I chastised myself for thinking about him again and sliced into the chicken breast and put it into my mouth. It was disgusting. More disgusting than I’d imagined, and I was forced to spit it out.
I put the plate on the table and walked to my bedroom, I wanted sleep. I wanted to block this all out. I pulled the covers back and climbed into bed. At least my bed and the linen on it was comfortable. I lay on the bed, looking up at the ceiling, hoping that sleep would draw me in soon. But it didn’t. Instead this anxious feeling gnawed inside me and my heart started pounding so hard and fast that it made me feel light-headed and woozy. I sat up as I remembered something and raced through to the kitchen to get it. I picked up my keyring and it finally all made sense. Why all these things were on it.
Therapeutic tools, I could hear a woman’s voice say. I didn’t know who she was, but I knew that she was the one who’d suggested I get it.
I lay back in bed and pulled on the elastic bands of the ball and then squeezed the stress ball over and over again. And when I was done, I twirled the fidget spinner between my fingers. These were for my anxiety, a feeling that hit me hard and cold and sticky day and night. But the therapeutic tools weren’t working to quell the growing feeling inside. I needed a distraction, so I opened the drawer, grabbed my book and let it fall open randomly.
He burned for her. His loins, his skin, his entire being. His fingertips ached to trace that soft skin on the nape of her neck. His lips throbbed, desperate to devour her with his mouth. To explore her every inch with his hungry tongue and make her cry out for him. But he couldn’t. She was forbidden to him, because he was promised to someone else. It had been arranged since his birth, that he would unite two great royal families by marrying Sheika Aisha. But he’d never felt for Sheika Aisha anything like what he’d felt for this strange woman who’d accidentally tumbled into his palace, much like the raging sand in the storm, pushing its way underneath his doors, an unwanted guest forcing its way through. And much like the sand itself, she had done nothing but rub him up the wrong way since she’d arrived. His attraction to her was a total mystery, and yet he had never been more attracted to and drawn to another creature in his entire life.
I slammed the book shut and stared at the ceiling again. I had no idea what I was meant to do next, how I was meant to transition back into this life that seemed so foreign to me now. I made a note to go and call on Eugene Bester soon, when I had caught up on all my work, my neighbor who’d filed the missing person report, and clearly my only friend in the entire world. I rolled over onto my side, clutching the book until I finally fell asleep.
And so it went like that for another day, and another day.Work. Home. Chicken. Alone.(Think of Noah.)
But on the fourth night back, when a feeling of utter restlessness had me cleaning an already spotless apartment until two in the morning, I found two things. The first was Andi the psychic’s number, which I’d scribbled onto my list that I’d ripped up, and the second was another number crunched and tossed into the wastepaper bin. I pulled it out and the address made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. This was from the building where I’d had the accident! That is why I was there.
VAST INVEST FINANCIAL SERVICES AND WEALTH PLANNING.
Why would I have been there?
I turned the card over in my hand, and there it was. A scribbled note for a meeting with Johan Visser an hour before my accident.
CHAPTER 36
I went into work before anyone else was there and phoned Johan. He’d sounded so thrilled to hear from me, the first and only person who’d sounded happy to hear from Zenobia. I’d asked for a meeting and he’d said he would shuffle his day around for me.For me?He was more excited that I’d called than my parents were. They hadn’t even noticed I was missing. Apparently, we only spoke “every so often.” They’d been shocked and upset by the accident, and had offered to come to Joburg and help me, but I’d said no. I got the feeling our relationship was strained, but I didn’t really know why either.
I caught a taxi to Vast Investments, and when I arrived, like the last time, nothing about this place looked familiar. The accident, and my childhood, all those years before the age of nineteen, were still a blur to me, and no matter how far or hard I reached inside my head I wasn’t able to access any of it. It was strange how my mind was cherry-picking the things it wanted to remember, and the things it wanted to forget. There was no logic to the way it was organizing my memories, it was completely out of my control.
