Page 47 of The Wrong Promise

“And…”

“And how she can’t wait to have babies.”

Franklin’s eyes round wider than our dinner plates. “Babies. You and Zara? I never got the impression she wanted kids.”

“It’s part of the charade. She sounded convincing, and Sir James believed her.”

He narrows his eyes. “Do you act like you’re together in front of him?”

“We hug and touch each other like we’re together just for show.” He screws up his face as though he’s in pain from hearing my words. “And we’ve…” I hesitate, “… kissed, but not like you think.”

“Like I think? What I think isifyour charade is uncovered, all hell will break loose. He’ll never trust us to do business again, and we need his fucking business. We need his trust. So you better not fuck this up.” He shakes his head. “And especially not with Zara because you’ll have Penny to deal with if I don’t murder you first. Why the hell didn’t you get one of your booty calls to date?”

“Because they would fuck it up. Zara knows the family, and we trust her. She was perfect for the job.”

He rubs at his temples again. “You’re going to break her heart.”

“What? I told you nothing is going on between us. It’ll be fine.”

“I know you better than you know yourself. She’ll fall for you, and you’ll break her heart.” He shakes his head at me. Then, his expression changes as though he has a realization. “You like her, don’t you?”

“Of course I like her. She’s a family friend.” Something I continually remind myself every time I want to cross the line.

“No. There’s something different about you.” Typically, Franklin can see when I’m trying to avoid my feelings. Living with a woman as beautiful as Zara is hard enoughwithout him breaking down the barrier of me wanting something I can’t allow myself to touch. And in Sandbanks, I came awfully close to losing all self-control with her.

“Let it go,” I warn him. “It’s business.”

If only I could convince myself.

13

JOBE

Days and weeksblur into one as I keep myself busy with work from the moment I wake until I fall into bed at night. I send Zara numerous texts, and her responses are the same, citing she is fine. I should sleep on the long-haul flight to London, but I can’t stop thinking about her and what I’m going to say since we haven’t seen each other for three weeks.

Stay.

I’m sorry.

We have one more event…

It’s after ten Sunday night when I arrive at my penthouse, and the entire place is in darkness. I’m dead on my feet as I head straight to my room and collapse on the bed.

The next thing I know, my alarm is sounding at five thirty. As I do most mornings, I head into my gym and workout for the next thirty minutes. Then, with a towel over my shoulder, I walk into the kitchen, where Zara is sitting at the counter, drinking coffee.

“Morning.” She barely glances my way.

“Morning. Have you eaten breakfast?”

“Yes, thanks.” She stands and grabs her handbag. “I’ll see you later.” She leaves without another word, and the slam of the front door jolts me like a nonverbal fuck you.

She’s still pissed.

Understandably so. I need to reconcile matters between us and send her a text.

Will you have dinner with me tonight?

I don’t expect her to reply immediately. More than likely, I’ll get the cold shoulder until the last minute. I could take her to one of the finest restaurants, though she was impressed by my cooking skills.

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