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.
ChapterSixteen
Zara
Ifinish my orange juice then pad back into the kitchen to refill the glass, grabbing another pastry from the box on the counter. As I take a bite my gaze goes to the colourful rug spread across one end of my corner sofa. It’s the rug I admired yesterday, when Myles had taken me to meet the trader in Taghazout.
He’d shown up just as the light was sliding from gold to lilac, standing in my doorway like a fragment of a dream, his steel-grey gaze turned down.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.” He was yielding and unyielding at the same time, as though I was a wave hurtling towards him, about to crash on his cliff face.
I’d still been hurt by what he’d said to me, and how he’d said it. But I also had to admit to myself that he was right. I’m supposed to be here to work, and he pays me to be where he needs me to be. I shouldn’t have forgotten that. This isn’t a holiday, no matter how much it feels like one.
“I’m sorry too,” I’d said. “I should have been on time.”