I walked into the building again, but this time Noah wasn’t with me. I walked past the coffee shop, the bank and then past the bookstore and . . .
I stopped when the table display caught my eye.The Heart is Just a Muscle. Becca Thorne. The books were adorned with big red stickers that read “Signed Copies.” Maybe I should buy one and read it, since for some strange reason I kept bumping into it. I walked a little more, past another shop, a small art gallery and then a pharmacy. Something caught my eye there too. “Frankie’s Fitness Protein Shake.” That was what Maxine drank, and I suddenly found myself thinking about poor Frankie and where she was, and Kyle and how he looked like he didn’t care she was gone. He looked like he cared more about his calves than the fact his ex was missing. I felt a sudden kinship with her. People hadn’t seemed to care that I was missing either. I walked right past the elevator this time and went straight for the staircase. I climbed the two floors and soon found myself standing outside the rather lavish-looking offices of Vast Investments. I walked the red carpet outside and pushed the big, gold doors open. A white marble floor gleamed up at me, shone as if it had been hand-polished with hundred-rand bills. I walked up to the reception and had to push my way past the huge bunches of white flowers in crystal vases to even find the receptionist. This place was so fancy and over the top, why the hell would I have a meeting here? I couldn’t be more different to this place than if I was . . .
“Zenobia.” I heard a voice and turned.
“Uh . . . Johan,” I said, looking at the man, whose face seemed vaguely familiar to me.
“Have you changed your mind then? I knew you would.” He sounded so upbeat. So bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in his glossy suit that glinted in the warm chandelier lighting.
“Um . . . maybe,” I replied, playing along, even though I had no idea why I was here and what he was talking about.
“Please, come through. Can I get you something to drink? Some champagne? Moët, maybe? Or would you like some Dom Perignon?”
“Champagne? It’s so early in the morning!”
“We can add some orange juice to it if you like? It’s obviously hand-squeezed,” he said seriously. As if the kinds of people that came to this place drank champagne in the morning, because it was perfectly normal to drink champagne in the morning, especially if it came with orange juice. That made it a breakfast drink, after all. One of your “five a day.”
“Uh . . . sure,” I said, still going along with everything around me. “Either is fine.”
“Martha. Martha!” Johan clicked his fingers at the receptionist. “Can you bring Miss Small a mimosa. And use the Baccarat crystal glasses, please. Bring it to boardroom five. Thanks.”
He said my name, Miss Small, with such meaning, as if my name represented something to him. No one had said my name with meaning before and I wasn’t sure how to take it. Johan led me through to another gold, opulent-looking room. This company obviously wanted to impress its clients.Was I someone to impress, though?
“Please sit.” Johan pulled the chair out for me and I slid into it.
“Thanks,” I mumbled as the champagne appeared in the shiniest glass I’d ever seen. I reached for it and took a small sip. My throat was dry anyway, mainly from the nerves, and it was rather delicious actually! I usually never drank alcohol; it increases your chances of certain cancers, after all. Except on a Friday. I have one glass of red wine on Fridays. It contains flavonoids which are antioxidants that are good for you.
“I can’t tell you how happy I am that you came back,” he said. “I didn’t like the way our last meeting ended, with you leaving so abruptly. I think that maybe our suggestions were a little too . . . uh, how shall I say this? You like a much more conservative investment, even if the returns aren’t as good as some of our other more, uh, ‘risky’ ones.” He gestured air quotes. “Not that any are at all risky—our fiduciary experts are very sure to balance risk and stability carefully. But I think you would prefer something a lot more stable. Most of our other clients like a portfolio that delivers more returns, often offshore, like we discussed, but we at Vast pride ourselves on understanding each unique client and what their particular needs are. So, I’d like to suggest something completely different to you today. Something much more conservative. Which is what I think you are looking for?”
“Uh . . . yes,’ I said. I was sure this was the correct answer, because what I’d come to learn about myself in the last few days was that I was certainly a very risk-averse person.
