Chapter 7

ZAINAB

“I appreciate the offer, Dad, but I’m honestly too busy.”

“Are you sure? Warren is a very handsome man, so I’m told.”

I roll my eyes, knowing he can’t see me. “I don’t want to date him, Dad. No thank you.”

I love having catch-ups with my dad, but it’s a bit frustrating when he tries to play matchmaker with his rich friends’ sons.

After declining one more time, I hang up.

Pushing back off my desk, I stand up and stretch my back.

Tempting smells are wafting in through the door, and I follow my nose, curious what Huxley is cooking for us tonight.

The extractor fan is on, making a humming noise that joins something sizzling in the pan on the hob.

Clouds of steam burst from the steamer on another ring, and there are two rolls of bread set aside on a plate.

It looks like Huxley is taking this shit seriously.

Truth be told, I was startled when Huxley offered to cook dinner on Monday and Wednesday nights.

He said I was clearly tired after a full day at the office, and I should let him handle dinner for us.

I was hesitant at first, scared that he might not be a very good cook and I’d have to choke down bad food twice a week. But I suppose he wouldn’t offer if he wasn’t confident in his abilities.

“This looks great,” I comment as I head to the fridge and pour myself a glass of wine.

My muscles ache from my morning workout. I’ve earned this one.

“It’s almost ready.”

“What ~is~ it?” I ask him as he stands behind the oven, stirring something.

“Spaghetti and meatballs,” he replies.

My stomach rumbles in approval. I look down at my glass of white and realize that red wine would probably have been a better choice. I quickly gulp down the last of it, rinse the glass out, and then open a bottle of red.

“Want a glass?”

Huxley shakes his head, his eyes lingering on the bottle in my hand.

I sit down and pull my phone out of my hoodie. I search for the nearest spas and find one a half hour away, somewhere called Magnolia Hall. They offer sports massages, facials, and nail treatments.

I look down at my chipped nail varnish. I need to get my shit sorted.

I’m about to ask Huxley about it, but he’s started serving up.

We each have a bowl of spaghetti. Sitting on top is a Bolognese-style sauce with meatballs, steamed broccoli, and green beans.

“Holy crap, this looks incredible,” I tell him.

“I hope it tastes good.”

I try a bite and nod enthusiastically. “It’s great; thank you so much.”

He shrugs and starts eating.

I tuck in, too, for a little while. I finish my glass of wine and pour myself another.

I take a sip and then decide to broach the topic of the rest of the week.

“So, you might not have seen because you were cooking, but I’ve added some things to my calendar. Tomorrow and Friday will just be normal working days, but I was thinking we could do a big gym session on Friday night instead of Saturday morning.”

Huxley nods again but stays quiet.

Not to be discouraged by his lack of reaction, I continue.

“My father is launching a new business venture this week, so he’s holding a party at the Celebration Hall in the city center. It’s on Saturday. I was just on the phone with him because he wanted to check I was coming and sort out the arrangements. He’s going to email you a copy of his security team’s plan.”

“Good. Okay.”

~Two words; we’re making progress.~

“I’m sure it will all be fine. We’re going to arrive alone. I’m not taking a date, obviously, and I imagine we’ll leave by midnight. It starts at eight, and it gets messier as the night goes on. I like to show my face and get out fast, if you get my drift.”

“Sure.”

~And we’re back to one.~

“Anyway, I thought about what you said about the sports massage.”

He puts down his fork and looks up at me. “Oh?”

“I’m going to book myself in for a couple of treatments on Saturday morning before my father’s event, hence why I want to go to the gym on Friday instead.”

“Right.”

“So, the question is, what would you like done to you?”

He blinks at me a few times, a confused look on his handsome face.

“At the spa?” I clarify. “Do you want a sports massage?”

Something like relief crosses his face, and he blows out a breath.

“Oh, right. Yeah. Uh, how much is it?”

I brush him off with my hand. “My treat.”

His face hardens, and he grips his fork.

“I can’t accept that, Zainab.”

“Please, you really can. They have deals for more than one person. You’re doing ~me~ a favor by getting the massage. They encourage couples to get them together.”

My face heats up as I realize what I’ve said.

“Not that we’ll be together. I’ll book us separately. Different rooms, different masseuses. So…yeah. What do you think?”

A smile is tugging at his lips, and I can tell that he’s trying to hold it back.

I’ve amused him. My nervous babbling is making him laugh, and I can’t blame him. I probably sound like an idiot.

