Chapter 8
8
ZARA
When I agreed to help Jobe last night, I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t being the pawn in a billion-dollar deal.
Arriving home, he asked about my dress and shoe size, then stared at me like I was dessert. The anticipation faded before anything else was said when he turned his back and walked toward his bedroom.
He was gone when I woke.
Now, I’m sitting in a café across the road from my office block, though this morning, I need something stronger than coffee to get me through the day.
Piper walks into the café at the same time she has every other weekday. “Have you been here a while?” She adjusts her bag’s strap over her petite shoulder and lays a box on the table.
“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep. Are these mine? ”
“Chocolate muffins today.” She smiles at me. “Do you want another cup?”
“Sure. Thank you, and I need a sneaky bite now.”
She slides into the chair opposite me. “What time is our first meeting?”
I check my emails. “Ten o’clock.”
“If Grant asks me to do any more of his shit jobs, I’m resigning. I’ve been here long enough to get a promotion.”
“I think he likes you,” I offer with a smile.
“What? He grunts every time he speaks to me as though I’m wasting his time.”
“Some men are like that. If he’s getting your attention with shitty behavior, then he’ll keep being an ass.”
She fiddles with her long, blonde ponytail. “So, how do I get him to stop?”
I take a bite of her muffin and groan with pleasure. “Ignore him, so he needs to change his behavior to get your attention, or you tell him you don’t appreciate the way he speaks to you. If he continues, then go to HR. You don’t have to put up with his crap even if he likes you.”
Our coffees arrive, and she takes a sip. “He is kind of cute.”
No, he’s not.
“What’s the office policy here? Are relationships allowed?”
“Why wouldn’t they be?”
I’m not about to give her a lesson in heartbreak or losing your job because your male colleague dumped you and fake excuses were made for your dismissal. She is more than ten years younger than me and has a life of lessons ahead of her. However, I will warn her when the time is right.
I finish my coffee and stand. “I’m heading up as I need to start work. I’m finishing early as I have a …” What is it? “I’m meeting a friend for dinner. ”
“That sounds like fun.”
“I’d rather stand barefoot on tar in one hundred and twenty degrees.”
She screws up her face. “How many?”
“Oh yeah, whatever it is in Celsius.” I need to study that more as I haven’t yet worked out the British metric system.
“So why are you going?” she asks, wiping milk froth from her lips.
I let out a sigh. “I agreed to the arrangement before I…” Before I knew how much money was involved? Before I thought it through? “It’s only one night,” I say more for my benefit. “I’ll see you in the office.”
When I walk into Jobe’s penthouse that evening, there are boxes on the floor and dresses hanging on a wheeled rack.
What the…
He is nowhere in sight and presumably not yet home from work. I retrieve my cell from my bag to text him.
Why is there a rack of dresses here?
Before I get a chance to walk into the bathroom, he has sent a reply.
If you like any, keep them. Accessorize with the shoes, jewelry, and bags.
What is happening?
I throw my phone on the bed and head to the shower. By the time I have finished applying my makeup and styling my hair, there is still no word from Jobe.
I keep wiping my hands on my robe when I play out tonight in my head. What if I say something that’s inappropriate? Surely, this is doomed before we even start.
Out on the terrace, I stare at the view of London and the people walking near the river. The stone terrace calms my erratic mind. In the street below, I watch as a black sedan stops, and Jobe emerges from the back seat, then disappears from view, heading inside. A minute later, the door whooshes open, and he stops in his tracks when he sees me.
“Did you choose a dress?” He rushes past me toward his room.
“Good day to you too.”
“We have ten minutes to be downstairs,” he fires over his shoulder.
Jesus, if he’s stressed, who is going to calm me?
Jobe has been talking on his cell since walking out of his room. He mouthed, lovely , when he saw me, then continued his conversation, leaving me to sit in awkward silence.
By the time we arrive at the restaurant, he is still in a heated conversation as he leans over to open the car door. When I don’t move, he stares at me expectantly. “Zara, we’re here,” he says, moving his cell away from his face.
“I know, and you haven’t uttered a word to me. I’m not ready to go in.”
He looks intently at me. “I’ll call you later,” he barks into the phone. “Don’t do anything until I give you further direction.” He pops his cell in his suit jacket and slides back into the car. “What is it?”
