‘FUCKERS.’
Daniel raked his fingers through his hair and rose to sit at the edge of the bed, his body hunching over his mobile and its glaring news feed.
It was entirely expected, everything he’d envisaged the night before, so why was he so riled?
He’d asked for it. And the press had delivered. In fact, more than delivered—the article had to be the most scathing yet.
But where was the usual sense of fun, the thrill of living up to his name, of pissing on his mum’s glory?
‘Honey, whatever it is, let it go and come back to bed.’
The voice purred at him from behind, a set of nails down his bare back designed to add to the appeal, and yet he wasn’t taking the bait. Not even a nibble. Both his cock and mind uninterested.
‘You should go.’ He twisted to take in the naked rear of the woman who was last night’s fix. What was it? The third—fourth time they’d slept together.
She was beautiful, everything you’d expect an elite model of her calibre to be. But he was bored, the spark already dying out; it had to be a record. He felt a pang of guilt and buried it. She wouldn’t care, not really; he was careful who he chose to fill his bed. And she’d got what she came for. He always lived up to his rep.
‘What time is it?’ She rolled onto her back, stretching out and pulling the crisp white sheet down her front, her bared rose-tipped breasts pert and alert. His cock gave a twinge, a little interest after all...
But not enough.
It was gone eight. He was due at his sister’s in less than an hour and the press were already gathering outside. The sooner they broke out, the better.
‘Time you went,’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘I’m hitting the shower.’
‘I’ll come with.’
She moved to follow and he faced her off, unconcerned that the semi he was sporting gave a very different response to his, ‘Nej—don’t.’
She gave a sultry pout and fell back onto her haunches. ‘Party pooper.’
‘Don’t tell me you haven’t got a rammed schedule for today.’
She rolled her eyes with a resigned sigh. ‘Thanks for the reminder.’
She turned to reach across the bed and take up her mobile from the side table, her focus now on the screen while her pert little ass beckoned him.
Shower. Now.
Making himself turn away, he headed to the bathroom. He could get his fix later, find someone new perhaps. Hell, he could have his pick...maybe that was the problem...
‘Annie, dahling,’ he heard her coo down the phone, ‘can you sort me an escape from The Shard? Seems we’ve caused a bit of a stir with the paparazzi...’
He set the jets of water running and drowned out the remainder of her conversation. He’d just finished with his hair when her naked body curved around the doorframe.
‘Sure I can’t change your mind?’
Ah, fuck it, another ten minutes isn’t going to hurt...
* * *
‘Zara, Shit-Bag is on line one—he’s after a number for a contact, apparently.’
EJ, her PA and right hand, leant back over her office chair, her head appearing through the open doorway to Zara’s private office. Not even her black-rimmed glasses were big enough to conceal her raised auburn brow and sparking blue gaze. She was as pissed at taking the call as Zara was to receive it.
‘Tell him I have an appointment. I’ll call him back.’ It wasn’t a lie, she did, and she needed to get moving if she wasn’t going to be late. She had the whole day mapped out touring London with her latest client, Julia Larsson, showing her abodes that matched the property brief they’d mapped out together to a T.
‘Righto,’ EJ said, dropping back into her own space. Although it wasn’t really as if the rest of her team had any designated space as such. Not yet.
Other than her office, the walls were only partially in place, the refit as per her design spec was halfway through completion and they were all living with a rather open workspace in the interim. Not that it really mattered. Zara only had a handful of employees currently, but it paid to have space for her expansion plans and, more importantly, it paid to have the right kind of space to entertain the right kind of clients.
The kind of space she’d had up until five months ago when Shit-Bag had left her no choice but to walk out of her former company. Six months of trying to work together following their break-up having taken their toll.
‘Err, Zara, he says it’s urgent.’
EJ walked her chair back into view and gave her an apologetic grimace, making a derogatory hand signal against the receiver at the same time. The latter succeeded in pulling out a smirk. How very different from the way EJ had reacted to him in the early days. How very different from every woman when first being caught in his charismatic web. She’d been no exception. Falling for his clean and slick appearance, a voice that rumbled with teasing provocation no matter what was being said and a body fit for a boxing ring.
Yeah, you fell for it, all right, but no more—you’re older and wiser for it now.
‘It’s okay,’ she assured her, ‘let him through.’
Her tummy twisted, but her smile at EJ was solid. She wasn’t going to upset her with her own discomfort. And she most definitely wasn’t going to let him hear how much he could still hurt her.
She lifted the phone receiver and accepted the call. ‘Charles, what is it?’
‘Zara, be a good girl and send me Tristan Black’s phone number, will you?’
His brash condescension had her teeth clenching, her anger flaring. Did I really find that cockney arrogance sexy once?
‘I’m rather busy right now,’ she said neutrally, using the anger to her advantage. Anger she could work with, it was so much easier to control than pain. ‘I’ll see if I can find it later and send it on.’
‘Come on, Zara, darling, it’s urgent and you know full well you have his number.’ If she didn’t know him better she’d think she caught the hint of panic, as though he could sense she was about to cut the call. Which she was. But panic? What could be so important that he needed to reach Tristan this second? ‘Look, our blasted systems have gone down and I don’t seem to have it on my mobile.’
‘Perhaps that’s because he was my client.’ She couldn’t help the barbed comment. But hell, he’d refused to