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"Hunter, I... I can’t." She raises her gaze to mine. "But if you kiss me, I’ll never forgive you."
Zara
That’s the last thing I said to him. In the back of his car, with the shaded glass of the windows hiding us from the outside world. He held my gaze for a second longer, his hold on the nape of my neck seemed to tighten almost imperceptibly, and then he loosened his fingers. He pulled back his arm, turned his head away, and it was as if a physical wall came down between us. He rolled down the screen that had hidden us from his chauffeur and bodyguard in the front seat, and for the rest of the journey he didn’t look at me or acknowledge me again. He pulled out his phone and began to scroll through his messages. A first.
He never did that before. He always focused one-hundred percent of his attention on me, and now that I don’t have it, I miss it. A few seconds earlier, he had his hands on me, his gaze locked with mine. And now, it’s as if he’s withdrawn from me. Completely. Of course, he did. The horrible, sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach tells me I’ve lost him. Irrevocably. I told him I’d never forgive him; it never occurred to me he might not forgive me.
I pushed him away once too often, and now, he’s never going to look at me the same way again. It’s really over, and he’s never going to pop up in my life the way he’d been doing. The fact that it’s been more than three months since that incident confirms it.
I glance through my office window and see the throng of shoppers on the streets of Soho. The Christmas lights were lit a few weeks ago. Christmas decorations began appearing in shop windows a few months ago. When autumn turned into winter, with the temperature plunging and warnings of early snowfall, I had no idea. I buried myself in work after that last run in with Hunter.
A new client—another impossible media disaster—a well-known politician turned down claims from a woman who insisted she was his illegitimate daughter. This time, I not only helped him navigate the barrage of negative publicity that followed his daughter’s interviews with the press, but I also brokered a meeting between the two. I banked on the fact that when he came face-to-face with her he’d accept her, and sure enough, that’s what happened. He even agreed to appear on her social media feed and publicly apologize for the emotional distress he’d caused her. He also publicly embraced her as his daughter, and the two hugged in a very touching moment on screen. Now that, I count as a win.
And perhaps, a few months ago I wouldn’t have been so insistent that he meet with his daughter. Perhaps, I’d have focused only on the job he’d engaged me for, which was to redeem his reputation—which, by the way, I delivered in spades. But I knew I could make a difference, so I insisted he meet his daughter. In fact, the public claiming of his daughter helped to soften his reputation and make him more popular. It all worked out, and it wasn’t all planned by me.
I’m…softening? Thawing? I can feel myself wanting to do better, to do good where I could. Oh, make no mistake, I’m still a cut-throat career woman, but somehow, something inside me insists I do more. The part of me I denied since my younger brother died… That emotional core of me came alive. And maybe, I have Hunter to thank for it.
I’m not going to admit that I miss his presence in my life, sporadic as it may have been. But I’ve been counting on him making an appearance two months to the day I lost him. In fact, I ensured I met up with Summer and Karma and their friends in the hope that I’d see him… And also, so I could test myself. Did I actually miss him? Or was it my ego, bruised because he no longer seemed to want to pursue me? Maybe the fact that he’d been so insistent, and not taken no for an answer was more than a little flattering. It was the first time a man had been so persistent, and I enjoyed it. So now that he backed off, it was sobering. I felt a little deflated.
Or maybe it was the Christmas season which I admit is not the most favorite of times for me. It reminded me of how much I missed my younger brother. I was going to meet my parents and my twin of course, but this season is always a reminder of another year that Olly was no longer in our lives.
My phone vibrates. I turn to my table, look at the name of the caller in surprise. I raise the phone to my ear. "Lord Alan, what can I do for you today?"
"Zara, how are you?" My mentor’s plummy voice fills the airwaves. He comes across as a crusty, old English gentleman, but his views have always been ahead of the times. No doubt, that’s why he saw the potential in me and in my company, and hired me for my first project—to salvage the reputation of a bad boy rockstar after he trashed his hotel room and was caught urinating out of his window. A picture the paparazzi had a field day with. I not only helped turn around his reputation, but I also introduced him to a few charities which he supports to this day. Another win.
"I’m very good. How is Heather?" I ask after his wife.
"The same. She wants me to work less, but you know me. I’ll rest when I’m dead."
"And not be around to trouble the rest of us? I can’t see that happening anytime soon."
"Very true," he laughs, then quietens. I sense him gather his words and wait for a few seconds. Sure enough, he clears his throats then says, "I do have a very interesting project for you… Something which, if you deliver on it, will establish you as the go-to person when it comes to media management."
"Sounds intriguing," I narrow my gaze on a young couple walking arm in arm down the sidewalk. They stop to admire a window showcase. The girl leans her head into the man’s shoulder, and his arm tightens about her. It’s no different than hundreds of couples I’ve seen before but somehow, the way her dark hair flows down her back, as well the man’s confident stance, the way he pulls her even closer as if he wants to hide her from the sight of the world, reminds me of Hunter and myself.
"Zara, are you there?" Lord Alan asks.
"Yes, of course." I turn away from the window and begin to pace my office. "So, it’s a confidential project, and you can’t tell me who the client is?"
"Not until the day you start."
I chew on the inside of my cheek. "Isn’t that highly unusual?"
"Not in situations like this where we can’t afford any information leaking."
"Hmm." I walk over to the couch in the corner of the room and lower myself onto it. "Of course, it’s related to something political?"
He stays quiet.
"Is the top leadership of one of the political parties in trouble?"
"I didn’t say it was political." His voice is cautious.
"You didn’t have to. When Lord Alan, who’s been retired from the industry and public life, calls me, I know it has to be about something more than a celebrity being caught with his pants down or a sportsman caught having an affair with a reality TV host."
"You did enjoy managing the positive spin campaign on that one though," he chuckles. He’s referring to one of my previous successes, where I brokered an understanding between said sportsman and his estranged wife, so she didn’t open up to the media about his other kinks. True story.
"That was one of the more satisfying campaigns I’ve worked on. The wife walked away with a massive settlement, and he later married his mistress, so everyone was happy."