Those sexy dark eyes search my face. Is he really this clueless? “You haven’t spoken a word to me. Barely acknowledged my dress and if you liked it. ”
“I said you looked lovely,” he counters.
“I need to look better than lovely,” I snap. “If we’re going to pull this off, then the conversation between us needs to happen before we leave the house. I’m not a professional actor and don’t have a switch I flick on or off to be in character mode.”
He yanks the door closed. “Ben, please continue driving for a few minutes.”
“You said you’d be here for me, and yet you’ve ignored me since you arrived home.”
“I haven’t ignored you, Zara. I’m still working. It sucks, but this is my life. I don’t have a finish time.”
I glance down at my hands, where I’m fidgeting with the purse strap. Maybe I’m being immature, but he could have acknowledged me and the work I put in to make myself presentable. Is it so hard for a guy to tell a girl she looks beautiful? Even if she isn’t beautiful in his eyes, the time it takes to get ready for a date should be recognized.
His large, warm hand covers mine to still my fingers. “It’s going to be fine. Stop worrying. Be yourself, and everything will work out the way it should.”
“Will it?”
“It will. He’ll be besotted with your beauty and then charmed by your personality.” He smiles, and while I thought I wanted to hear the validation, it doesn’t calm me in the least.
“Am I a ploy? The takeover is a business matter, not a show-off-your-shiny-toy at a business meeting.” I’m not sure why I waited until now for my feminist side to show her face.
He rubs the side of his jaw before meeting my gaze. “We agreed on this. He needs to see how much we’re in love, so he believes there is an element of trust and commitment in my character. Your beauty is a benefit. Not a ploy. While we’ll discuss some business matters, it’s the light conversation about family that will seal his belief, and no one knows my sister-in-law better than you.”
I’m stuck on the part where he says we need to act as though we’re in love .
“But I like being single,” I murmur. I have embraced it and have no desire to start an unhealthy relationship again.
“And so do I,” he shoots back. “Everyone has the potential to act and pretend to be someone they’re not. Remind yourself of your douchebag ex-boyfriends and how they fooled you at the beginning of your relationship.”
He manages to make me smile by calling my exes douchebags and for taking my side. But he has a point. Everyone plays pretend at some point in their lives.
Ben pulls up at the restaurant, and Jobe waits for me to acknowledge him. “Are you ready?”
I take a deep breath in and nod. “I’m ready.”
Jobe exits the car and opens my door, taking my hand and keeping a firm hold on it as we walk toward the restaurant doors. He’s handsome in his ivory suit and white shirt with a black tie. I also never told him how gorgeous and ridiculously hot he looks, though I’ll never admit those exact words to him. “You look handsome, yourself,” I whisper.
He turns to me and smiles. A smile that melts panties and surges hormones all over the world. Tonight, it’s enough to ease my nerves. He squeezes my hand, a comforting touch as we follow the server around white, cloth-covered tables with tall candles as centerpieces in brass holders.
A round table is set for six. Three men are already seated and stand as we approach. Jobe makes the introductions and the two other men, one being Sir James’ son, Harrison, shake my hand. The other is Clive, a business partner.
As I approach Sir James, he smiles and doesn’t appear at all threatening. He’s about my size, almost a foot shorter than Jobe. He has thinning gray hair and a medium build. However, his designer gray suit suits him. His demeanor oozes sophistication.
“Zara,” he says gently and raises my hand, kissing the top of it. Did Jobe expect him to charm me? “I eagerly awaited meeting the lady who has tamed Jobe Hendricks. Why has he kept you a secret?”
I smile nervously and sneak a glance at Jobe. His nod is subtle. “We decided to wait a few months until it felt right to be together in public. You know how the tabloids fabricate material.”
I stare at Jobe with starry eyes. I might actually be good at this acting thing. Jobe comes to stand beside me and wraps a hand around my waist. My breath hitches, but my fake smile remains broad.
“Come darling, the staff is waiting for us.” With a hand on my lower back, Jobe pulls out my chair for me to sit and takes the seat beside me. Sir James sits on my other side.
Stop shaking. You can do this.
“My apologies for my wife’s absence. She became unwell today and decided to rest in bed,” Sir James shares, leaving me as the only female at the corporate business world table.
