“The big leagues?”
“Yeah, you know, the WCT stuff.”
“The World Championship Tour?” I only know about this through working for Myles.
“Yeah. They have a small pool of photographers and videographers who work the circuit, and it’s tough to get inside. Doug’s a photographer, as well.”
“Mm, okay.” My chips are almost finished and I pick up my drink, taking a sip. “So how do you get in?”
“Well, your boss could probably help us.”
My heart sinks. I put my drink down, staring at him.
“Sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck with one hand. “Look, it’s not the only reason I’m talking to you. You’re a gorgeous girl. But I clocked Myles the first day you guys arrived, and I’ve been trying to get the chance to talk to him. You’re my best hope.”
I swallow. “Is that right?” I keep my voice level. “I don’t really know what I can do. Myles makes his own decisions about these things.”
“You could introduce us. Maybe tomorrow? We’ll be at the hotel for breakfast. I only need a few minutes of his time.”
“Maybe.” My nice lunch seems to have turned to ash in my mouth. “Speaking of time, though, I have to go.” My voice trembles a little. I pull my phone from my bag. “I have an… an appointment to get to.”
I get up and put money on the table, enough for both our lunches.
“Hey, Zara, don’t take it like that.” Jared looks up at me, his blue gaze beseeching. “Seriously. I really do like you. Let’s go swimming tomorrow. And I’ll get lunch.”
“No,” I say, putting my hand over the money. “My shout, remember? See you around.”
“Tomorrow morning?” he has the absolute nerve to call after me as I walk away.
I don’t reply.
I start walking back to the hotel, an ache in my chest. I need time to think. I stop to get a bottle of water from one of the tiny grocery stores along the route. Inside it’s shaded, shelves reaching to the ceiling piled high with a mix of British, American and Moroccan foods. On impulse, I pick up a pack of chocolate biscuits. Then add a second. I’m going to go back to the hotel, I decide, and I’m going to take my books and my biscuits and sit on my terrace and watch the ocean and read and figure out how I’m going to swear off men for the rest of my life, becausehonestly.
The young man at the till seems bored, scanning my items without looking at me, decanting them into a papery recycled shopping bag.
I pay, and take the bag. “Shokran,” I say. His face lights up.
“Afwaan,” he replies, his brown eyes twinkling. He is rather gorgeous, actually.
Okay. I’m not swearing off all men.
Just some men.
Just for now.
Once I’m back at the hotel I check my phone again, but there are no messages from Myles. On impulse I stop by his door, hesitating before knocking. He might need me for something, and not realise I’m back. It has nothing to do with the fact that I feel I need to see him. Nothing at all.
But there’s no answer.
He should be back from his meetings by now. My heart in my mouth, I hurry back up to the parking lot and heave a sigh of relief when I spot the black Mercedes. I go back down to his room and knock again, this time calling his name.
But there’s still no answer. I look out to sea. There are a few surfers out there– perhaps he’s one of them. I consider knocking one more time, then decide against it. He’s given me the day off, after all, and I should make the most of it. I head down to my apartment and, a short while later, I’m sitting on my terrace with a book, biscuits and tea, gazing out at the most beautiful view. The sour feeling in my chest, remnants of my lunch with Jared, is mostly gone. But the longing to see Myles isn’t.
I jam a biscuit in my mouth and start to read.
ChapterEighteen
Myles
