gold tie, it’s you.” She grins, her eyes dancing with humor.
“Why do you find it amusing?”
She shrugs. “Franklin and you must own hundreds of ties. Girls love shoes, and you both like ties.”
“It’s not the only thing I love. Besides, what other use do you have for shoes?”
It takes her a moment to realize what I’m implying. Her makeup conceals the blush to her cheeks, but I see the shade of red on her neck. Her lips part, and I hope she is imagining being tied to the bed.
I know I am. With my gold tie, in fact.
“I assume you own other accessories. Otherwise, I’d be disappointed in the rumors.” I like the way Zara thinks.
“Rumors are just that. You have first-hand knowledge, after all.”
Her ruby-red lips part, yet she says nothing.
I throw back the rest of my whiskey and head to the door. I wait for her to walk out before locking it behind me. In the elevator, we remain silent, but when the doors open, she holds my arm to stop me. “What are we doing?” Her eyes are wide and afraid.
“Having dinner like I promised.”
“I’m going out to dinner with my best friend’s brother-in-law. Behind her back. This is wrong.”
“You could tell her,” I say wryly.
“I… no way. ”
I pretend to be insulted rather than hurt by the sting of her horrified tone and say nothing, waiting for her decision.
“Okay.” She attempts to rally herself. “Yeah, okay.”
I place a hand on her lower back as we walk out onto the street. Inside the car, I check my emails for Hayley’s update. Nothing.
The restaurant is a small drive from my penthouse, and paparazzi line the pavement.
“My God, what’s happening?” Zara murmurs.
“The White Orchid is where the stars like to dine. Just smile and walk past. They’re probably waiting for Kylie Minogue or Elton John.”
“For real?”
As we step out, I nod to a cameraman I’ve seen many times and turn my head the opposite way when his camera flashes. Zara remains tight to my side, and when I check on her, she is focused on the ground ahead. I pull her close, an instinct to keep her safe. “It’s okay,” I say gently as I guide her to the door. I should not feel this content being on a fake date with Zara, yet my gut is telling me it’s exactly what I want.
Inside the foyer, the waitress leads us to a table by a window. I keep hold of her hand until we are seated. “May I get you something to drink?”
I glance at Zara skimming over the menu, and then her eyes round. Taking the initiative, I ask, “Would you like a bottle of Dom?”
“I-I… um…” she stutters.
“One bottle of Dom Pérignon and a glass of Blanton’s La Maison du Whisky.”
Zara is watching me. “I could have drank the house sparkling wine.”
“Not here. We’re practicing for the next date, and if you prefer to drink anything else, then I need to know. Because a boyfriend knows what their girlfriend likes to drink.” Fuck, that sounds good coming out of my mouth.
She rolls her lips while my words sink in. “It’s expensive, and I know it’s what you would drink out with your friends, but I don’t. Besides, if I had to drink a bottle on my own, I’d get smashed and say the wrong thing…” She pauses and looks at me.
Does she remember?
The magnetic heat of our bodies moving together. The broken cries as she begged me for more. The way she burrowed against my side, practically purring, when we finally stopped to sleep. And if she remembers, is this her way of telling me she thinks it was wrong?
I clear my throat as the waitress returns, popping the champagne. I gesture to Zara. “For the lady.”
Zara takes a sip while I swirl the golden liquid in my glass. She is watching me, my gaze locked with hers. “Have you always drank whiskey?”
“I prefer Michter’s. Franklin favors Blanton’s, and for years, it was a debate in our family about what was best. So now, I enjoy Blanton’s after drinking with him for years.”
She nods. “What else should I know about you?”
“About me or Hendricks Reality?”
Her shoulders rise and fall. “ You, Jobe. I wouldn’t care for your work as much as I care for you if I were your girlfriend.”
I stare at her for a few seconds, mulling over her words. “I disagree since my work means setting up a future for us. You’d want to secure the contract as much as I do.”
She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t. The value of money doesn’t mean to me what it does to you. This is exactly why I’m wrong for the job. Sir James will see through me. See through us.” She links her fingers near her face as though she’s begging then rests her forehead on her knuckles before looking up at me. “You need to find someone who can act as I suck at make-believe.”
I signal to the server to fill her glass, and then I give her a minute. “You’re not wrong for the job. If I start talking about my family, you can add to the conversation. It will come naturally to you. Tonight, we’ll talk about our favorite foods at our favorite restaurant.”