Fun.
The server comes to take our order, and I casually ask for a bottle of Dom Pérignon Oenotheque Champagne Rose, as though it’s my choice of drink every day. The men order expensive red wine, except for Jobe. He sticks with his favorite whiskey.
In silence, we peruse the menu for a few minutes, and I notice there is barely any noise coming from the other tables.
I must not drop my cutlery on the floor or even on my plate for that matter .
I repeat it in my head because there’s a high probability I will and bring attention to our table. Jobe leans close. “Order the seafood. It’s also Sir James’ favorite,” he whispers.
His breath dusts my neck, and I tilt my head toward him. One little tickle leaves me wanting to be closer to him. Focus. I see what he’s doing, and I’ll follow Sir James’ lead. He needs to trust me.
Leaving the menu partially on the table, I decide on a few dishes that caught my eye last night. Jobe was right in dining here last night as I’m not as uncomfortable being here a second time.
When the server arrives, Sir James orders first. If it’s a hierarchy of importance, then I assume I’m to order last. When Sir James finishes, everyone looks at me.
“And the lady?” the server asks.
“Oh.” Sir James ordered the steak—the most expensive one on the menu. “I’ll have the same as Sir James, please.” I smile at Sir James and catch Jobe’s shocked expression in the corner of my eye. I know it’s not about the cost but the fact I deliberately defied his advice.
Well, buckle up, Hendricks, because I got this. After a couple of glasses of Dom, I’ll be nominated for an Oscar.
“How is Rachel?” Jobe asks Harrison.
“Doing better. Four weeks until our son arrives.” He smiles at us and then looks at his father, who isn’t paying attention. Sir James is having a quiet conversation with Clive.
“You know it’s a boy?” I pipe up and hope I’m not overstepping a line.
“Yes. After two very loud girls, it will be nice not to be the only male in the house.”
I laugh. “Yes, girls are not quiet. How old are your daughters? ”
“Four and nine. Although Phillipa, the oldest, acts as though she is going on nineteen.”
I laugh again. “Girls always want to be older than their age. Do you have any photos?” His eyes dance with delight as he hands his cell to me. “Oh, they are beautiful. You must be very proud.”
“I am. They keep me on my toes for sure.”
I rest a hand on Jobe’s thigh, and he leans into the back of his chair as though he can finally relax.
I smile at Harrison. “I can’t wait to have children. All my life, I’ve wanted twins.”
Jobe subtly coughs up a mouthful of whiskey and tenses beside me.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Suddenly, Sir James is interested in our conversation.
“I know it’s early days between Jobe and I, but I believe in making your plans clear from the early stages of a relationship. No pretenses. Be transparent from the beginning.”
Sir James sits forward so he has Jobe in his view. “You didn’t mention this.”
“No. I’m aware it’s what Zara wants. If we’re together in another six months, then we can discuss it further.”
I peer at Sir James, rather pleased with myself. “He hasn’t run away,” I say with a grin.
Sir James’ lips part into a smile. “No. Even though you were clear with your goals, I like your honesty, Zara.”
“Jobe is wonderful with children. Franklin, Jobe’s brother, and his wife, Penelope, have a daughter. She’s only a few months old, but if Franklin was on a business trip during her pregnancy, Jobe would be the one helping her in any way he could. Penelope is my friend. It’s how Jobe and I met.”
Shit, am I saying too much ?
“And seeing how wonderful he is and a fabulous uncle to his new niece, I’m convinced he’ll make a wonderful father.”
“Okay, darling,” Jobe pipes up. “No one wants to hear about me having a soft side. I have a serious business reputation to uphold.”
“I would like to hear.” Sir James leans back into his chair, wine glass in his hand. “There is much I don’t know about Mr. Hendricks.”
I’m unsure if he says it in sarcasm, but it gives my motor mouth a green light. “One night, we couldn’t settle Summer, Penny and Frank’s baby,” I add and glance around the table, making eye contact. “Jobe walked the hallways until she was asleep on his shoulder.” I glance at Jobe and smile as I rub his thigh affectionately. He’s frowning, and his eyes tell me he’s unamused by my storytelling skills. I’m sure he’s a little nervous about what I’ll say next.
Relax, honey. I’ve got this.
