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We lapse into silence. Seven movies. Seven rejections. Seven chances at a rebound taken away.
‘I’m sorry,’ I offer, ‘for not realizing how serious this all was. I promise, I’m in this. A hundred per cent.’
Zayan swallows roughly. ‘I know you are. And I’m sorry for being so harsh with you. I just – I can’t take any more chances. I don’t have any more chances. You’re it. If this doesn’t work, I’m not sure what else I can do.’
‘We’ve got this, Zayan,’ I reply determinedly. ‘We’re going to convince the public that we’re in love and give them something else to focus on.’
A smile curves his lips. ‘I like your confidence. It’s an unfairly attractive quality.’
A blush colours my cheeks; my heart jumps in my chest. Half of me hopes I get used to ignoring his compliments, but the other half loves this feeling. This rush of excitement and pleasure.
His gaze travels over the warmth of my face, and, just like a flame being snuffed out, his expression shutters. His eyes meet mine, all the softness from before gone. All the vulnerability tucked into a box and stored away.
‘I’m not looking for an actual relationship. Or any relationship for that matter,’ Zayan says, his tone blunt. ‘There is nothing more important to me than my career right now.’
My defences shoot up, along with my arms, which fold over my chest. Any warmth I’d felt before has turned cold. ‘And what should I do with that information?’
‘I just want to be absolutely clear. My actions towards you are always going to be calculated.’ His tone is light, but his words are like arrows piercing my skin. ‘Every touch, everything I say, everything I do with you will be part of our arrangement. This is a mutually beneficial relationship – you need me, and I need you. Let’s not allow anything to complicate it.’
Embarrassment curdles in the pit of my stomach – I don’t want Zayan to think I’m so soft-minded that I’ll allow things like thinking he’s good-looking or blushing at his flirting to disrupt everything. He’s made it abundantly clear that he’s unwilling to envision a long-term relationship. Which is fine for me, because when I’m ready for that, I’ll be striving to find someone who will promise forever. Not a five-minute relationship that’ll end in heartbreak.
Zayan Amin is clearly not that guy. But the arrogance and presumptuousness that I’m the one who’s going to mess this plan up by developing real feelings is beyond offensive.
I hold his stare harshly, mouth pressed into a sharp line. ‘I assure you, I have no misconceptions of what this is.’
‘Good.’
‘Good.’
And with that, we return to Pierre’s torturous training.
CHAPTER NINE
The next day, I sit beside Zayan at a picnic table under the September sun, waiting for The Tragedies to show up. I have my textbook out, a bright-pink highlighter poised to underline another important paragraph – with the play taking up the majority of my headspace, it’s vital for me to capture moments like this now, so I’m not drowning in work later.
‘Are your friends usually this late?’ Zayan asks, his tone naked with annoyance.
I roll my eyes, still irritated by the sight of him. Every time he so much as glances at me, I think of what he said at media training yesterday, and it makes me want to claw at him. ‘I told them 2.15. It’s 2.10. Maybe you should learn how to tell the time.’
He huffs, leaning his elbows on the table and dropping his head to hang. Before he can say anything, we’re interrupted by a tentative voice.
‘H-hi, are you Hari Fairbanks?’ A little girl, maybe ten years old, gently taps Zayan’s elbow. His head snaps up, and she startles away before recognition makes her face light up with a smile.
‘Hi,’ Zayan says, and I almost do a double take at how soft his voice sounds. I crane my neck to get a good look at the smile curving his lips and the way he bends lower to talk to the girl at her own level. ‘I most definitely am.’
Her eyes round with awe. ‘I love you! You’re my favourite person on The Fairbanks. I watch you every single night before bed.’
Zayan’s smile is so wide, so genuine, that my heart does a little flip at the sight of it. How many people have wished – imagined, daydreamed – to have that smile shot their way?
‘Well, it’s an honour to be a favourite of yours,’ Zayan says, all the seriousness in the world injected into his voice. ‘Would you like an autograph?’
The little girl nods so hard I’m sure her head is going to fall off. She produces a slightly crumpled piece of paper, and it’s only then that I notice her mother standing behind her. Zayan keeps his attention on his fan, signing his name, asking for hers, and making idle small talk. He even recites his catchphrase from The Fairbanks.
Where has this Zayan been for the last few days?
‘Thank you so much,’ the mother gushes after snapping at least ten photos. ‘You’re so lovely for entertaining us.’
Zayan shrugs humbly. ‘I wouldn’t be where I am without fans like your daughter. It’s my pleasure.’
