“Yeah, I know. Going to ask her out tonight and then… well, we’ll see. Hopefully she can still sort me out. I reckon she might be a bit of a goer.”
More laughter from the group. My hand tightens on my glass. Screw him. He isn’t getting anywhere near her. I put my drink down and leave, heading straight up the stairs, knocking on her door before I can remind myself I’m not supposed to interfere. To paraphrase Shakespeare, fuck the lawyers. It’s just dinner. Plenty of people on business trips eat meals together. It doesn’t have to be anything else.
The door opens.
Zara
I’ve stayed in my apartment all day, too embarrassed to go out in case I see Myles again. I’m not sure how I’ll make it through the rest of this trip, to be honest. He doesn’t seem like the type of person who’d give me a hard time about accidentally exposing myself. But he also doesn’t seem like the type of person who’d forget. I imagine someone calling him for a reference if I leave the company.Oh yes, she was very good at her job, apart from the time she flashed me.Who knows? It might actually tip things in my favour for some of the jobs available in London.
I sit down and open my laptop to check Myles’s emails, then go over all the confirmations for the remainder of the trip. We’re staying near the medina, the ancient market in Marrakech. Myles has requested a place he often visits. It’s an old palace which has been converted into a hotel, built around a central courtyard with a pool. There are private suites on the roof, and two floors of rooms below. Myles is booked into one of the suites; Scott was supposed to be in the one next to it but I’d changed it when I found out I was coming on the trip, and booked myself a room on one of the floors below. I’m more glad than ever that I decided to do this.
I scroll through the emails once more, check the appointments and forward anything new to Myles. Then I close my laptop with a snap and put my elbows on the table, my head dropping into my hands.
Who am I kidding? I know this stuff like the back of my hand. I’m only doing this because it’s supposed to be a work trip, and I’m trying to convince myself of that. Because the reality is that this is very far from any sort of work trip. I can’t deny it any longer. Myles said he brought me along because he wanted me to make sure things ran smoothly. But I could have stayed in the London office and done essentially the same thing. He even sent me away from the one meeting I attended with him, as though I wasn’t even good enough to choose a couple of rugs. So, why am I here?
Maybe he’s having second thoughts about the job with the design team. Perhaps I should just leave the company when my contract ends and use some of my savings to study design. But I don’t want to leave Ocean’s Curl, or pass up the job opportunity, even if he does regret offering it to me. I don’t need to see him very often once I’m in the Soho office. I have options, even if he has seen my nipples.
My mind wanders, remembering how it felt to be pressed against him and then, while I was in the shower, knowing he was only a few feet away. There was part of me, a growing part, that wished he’d come in the shower with me, opening the door to pull me against him once more, and then…
Feeling flushed all over I get to my feet, shoving the chair away as though it’s what’s making me feel so uncomfortable. I go to the kitchen and make myself a cup of tea, then take it back to the sofa, where I curl up, a blanket over my legs.
There’s a knock on the door. I answer it, thinking it might be Amira.
Oh my god. I actually put my hand to my chest, like a heroine in some sort of Victorian novel, like I’m about to faint.
But seriously. MyGod. Myles is in my doorway, wearing a wetsuit, rolled down to his waist. And that’s it. One muscular arm is braced against the doorframe, close to my head. His dark hair is damp, just starting to curl, pushed back from his handsome face. I try not to look at his rippling chest and abs, the dusting of dark hair trailing downwards. Try not to remember how I was pressed against him just a few hours ago. And how I flashed him.
Heat rushes to my cheeks. “Uh, do you?—”
“I want you to have dinner with me tonight.” The words are rushed, slightly, like he’s in a hurry. “Upstairs.”
I stare at him for a moment. It’s hard to breathe, for some reason.
“Will you?” His voice cracks slightly.
I can’t think of one single reason why not. I can’t think of much of anything except how close he is to me. How, if I just put my hand out, I could touch him, run my hand over his chest. Dangerous, dangerous ground. Absolutely unstable. But the whole absence-of-reasons-to-say-no thing is still there. I go with it.
“Yes.”
ChapterTwenty-One
Zara
The restaurant on the top level of La Coeur is beautiful. It’s decorated in airy shades of white and blue, with soft velvet chairs pulled up to wooden tables, casual yet stylish. But what really makes it special is the spectacular view. One side of the restaurant is floor-to-ceiling glass, so all you see is the sea and sky. And now, with the sun starting to set, the clouds changing colour, it’s utterly mesmerising.
And it gives me something to look at, other than Myles. The restaurant is fairly busy, but it feels as though it’s just the two of us in this space. Something flutters in my chest. I stamp on it. I don’t know what’s happening here, or why I even agreed to have dinner with him. I suppose I couldn’t bear the thought of him eating alone again. It can’t be anything else.
Still, I’d dressed with care tonight. Eloise’s black skirt with a lacy camisole top in cream, one of my new scarves draped around my shoulders. I’d tied my hair back, but more loosely than usual, and tried to make myself look as presentable as possible. Because I’m an idiot, I guess. Myles is dating one of the most beautiful women in the world. I’ve just been ditched by my boyfriend. And this isn’t a date.
“What do you think?” he says.
“I think it’s beautiful,” I murmur, still gazing out to sea. Heat comes to my face as I remember him pulling me from the waves, holding me against him.
“Zara.” There’s something in his voice that makes me look at him. “Don’t worry about today.”
“I didn’t even thank you.”
“Thank me?”
