I don’t think I imagine her swift intake of breath. I know I’m not imagining the stiffness in my groin. But she’s back to her cool self in a moment, straightening up and moving away from me as though she can feel how close I am to reaching out and having my way with her.
“Really?” Her voice shakes a little.
“Yes. You’ve confirmed my own thoughts. And I’ll consider the pockets, too.”
I’ve always run my company like this. Always taken time to manage the small details, the things that make a difference. It’s why I’m going to Morocco. The African country is emerging as a top surf destination, eager to encourage investment along their wild ocean coast. And their artisans create beautiful fabrics, which I’d like to use in some new designs for the clothing line. I could send someone else, but then I wouldn’t have my hand on it, and I believe in doing things once and doing them correctly, when I can. It’s why we stand out from our competitors. I hire talented people to work for me, and I give them the autonomy to make things happen. But I also like to know that things are still meeting my own standards. That hasn’t changed since the early days, working out of my dad’s garage in Torquay.
He’s the one who loaned me the money to start the business. Mum had just died and we were both looking for ways to keep busy, to keep the pain at bay. I’ve paid him back, a hundredfold, but it never seems to be enough. The bond between us is twisted, the love stretched thin, yet it still has a hold on me, despite all the damage over the years. I feel his shadow with every deal I make, every time I go the extra mile to make sure things are how I want them to be. Every broken relationship, every time I push someone away, there he is.
“If that’s all you need, can I go over a couple of things with you about your upcoming trips?”
I blink, looking up. Zara, calm and collected once more, is standing by my desk.
“Fine.” I stay where I am as she starts going over the details, my gaze drifting to the photo of the dress on the table, the one she said she liked. I imagine her wearing it, walking along a beach. Shrugging out of it, the fabric sliding on her smooth skin.
Damn. I need to pull myself together.
ChapterThree
Zara
The café is noisy and warm, the sky outside dark. I sit back in my chair, smiling at the girl who brings us our drinks. Coffee for me, and a glass of wine for Eloise. “Screw it,” she said, when she ordered. “I rarely get a night off, and I’ve pumped enough milk for the next twenty-four hours.”
She picks up the glass now, taking a sip and closing her eyes, a Cheshire-cat smile spreading across her face. A small moan escapes her lips.
I giggle. “You all right?”
“Oh God, Zara,” she says, opening her eyes. “It’s been far too long since we’ve done this.”
“Done what? We see each other all the time.”
She shakes her head. “Not like this. Not without,” she waves her hand, “all that baby stuff. It feels weird to be here without him, with just a small bag, but oh my God I needed this.”
Eloise’s little boy, Arthur, is an adorable chubby bundle of smiles. I might be his godmother, but I don’t think I’m biased when I say he’s the cutest baby I’ve ever seen. He has Eloise’s dark hair and his father’s long-lashed brown eyes.
“Everything all right?”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” she says. “I adore Arthur and Anwar, but being a mum is the hardest and most amazing thing I’ve ever done. Like, it never stops. And I don’t want it to stop! But at the same time, I kind of can’t wait to get back to the office.” She takes another sip of wine, then looks stricken. “Sorry, I know it’ll mean you’re out of a job. But I’m sure Myles will want to keep you on in some capacity.”
I snort. “I don’t know about that.”
Eloise frowns. “Is this about him not liking you again? Honestly, Zara, you’d be gone by now if he didn’t like you, I swear.”
“Then why is he always so short with me? It doesn’t matter what I do, I never feel as though I’m good enough. Although the other day…” I pause, thinking back to the strange interaction we’d had. I still can’t believe I spoke up like that. But his grey gaze seemed to demand honesty. I blush, thinking about how I’d criticised some of the designs. What must he think of me?
“What? What?” Eloise leans forward, her blue eyes bright.
“Well, he called me into his office, and asked my opinion on some of the new clothing line. Did he ever do that with you? And he seemed… I dunno, kind of pleased by what I told him.” My blush deepens as I remember him standing so close to me, the way he’d said very good, almost like a growl. My thighs clench under the table, my hands coming to my face.
“What on earth is going on? What did you say? And no, he never asked me about stuff like that!”
Between sips of coffee I tell Eloise the whole story, blushing even more when I remember my insistence on pockets. Eloise, after a moment, bursts out laughing.
“But pockets are important!” she shrieks, between giggles. “Oh, Zara, you are hilarious. Genuinely though, how you can think he doesn’t like you after that is beyond me.”
I start giggling too, and it feels like a release. Release of the tension I feel every day working with Myles, the strange dynamic between us. I feel drawn to him while at the same time wanting to avoid his dark moods. It will be a relief, I decide, when Eloise comes back to the office and I can go and work somewhere else. Maybe I’ll take the plunge and go to Dubai, be with Dean. Or I could see if there’s a spot at the Soho office. I giggle again, telling Eloise what Georgia told me. But she becomes serious. She reaches across the table, her hand covering mine.
“She’s right, babes. You are a dish. Far too gorgeous to sit alone in that room of yours night after night, reading romance novels. I know you love him, but I wish that bloody Dean would stop messing you around.”