“I am happy to get a sports massage. In a separate room,” he replies cautiously.

“Okay. This is so good, by the way. Thank you for cooking.”

It might just be my imagination, but his bronzed skin looks a little pink around his cheekbones. He keeps his head lowered, staring down at his bowl.

“Glad you like it,” he mumbles.

“Do you have a tux for Saturday?”

He shakes his head. “I’ll rent one.”

“Okay. I’ve already bought a dress.” I don’t know why I am telling him this. “I got it last month when Dad invited us.”

“Is your brother coming?” Huxley asks.

“I don’t think so. He hates those sorts of events, and, to be honest, I think my father prefers it when he doesn’t come.”

He presses his lips into a line and doesn’t say anything more.

We finish eating in silence. I carry my empty bowl to the kitchen and refill my glass. Huxley starts loading the dishwasher.

“Thank you again, Huxley.”

He pauses and looks at me.

“Jake, call me Jake.”

I don’t know what to say, so I take a leaf out of his book and nod.

I return to my office, swipe the romance manuscript off the desk, and return to the living room. Once I’m comfy on the sofa—wine in one hand, manuscript in the other—I start reading. Huxley—~Jake~—comes through and joins me.

It’s calm and comforting having him with me, reading quietly. Although his stoicism is mildly infuriating and borderline rude at times, Jake’s company is far more preferable to sitting in my flat alone night after night.

My nose scrunches up as the author waffles on with her usual soppy spiel I’ve grown to expect.

“What’s that face for? Is it not good?”

“It’s just so lovey-dovey. Let me read you this part.”

Jake listens as I read a couple of paragraphs to him. His face is impassive as he takes it in.

“Well? What do you think?”

“I think it sounds like a romance novel.”

“Do you not think it’s a bit much?”

He shrugs. “I couldn’t speak on it; I don’t read enough romance novels to know. It sounds like something that a romance reader would like, I guess.”

I frown at his comment and find myself questioning whether I’m being too critical.

I realize that my glass is empty and stand up to get another. My head spins, and I stumble on the rug.

Jake quickly drops his book and gets to his feet. His hand is on my elbow, steadying me as the room spins.

“Whoa there, are you okay?”

I smile and shrug him off. “Yeah, just had a head rush for a second.”

He frowns, as if he doesn’t believe me.

“I’m fine,” I insist. “I’m going to get another glass. Do you want one?”

His frown deepens. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? How many have you had?”

The question immediately gets my back up. I struggle to keep the defensive tone out of my voice as I reply, “Only a couple.”

He just stares at me, and I bristle further.

“I’m treating myself, all right? It’s been a long couple of days.”

~So much for not being defensive.~

He presses his lips together and wisely stays silent. I brush past him and go to the kitchen.

There’s a sour taste in my mouth as I pour myself another drink, disappointed to find the bottle now empty. I thought I’d only had three or four glasses.

***

Jake takes us to Magnolia Hall in the morning, where we check in for our spa day.

My first stop is the sauna, and I overheat so much that I dive into the cool swimming pool after. Jake watches me from the shallow end as I do a few laps, and then he gets out. He looks like he’s stepped out of a cologne ad with the way the water drips down his muscular body.

I suddenly feel very aware of my own body being near his. My heart races and my fingertips tingle.

My sports massage is next, and I know Jake is getting one too.

I follow the receptionist’s directions to the massage parlor and hesitate when I see two doors. I knock on the first one, and there’s no answer.

Poking my head around the door, I find the room empty, but the massage table is made up. I step inside and close the door behind me.

Untying the strings of my bikini takes a minute, but eventually the damp material slaps to the floor. I bend over to pick the two-piece up when I hear a light knock and the unmistakable sound of the door handle depressing.

I straighten up so fast that I get whiplash. Whoever has entered gets a full flash of my naked back and butt.

Snatching the towel off the table, I cover myself and spin around, safely covered.

My eyes widen at the sight of Jake, frozen in the doorway.

“Uh…sorry.”

He quickly diverts his gaze, and I hold the towel a little tighter. A flustered masseuse appears next to him.

“Oh, Miss Qadir, I’m so sorry. You are meant to be in the next room.”

~Well, this is embarrassing.~

“Don’t worry, I’ll go in there instead,” Jake says.

He walks off without another glance, and I groan at my own incompetence.

My bodyguard has seen my butt.

Great.