gaze had a sharp gleam to it. “The offer sounded generous, but I find myself wanting more.”
Moya’s eyes narrowed. “I do appreciate you helping us out of a bind, Mr Nkosi, but that is no reason to get greedy. We’ve offered you what we offer professional models. You might want to keep that in mind when you come in to sign your contract.”
“Save yourself a waste of paper, my lovely – I have new terms of payment that I won’t budge on.” Zakhele’s jaw clenched stubbornly.
Moya sighed with exasperation. All around her, the crew was prepping equipment, preparing for the second half of the shoot. And here she was, arguing with their one model who, in no uncertain terms, was threatening to bail out on the job if his wishes weren’t met.
Vexing as he was, Moya knew she would have to hear out his wish to renegotiate.
She rubbed her stiff neck. “How much?”
One corner of his enticing mouth tilted in a semi-smile. “I think you might have the wrong idea, lady. I’m not interested in getting any money at all.”
“Then what do you want?” Frustration made her voice rise, drawing a few curious gazes.
Zakhele lowered his voice. “A date . . . with you.”
Moya’s large eyes held his in shock. “No. No, that’s a terrible idea.”
Zakhele folded his arms across his broad chest. “One date – we’ll talk and dance and share champagne. I’m drawn to you, Moyomhle.”
Lindi returned unexpectedly. “Wardrobe’s ready for you, Mr Nkosi.”
Moya realised he had no intention of budging and gave him a gentle push. “Go. I need a minute to think.”
* * *
“Models on set! Everybody clear the lights! Kitchen shoot commencing!”
Everything went smoothly. Bonga, camera in hand, encouraged the two models to explore any little games that came to mind, hoping to capture a playfulness that would contrast with the serious boardroom shots.
Fun turned out to be Zakhele’s forte. Moya gritted her teeth as she watched him give a giggling Ella a piggyback ride around the cooking island before stopping abruptly to plop her on top of it. Bonga snapped away and Ella simpered like a girl in love while Zakhele fed her a grape or two.
Moya hadn’t realised she’d stood up until Lindi touched her arm. “Where are you going? Did they do something wrong?”
Moya blinked down at her, feeling a little exposed. “The grapes . . . they’re props. I wouldn’t want them to waste them all on pointless games . . .”
Lindi looked at her in disbelief. “Are you kidding? That thing with the grapes looked awesome. Zakhele is perfect for this job and we’re lucky to have him. It’s not every day that a complete novice gets it right like this. This guy’s a natural!”
Moya sat back down.
Lindi was right about how smoothly Zakhele had taken on his role as a model. He had blown all their expectations out of the water. And that was good.
What bothered Moya was how this man’s presence was affecting her. She didn’t know him and would only have to see him one more time – if she agreed to a date. That was also good. So why were chills trickling down the back of her neck at the sight of him having fun with Ella? And why did his smile warm her so?
Bonga called for a ten-minute break while he prepped his camera for stationary shots.
Moya watched gloomily as Lindi immediately skipped over to the models to check if they needed anything. This check went slightly differently to regular ones. For one thing, Lindi kept on tittering and twirling her neat dreadlocks through her fingertips. And for another, she didn’t give Ella nearly as much attention as she did Zakhele. Not that Ella seemed to notice much, her attention was directed at the man of the day too.
Moya turned away impatiently and glimpsed her reflection in a mirror at the far end of the studio. She was tall, smooth-skinned . . . and plain. It wasn’t just that she wore minimal make-up and her dress was modest – she wasn’t outgoing. She had a sharp mind instead of a coquettish personality.
A mind that Zakhele claimed he wanted to explore.
Bonga called everyone back together so they could move on to the bedroom scene.
Moya was suddenly reluctant to step near the intimacy of the rumpled bed with its plush pillows. She watched the hairstylist give Ella’s auburn curls a just-woken-up look. And when she turned, she caught sight of Zakhele at the other end of the set with his shirt off.
Bonga was standing with him, talking while occasionally pointing at the bed, the lights and the mounted camera. No doubt he was explaining the types of poses Zakhele would need to keep in mind in order to avoid upstaging himself or Ella. At the same time the assistant make-up person was dabbing smudge-proof concealer on what appeared to be a tattoo. It curved along the planes of Zakhele’s right shoulder blade. He was nodding attentively at Bonga.
Moya couldn’t take her eyes off him.
Lindi popped up beside her. “HR just got back to me about Zakhele’s contract. It’ll be ready for him to sign by Friday.”
Moya swallowed past the dryness in her throat. “I’ll find out when he’d like to come in to sort it out.”
By the time she reached the set, Zakhele was stretched out on the pillows and white sheets, waiting. When his eyes suddenly turned to her, Moya wasn’t expecting the fire in them and she halted.
His lips formed a slow smile. “Looking for me?”
Moya touched her palms together. “Yes, actually. I have good news. You can come in any time from Friday to sign your contract.”
“But I don’t need a contract. I told you what I want.”
Moya waved her hand to quiet him. “Yes, I know that, but I hardly think the entire office needs to know as well. For all intents and purposes this agreement is still a professional one – and that includes the payment initially discussed. I doubt our accounts department would agree to the payment of one date as representative of how Quest handles its business dealings.”
“Why are you talking to me like that?”
“Like what?” she snapped.
“You’re distant and irritable.”
She smoothed imaginary wrinkles from the front of her dress. “Well, Mr Nkosi, how would you have me act? You’ve asked me to . . . sell myself to you as payment for your help. Not only am I to be your entertainment for a night, but I’ll clearly have to do so while watching every woman in the vicinity throw themselves at you. My apologies for not knowing how to pretend that the idea appeals to me.”
He took her hand and pulled her down beside him. Moya, caught unawares, landed closer than intended and grabbed his other hand to steady herself.
“What other women?” His gaze was concerned, looking past