There’s something empowering about captivating everyone’s attention at a dinner table. “Diapers.” I wave my hand. “Not a problem.”
“I assumed this a chore for the nanny?” Sir James asks.
“Right? Penelope is grounded and is a hands-on type of mother. She has also requested we all stay involved in Summer’s life, and we rotate babysitting duties so she recognizes us from a young age.” I’m smiling broadly as the words roll off my tongue since it’s not a lie. The immensity of the truth hits me.
It was all my best friend wanted, and I ran out on her.
My throat burns as I’m hit with the reality of my own words. I pick up my drink and take a few sips while the rest of the guests watch on.
Jobe leans into me with a calming hand on my back. “Zara misses them. She is on a working visa for twelve months in one of my partner companies. Fortunately, she gets to travel home with me for short breaks to see my family and her friend.”
I nod vehemently, agreeing with his lie. “It’s true. I miss them, but I also want to take the opportunity to absorb everything London has to offer while I’m here. Once I return home, I’ll have no regrets for when I settle into motherhood.” I take another sip of my champagne, but it’s bitter on my tongue.
Why is this such an easy lie for them to swallow? That every woman must yearn to be a mother.
For the last two years, I’ve come to terms with remaining single for the rest of my life, and I’m happier for it. It’s been significantly harder to find peace in not wanting children. The societal expectation is so intense. No one even assumes that it’s a choice. Instead, it’s always a given. My chest aches at having to act the opposite of my truth.
For the next half hour, I remain quiet while the men talk business, delicately breaking my bread and buttering the piece I’m about to eat while leaving the remainder on the plate.
My etiquette is on beat.
The main meals are presented, and I’m relieved the night is coming to an end.
Sir James asks for the bill, then we all stand. Jobe thanks the men for their hospitality and mentions he’ll see them tomorrow.
While Sir James and he continue in quiet conversation, I continue the rouse and step to Clive and shake his hand. “It was lovely to meet you.” Then I step sideways to Harrison. “Thank you again. I hope everything goes well for Rachel. I can’t wait to see photos of your new baby boy.”
“Thank you, Zara. I’ll send the photos to Jobe as soon as he’s born. ”
I smile. “I’d like that very much.”
Then I’m standing face to face with Sir James, and our eyes meet. There is no judgment, which surprises me. “Thank you, sir, for a lovely night. It was an honor to meet you.” I hold out my hand to shake his.
Sir James takes my hand, then covers the top of my hand with his other one. “The pleasure is all mine. It was a delight to meet you, Zara.” He looks at Jobe, then back to me. “Don’t be a stranger. If you need anything at all while Jobe is away, please reach out to us.”
Wow.
“Thank you, that is very kind.”
“Jobe, please pass on our contact details to Zara.”
He nods and shakes all their hands once more.
As soon as we are in the confines of his car, Jobe lets out a long breath. “Did you have to bring babies into the conversation, Zara?”
“Are you serious?” After everything, these are his first words? “You wanted me to act. And since women who don’t want children are judged harshly in any social circle, I did what I thought you wanted me to do, even though I hated it. Even though it hurt. I came to London to find myself and to embrace the part of me that doesn’t want what women are expected to want. And there I was, back to square one for you. You could at least say thank you.”
He is silent for a long time, then quietly offers, “Thank you.”
Something about his apology calms me. “I didn’t mean to go overboard, especially since it’s furthest from the truth for both of us.”
“He did like you, and you certainly fooled him. It seems this deal needs to happen faster than predicted. Otherwise, we might need to act like a wedding is on the cards.”
“Or we break up,” I mutter .
When the car stops in front of the penthouse, we wearily head inside, neither of us speaking a word. The elevator doors open, and we end up in the kitchen together. Surprisingly, Jobe pours another glass of whiskey instead of going to sleep as I assumed he would since he’ll be in the office tomorrow.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asks without even a look my way.
“No, thank you. I think I’ve consumed enough champagne for one night. I’d hate to say the wrong thing again.”
He swirls the whiskey in his glass, something I notice he does when he’s pondering or before he’s about to speak. “Zara, can you sit with me a while?”
God, please don’t be nice to me.
It’s much easier when he’s being an ass.
Then, at least, I’m not tempted to do something I’ll regret.