Chapter 8

ZAINAB

That night I’m ready on time to leave. I pride myself on never being late if I can avoid it.

Jake steps out of his bedroom in a tuxedo. He managed to rent one last minute, and oh my…

I nearly wobble in my heels. I am not prepared for this. I was worried he would look something like a butch penguin, but he looks surprisingly suave in a tux.

He looks me up and down, his eyes making my body hot as they take me in.

I’m wearing a champagne-colored, silky satin, off-the-shoulder evening gown. My dress has a rather high thigh split on it, and I feel a cool brush of air against my leg with every step.

Jake’s eyes drop down to my exposed brown leg and then drag back up to my face. I’m glad that I’m wearing a bra because my nipples have hardened into points and are straining against the fabric right now.

It’s almost comical the way we’ve stopped at the sight of each other, frozen in the hallway.

For a moment, we drink each other in, the air crackling with tension.

Just when I open my mouth to compliment him, Jake coughs, and the moment is broken.

I know he feels this attraction between us, but he is desperate to remain professional.

“Shall we?” he murmurs and presses the lift button.

“Yes.” I stand beside him.

“We’ll go over fire exits and emergency escape routes in the car.”

~Nothing like health and safety to kill the mood.~

***

“We’re two minutes away.”

My stomach twists with nerves. I nod to let Jake know that I’ve heard him.

We’re in the SUV on our way to the Celebration Hall. He insisted on me sitting in the back this time so we can look “proper” when we arrive.

He puts the car in park and gets out to open the door for me. I’m grateful that he offers his hand to help me down because I’m in another pair of ankle-breaking heels.

A flash of a camera reminds me to pin an enthusiastic smile on my face. I’m dazzled by a few more camera shots as I pause outside the building.

Jake stays a safe distance away, only stepping forward when the pictures have finished.

It’s nothing fancy like proper paparazzi. The two photographers work for the local newspaper and will no doubt do a big piece on my father’s venture, mentioning guests such as his doting daughter.

Jake falls into step beside me, staying close enough to catch me if one of my ankles gives up the ghost.

“Drink?” I suggest as soon as we enter the room.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “Your father might want you to be sober tonight.”

My anger flares at the “s” word, but I push it down.

I turn to him and give him a pleading look.

“I know no one here; I need some Dutch courage. I will say hi to my father and then lose him all evening. Please stay with me, Jake, or I might just lose my damn mind.”

His eyes settle on me for the longest moment.

I wonder absurdly if he likes the white, glittery eyeshadow that my makeup artist chose.

~He doesn’t give a shit about your eyeshadow, Zai.~

“I won’t leave your side, Zainab.”

His words, solemn and firm, reassure me. I straighten my shoulders and face the imposing crowd.

***

I make the mistake of finding my father after a glass of fizz. I lose nearly half an hour being paraded and presented in front of his business associates.

I am told names that I forget instantly. I receive and give a countless number of air kisses. It is all so pointless and fake and boring.

Eventually, I manage to excuse myself, lest I die of boredom amongst the wealthy and tedious.

Jake looks amused when I collapse against the wall next to him.

“Enjoying yourself?” I ask dryly.

I push myself off the wall and straighten my dress before I get any creases in it.

“Are you?” he dodges the question.

“Hating every second. What time is it?”

Jake has my clutch. I gave it to him around the fifth air kiss.

“Ten thirty. Almost.”

“Fuck,” I mutter. “I should be able to leave before midnight; look how busy he is.”

We both watch my father, who is surrounded by formally dressed guests. He is in his element.

His coal-black hair is slicked back with gel. His dark skin makes him look younger than his fifty-seven years. He looks rich and handsome and well.

It pleases me that he is happy, even if I want nothing to do with this world where he is a mogul.

“I’ll give it another half hour, and then we can get out of here, okay?”

Jake shrugs. “Anything you say.”

“Can I have my clutch back, please? I need the toilet.”

He hands the sequin-covered bag to me, and our fingers briefly touch.

I’ve gotten very good at schooling my reaction and ignoring the butterflies every time his skin accidentally brushes mine. I’m too old for such flutters.

Jake trails a little distance behind as I follow the corridor to the bathrooms. The first set has a queue that backs around the corner.

Deciding against it, I point to the stairs. Jake follows me, getting closer as I hike up my dress and carefully handle the steps in my heels. He backs away when I reach the top safely.

The second lot of bathrooms is down the corridor, past what is referred to as the smoking room.

It is where most of my father’s richest friends convalesce. Even though the guests downstairs are London’s elite and wealthy, the snobs that gather in this room upstairs think themselves superior.

I glance back and see that Jake is still behind me. I give him a weird look.

“You’re not going to follow me in, are you?”

My question makes him halt, and I almost laugh at the horrified expression on his face.

“The bathrooms are just around this corner. I won’t be long.”

He presses his lips together, and for a second I think he’s going to argue.

My dress suddenly feels too tight, too hot. He’s being more controlling tonight. If he tells me I can’t go to the toilet without him, it’s going to seriously cross the line.

I almost sigh with relief when he relents and nods.

“Okay, I will check the rest of the corridor.”

I roll my eyes and leave him to it. I understand that he wants me to be safe and all, but he really takes his job too seriously.

There isn’t a single person in the bathroom when I use it, and only one woman enters as I leave.

As I’m starting to round the corner to return to Jake and the party, a man approaches me.

I vaguely recognize him as someone my father introduced me to earlier. He lingered a little too long on the air kisses, if I recall, and his hand pressed against my bare back, making me shudder.

I don’t know his name, but he clearly remembers me from the way he smiles.

“Ah, look at you, all alone up here,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets.

He effectively blocks my way. I take a step back.

His eyes rake greedily over my body. I try not to squirm; the man is over sixty.

“I’m just returning to the party downstairs,” I reply stiffly.

“Don’t bother. I can promise you we’re having far more fun ~upstairs~. I have a room here tonight, on the top floor. Do you know they let special guests stay in their rooms upstairs?”

I smile as politely as I can. My cheeks feel tight.

“Do they? I didn’t know that. Please, if you’ll excuse me.”

I step to the left, and he takes the same step to block me. My eyes narrow, and I quickly wet my lips with my tongue. His beady eyes follow the movement.

“Now, now, I can’t excuse you. We’re having a conversation here.” He leans in so I can smell the liquor on his breath. “And I’m not done yet.”

“I’m afraid I am,” I reply in a clipped tone. “Sorry, I really must be going.”

His hand clamps around my wrist. His skin is loose and soft. It makes me cringe, but his grip is surprisingly strong.

“We’re talking. You can’t just leave; it’s rude.”

~So is touching someone without their permission.~

With one hand still tightly around my wrist, he places the other on my hip. I recoil at his touch, and he squeezes my hip, holding me in place.

“Please, get your hands off me,” I state in a low voice.

His eyes dance with excitement. I think he’s enjoying it more when I resist him.

“Get my hands off of you? My dear, I’m barely touching you. But in a dress like this…”

His hand leaves my hip. My spine goes rigid as his smooth fingers graze over my bare thigh. I mentally curse the slit in my dress as he presses his palm against my exposed leg.

“Now, ~this~ is touching you.”

His hand moves closer to my inner thigh, to under my dress.

“And I think you like it. Don’t you, pretty girl?”

I take a deep breath and push his hand away with my clutch, hoping that the sequins scratch him.

“I don’t like it. I have asked you to take your hands off me. Step back before I scream.”

He grins, making me flinch at the sudden smile on his face. His hand presses against my inner thigh again, and he strokes right next to my thong.

Bile rises in my throat.

“Oh, I bet I could make you scream.”

“Zainab?”