know where you got the idea that I have a harem in my back pocket, but I assure you, my life has revolved around work for some time now. As of today, you are the only beauty who has my attention.”
Her gaze was unwavering. “I won’t sleep with you, no matter how important this assignment is to me.”
“I never expected you to, Moyomhle, that’s why I never brought up sex.” His fingers tightened on hers. “Thandi’s spoken about you a couple of times and I found what I heard intriguing. Meeting you has made me realise you’re more lovely than I’d imagined. And strong and intelligent. I can’t help but want to know you. Now, please say yes.”
She let the feeling of fulfilment she got from him wash over her. Then she answered not only him, but the ache deep within her core.
“Yes.”
2
“Have Bonga send me these photographs from the Balanced Success shoot – I want shots twenty and twenty-four,” Moya told her assistant. “I think we should break up the middle column of text on the second page with another picture, maybe one more of the office shots with Ella.”
She was happy with Friday’s shoot results. Thandi’s instincts about Zakhele’s potential in front of the camera had paid off quite extraordinarily. Though the weekend hadn’t done much to ease Moya’s apprehension about their upcoming date, the shoot results were almost worth the sleepless nights she’d had.
“You would’ve done a way better job as our female model – you seem to fit with Zakhele.”
Moya’s head snapped up. Fortunately Lindi had missed her reaction – she was busy compiling a current affairs research folder at Moya’s request.
Moya wasn’t sure she’d understood her assistant correctly. “Excuse me?” she croaked, reaching beneath her glasses to rub her eyes. They were tired from poring over the contact sheet’s tiny photos.
Lindi merely carried on sorting and filing corresponding research items together. “You and Zakhele. We saw you together and Bonga snapped a quick pic – please don’t get mad. We were talking about how there’s an energy between you two.”
“How daft of Bonga to photograph a moment fuelled by a collective overactive imagination.” Moya moved a couple of notepads about her desk, trying to look busy, then quickly stopped when she nearly knocked her mug over onto the contact sheet. She looked up to find Lindi watching her and laced her fidgety fingers together. “There wasn’t any energy between us – I only met Mr Nkosi last Friday.”
“So? Haven’t you heard of love at first sight?”
“Nonsense.” Moya coughed lightly. “There’s just something about the way he interacts with all women. Surely you must’ve noticed the uh . . . sensuality he gives off when he’s around ladies?”
“No, I had a chat with him, but I’m pretty sure there was no flirtation coming from him.” Lindi’s brow was scrunched as she tried to remember. “I read a blog last week that said women’s instinct to settle down ignites in their early twenties and men’s in their late twenties. Maybe that explains his magnetism. Maybe he’s ready to find somebody to settle down with.”
Moya took her glasses off. “Zak’s in his late twenties?”
“Yep, he’s twenty-eight.”
“Not . . . in his thirties?
Lindi’s dreadlocks bounced as she shook her head. “Nope. I worked his age out from his ID number when he e-mailed his personal details through for the contract. That man is twenty-eight.”
Moya leaned back in her chair.
Zakhele Nkosi was two years younger than her! How could she have agreed to go on a date with a younger man? And, more importantly, how was she going to get out of it?
After placing the organised folders on Moya’s desk, Lindi headed for the door. “I’ll get Bonga to delete the photograph he took of you and Zakhele. There’s one printout that I know of – I’ll find it and drop it off here for you.”
With that she closed the office door behind her.
Moya stretched her stiff muscles.
There was no way she would go out with a man in his twenties, not even once. It would be difficult enough competing for his attention around girls as delightful as Lindi and Ella, but having to worry about being older than them – and him – was more than she was willing to sign up for.
The phone rang suddenly, startling her out of her introspection.
She took a steadying breath before answering. “Moya, hello?”
“Portuguese or Vietnamese?”
Moya’s heart doubled its speed. She knew that voice. “Zak . . . Why are you calling me? Aren’t you due to come in soon?”
“Yes, but I wanted to book a table for our date. I’ve seen you in your work environment and something tells me you wouldn’t want to discuss restaurants when I come in on Friday to sign on the dotted line. Now, Portuguese or Vietnamese?”
“Neither.” Moya was taken aback by the pang she felt at rejecting him, but she steeled herself against the tightness in her chest. “I’ve thought about it and realised that I should never have agreed to go out with you. We’re simply not suited to each other.”
He didn’t even falter. “I don’t see how you could know this without having spent any time with me.”
“Well, I just do.”
“I was born eMpumalanga, but we moved to Cape Town when I was three, so this has always felt like home to me. I enjoy being outdoors, and love cooking if I have someone to share the meal with. I live in Lakeside and work as a car sales manager in Newlands.”
After a short chuckle he added, “And I model in my spare time.”
Moya had to inhale slowly to get past her body’s response to his laughter. “I don’t see what you’re getting at.”
“Do you find anything I’ve told you thus far particularly offensive?”
Her eyebrows pulled together. “No, I don’t.”
“Good, then you don’t have any reason to think we wouldn’t have a good time on a date.”
Moya could almost picture the satisfied expression on his face. “But there are other . . . details to consider.”
He paused. “Moyomhle, nothing you say could possibly negate how I felt the first time I saw you. So, line up all the details you want – I’ll still want to share one exceptional night with you once all is said and done. Besides, a deal’s a deal.”
* * *
“Dedicating the Personal Space section to tips on personal investing is not a good idea.”
Moya leaned back in her chair as she addressed her team of eight women. Finalising the concept for the August issue of Quest had just hit its first developmental bump: the ideas presented
