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The person on the other end just smiles, entering the room, a Glock aimed at Henrietta.
21
Zayn
The woman in front of me flashes her teeth in a lovely smile. “I wasn’t expecting to see you looking so handsome, Zayn.”
Aging isn’t a concept Sheila ever planned to embrace, it seems.
She looks as graceful as ever.
“I’m not here on a social call, Sheila,” I tell her, making her raise a brow.
“Then why are you here?” She unfolds her legs in a smooth movement. “I must admit I am surprised to hear from you, considering you now have a family.” She eyes me. “Or is your little dance teacher not satisfying enough in bed?”
I hear the double-edged question and narrow my eyes. “No games, Sheila. You have the dates in front of you; where were you on those days?”
She doesn’t bother to glance at the paper, lightly touching a golden curl that escaped her perfectly coiffured bun. The black nightgown she wears is draped elegantly over her, showing glimpses of unblemished skin, skin that I was intimately familiar with once.
“Why are you asking, again?” she questions with a sly smile.
I lean back in my chair and give her a smile of my own. “Don’t answer my question. I want to spare you the police interrogating you and the media getting a whiff. Especially since I know you’re being considered for a huge movie deal.”
Her pretty face remains smooth, but I see the tightening in her eyes as she says softly. “Threats, Zayn?”
My lips just curve, no humor in my eyes. “For old times sake.”
She then glances at the list and purses her lips. “I’ve been out of the country for the past two months. Traveling with a very prominent politician who wouldn’t like to be named.”
“Can you prove it?” I ask challengingly.
She gives me a faint smile and then stands up before gliding across the room to retrieve a gold-embossed album. I am surprised to see it, especially in the age of digital photography.
She must have seen my look because she shrugs. “I’m not very fascinated by the digital realm, past my work.”
She opens the album and shows me the last few pictures. All of them are time stamped.
A small yellow dress, a smile on her face, one that I never saw before as she held onto her floppy hat.
I stare at the picture. “You look happy.”
She shrugs. “I am.”
I recognize the man in the photograph and raise a brow. “You can’t be serious.”
“The heart wants what it wants, Zayn. Besides, he’s good to me and for me.”
The softness in her eyes tells me everything that I need to know.
Sheila isn’t behind any of this.
There is still something missing, a niggling feeling in the back of my mind.
“Has somebody recently contacted you, about our relationship?” I ask sharply.
Sheila closes the album. “You mean aside from that horrid reporter? We haven’t been together for years, Zayn.”
“What reporter?”
