“You look stunning,” David says, drawing my attention back to him. His eyes are still glued to my face, which is a bitawkward considering he’s sitting so close that his shoulder brushes against mine. “I didn’t realise you and Zayn were dating when we met that day in the office.”
Again, Zayn steps in before I can deny the accusation.
“There’s a lot you don’t know,” Zayn drawls coldly as he wraps an arm around my shoulder, drawing me closer toward him. I can sense that there’s no love lost between these two colleagues, and I briefly ponder what could have caused the rift that is so obviously between them. A clash of personalities? Zayn can be quite overwhelming, to say the least. Or maybe they’re in competition for their jobs. David seems older than Zayn, but Zayn is in a league of his own I’m sure. His launch into partnership at a lucrative and well-established law firm at the tender age of twenty-eight is confirmation of that. His arm drapes the back of my chair now, his hand resting in ny shoulder, and I find myself settling into his side, the cool touch of his suit jacket against my bare skin a much needed reprieve from the fire that ignites under my skin at our proximity.
It’s been a long time since I’ve thought of Zayn as my boyfriend, and sinking back into the role feels like slipping on an old favourite pair of warm slippers after being outside barefoot in a blizzard. A little too comfortable.
Except Zayn isn’t your boyfriend.
Conversation erupts across the table, but I’m more than happy to sit quietly and enjoy Zayn’s company. It will be over all too soon, so I don’t even chide myself in being so pathetic as to soak in every moment of it while I can. So much so that it takes me a moment to realise that Zayn has started speaking to a woman who has taken the seat on his other side.
Not just any woman. A stunning, statuesque brunette beauty with doe-like chocolate eyes and a pout any makeupcompany would kill to have model their lipsticks.There’s a familiarity in the way Zayn casually addresses her, and when she places a delicate hand on his forearm, an odd feeling strikes me in the chest. Then the woman smiles coyly at something Zayn says with lips that are painted blood-red to match her nails, and my stomach clenches uncomfortably. I recognise the feeling instantly.
Jealousy. I’m jealous.
While Zayn speaks, the beautiful woman casually runs one of those nails down the plunging neckline of her dress, drawing attention to her more than ample cleavage, and it’s so sensual, so intentional, that I come to a jarring realisation. Something I suddenly know deep in my heart of hearts.
Zayn has slept with this woman.
It’s written in her wanton gaze on his face, the slight parting of her lips as she hangs off every word he speaks to her. And I should know; it’s the same look I’m sure is plastered all over my face every time I lay eyes on him.
The thought makes my blood run cold and I slip out of Zayn’s grasp, suddenly desperate to get away from him. Fromthem.
The movement draws the woman’s eyes to mine.
“Monica, this is my date. Gianna.”
There goes that word again. Even more annoyingly, this time I don’t even think to correct him.
“Pleasure,” Monica says, and although her smile is pleasant, I sense no pleasure at all.
Well, that makes two of us.
“All mine.” I smile back.
So this is one of Zayn’slady friends.Funny how there’s a difference between knowing they exist, and then actuallyseeingthe women Zayn’s been touching. I can only assumewhat I’m currently feeling is comparable to enduring open-heart surgery while fully conscious and unmedicated.
“Please excuse me.” There’s a slight tremor to my voice as I stand and grab my purse. I need to get away for a moment to get my emotions under check. Unfortunately, I don’t trust myself not to burst into tears at the dinner table.
I bee-line to the loos while trying to keep a hold of my purse with trembling fingers, weaving through the crowds of people that have all recently arrived and are searching for their seats.
I lock myself in a stall and sit on top of the toilet lid, then count to ten slowly and breathe while remembering that Zayn is not my boyfriend and why am I so angry and upset that he slept with someone while I wasmarried to someone else, for Christ’s sake.
It’s ridiculous, I know that. But can I help that I want to go out there and obliviate both their memories so that Zayn can’t remember running his hands overMonica’sperfectly smooth, flawless skin, andMonicacan’t remember what it’s like to be full of Zayn because he’smine.
Oh, shit. I drop my head into my hands and begin to hyperventilate.
Mine?Mine?
Why am I referring to Zayn as mine? He’s been around too much, inserting himself into my life and needling his way into my head. Picking me up from work, sleeping on my couch, taking me for breakfast… the lure of him is too strong for me to resist, and I need to nip this in the bud before it gets out of control.
Like ‘hyperventilating in a toilet because I met someone Zayn has had sexual interactions with’ out of control.
Right, too late for that, but I have to believe that I can still salvage this. Ihaveto salvage this. I’ll just go out there,make it through the rest of the night, and then I’ll never have to speak to him again outside of our professional relationship as lawyer and client. Who cares aboutMonica? In fact, she can have him.
This will be simple.
24