The waitress appears, and judging by Zara’s expression, she is far from ready to order a meal. “Can you please give us a moment longer?” I ask and wait for her to leave before I continue. “Do you want me to order for both of us?”
She raises her perfectly sculpted brows. “Then you wouldn’t know what I like.”
I smile. “True.” She lifts the menu from the table, and I can see she’s going to need some guidance for this to work. “Zara. Leave the menu on the table.”
She places it down and frowns.
“Here are some quick pointers. Never lift the menu from the table. Raise it with some touching the table.” She’s still frowning and tilts it at a perfect angle. She picks up her glass to take a sip while reading the menu. “It’s preferable you drink from the same spot of your glass so you don’t leave a lip ring.”
The comment causes her to roll her eyes. “My lipstick does not leave lip rings.” She smacks her lips together as though to prove a point, and when she puckers them, I find myself smiling.
Fuck, she has no idea how hot she is.
“If you get excited, never clink your glasses with others. I know you like to ‘cheers,’ but it is fine glassware. The less noise, the better.”
“How do you know I like to cheers?” she asks.
“I’ve seen you with Penny when you’re out.”
Her face falls, and I realize mentioning Penny’s name can be a trigger for her. I focus on more tips to distract her. “Do you like oysters?”
“Feeling horny, Jobe?”
Jesus, how am I going to get through a night with her when my thoughts flick back to our night together? “If there are no forks on the table…” I continue, in an attempt to be serious, “… do not ask for one, as it means the oyster is loosened, and you can simply use your knife.”
“Easy.”
“Keep the rim of your plate as clean as possible.”
“Got it. Now, can we talk about the menu?”
We talk about the appetizers and mains and our preferences. Zara likes steak, seafood, and pasta—everything I do. “It should be a piece of cake. You’re not fussy at all.”
She pops a shoulder. “I used to be. Ate what my boyfriends preferred me to eat. I’m done with that shit and happy the way I am. I’m all about enjoying the things I love.”
I smile at her. While I love seeing her new confidence, I’m curious about what douchebag had her feeling she wasn’t good enough. And her choice of words tells me I should mention cussing. “With me, you may cuss as much as you wish. When we’re with Sir James, we need to be mindful.”
“Of course.”
The waitress returns, and I order prawns and oysters, then the lobster for our mains.
“Practicing our fake relationship is going to cost you.”
“It will cost me more if we fuck it up,” I whisper.
“Do I need to remind you about cussing,” she says in her posh voice.
Cute.
“How much is this deal worth to you?” She takes a sip of her champagne, eyeing me .
“A billion or so.”
She coughs, choking on the champagne, and it sprays from her lips. “Oh, no, no, no. I’m not doing this. I’m not going to be the one to blame.” She stands and dabs the champagne droplets on the table with her napkin. “Pretend our arrangement was never mentioned because I’m out.”
“Sit down, Zara.”
“Don’t tell me?—”
“We are meeting Sir James tomorrow. The arrangement is already in place.”
She folds her arms. “I’m not doing it.”
“You’re making a scene.” She glances around and slowly lowers into her velvet-backed chair, downing the entire contents of her glass. She goes to refill, and I place a hand over hers to stop her. “Wait for the server, please.” Her chest is rising up and down faster than normal. “You’re going to be fine. I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t think you could do it.”
She closes her eyes and slowly shakes her head. “It’s not worth it. I know the expectations of your family. I don’t live like that.”
“Some risks pay off.”
Her eyes round. “A billion-dollar risk?”
“Everything will be fine. Be yourself. Be patient. If you’re nervous, then tell me, and I’ll guide you through it.”
The lobster arrives, and Zara has finished her third glass of champagne. “I’m no longer hungry.” She moans.
“Eat, Zara. You can’t survive on champagne alone.”
Waiting for her to take her first bite before I continue eating, I feel like a piece of shit for making her nervous. Zara has potential, and I need to show her that taking a risk can be beneficial to more than your own means. Her long lashes flutter as she forces herself to swallow every mouthful .
She’s clueless about her task being significantly easier than my end of the deal. While in London, how am I going to live with Zara and manage to keep the relationship between us platonic? Right now, I want to take her in my arms and tell her everything is going to be okay.
Then do a hell of a lot more than that.