Hell Sweet, Kayla

51

ZAYN

Irritation flared as I clenched my jaw, gripping the phone tightly. "I told you to set that meeting for Wednesday at 2 o'clock."

On the other end, my assistant's breath hitched audibly. I closed my eyes, fighting to rein in my temper. The stress in her voice was palpable. "Do I need to fire you for your incompetence?"

"No, Sir. Please, Sir. I will fix it," she whimpered, the sound of tissue paper ripping followed by a subtle sniff. Tears. I'd pushed too far again.

I ended the call abruptly, feeling a pang of guilt. Flipping through my personal diary, I realized she had followed my schedule perfectly. I'd been the one with the wrong dates. Another unnecessary outburst.

Across the aisle, Taylor's concerned gaze met mine. His silence spoke volumes. I emailed my assistant, instructing her to take the week off. Maybe she'd return after the break. Maybe not.

"How long have we been in the air, Taylor?" I asked, pressing my forehead against the cool window to ease the throbbing in my temples.

"Quite a while," he replied, his tone neutral but knowing.

I stared out at the clouds, trying to push thoughts of Kayla aside. Stay away from me, Zayn. Her words echoed in my mind, mocking me.

Maliq. What did she mean by "boyfriend"? Love? Had he...?

"Sir, approximately three hours until landing," Taylor's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. I nodded, grateful for the distraction.

As the plane touched down in Italy, my mother enveloped me in a warm embrace. "Zayn! Il mio bambino è cresciuto così grande," she exclaimed.

"Mi hai visto tre mesi fa, madre," I replied, kissing her cheek.

"Tre mesi sono troppo lunghi," she scolded gently, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

I sighed, feeling the weight of her disappointment. "Sorry. I'll do better."

Her expression softened. "Now, tell me about that girl Cole brought home."

My heart skipped a beat. "Why?"

"I saw the way you looked at her," she teased, playfully smacking my arm with her slipper.

I groaned inwardly. How did she always see right through me? "I think I scared her off."

She chuckled. "We may be Sicilian, but we're not the mafia. We don't scare people away."

Her eyes twinkled mischievously. "Don't you want to give me grandbabies, Zayn?"

I sighed, knowing her persistence was futile. "Not right away, but maybe soon."

Her smile widened. "I can live with soon."

The Bottega estate sprawled before us as we strolled through the garden, Mother chatting animatedly about family gossip and my responsibilities. Despite her warmth, a chill settled in my chest. Thoughts of Kayla crept back into my mind, refusing to be ignored.

That night, after a lavish dinner and a glass too many of red wine, I found myself in the study. The dim light of the desk lamp cast long shadows, matching the turmoil within me. I flipped through my phone, pausing on a photo of Kayla taken during one of our casual outings. Her smile was infectious, her eyes bright with laughter. But underneath the facade of joy, I sensed a sadness, a vulnerability that drew me in against my better judgment.

Why did she haunt me so? I couldn't deny the thrill of her presence, the way she challenged me with her independence and intelligence. It was a dangerous game we played, one I knew I shouldn't indulge in, especially considering Maliq's existence in her life.

Yet, as I stared at her image, memories flooded back—the way her hand fit perfectly in mine during that summer stroll, the curve of her lips as she teased me about my serious demeanor. My mind wandered to the night she'd had a few too many drinks and confided in me about her dreams and fears. I'd held her then, comforted her, feeling a closeness that unnerved me.

The clock struck midnight, snapping me out of my reverie. I rubbed my temples, trying to dispel the ache that had settled behind my eyes. Enough. I needed rest, clarity. Tomorrow, I'd bury myself in work, distract myself from thoughts of her.

The following morning, I woke early, the remnants of a restless night clinging to me. The Bottega estate was quiet as I slipped out for a jog, the crisp Italian air doing little to clear my mind. Each step pounded against the gravel path, echoing the turmoil within.

By mid-morning, I found solace in the familiarity of the office. Papers piled high on my desk demanded attention, meetings awaited, and decisions needed making. The buzz of activity grounded me, anchoring my thoughts in the practicalities of business.

As the day wore on, distractions became my shield. I delved into negotiations, poured over financial reports, and engaged in heated discussions with my team. The intensity of work dulled the ache of longing, temporarily pushing Kayla to the recesses of my mind.

But even in the midst of the boardroom, her presence lingered like a ghost. I caught glimpses of her in passing conversations, heard echoes of her laughter in the corridors. Each reminder stoked the fire within, reminding me of a desire I couldn't afford to acknowledge.

Days turned into weeks, and the routine of work became my refuge. The demands of running a multinational corporation consumed my days, leaving little room for personal distractions. Yet, in quiet moments, her memory surfaced like a siren's call, tempting me with what could never be.

One evening, as dusk settled over the city, I found myself standing before the window of my penthouse apartment, gazing out at the twinkling lights below. The chaos of the day faded into the background, replaced by the haunting image of Kayla's smile, the soft cadence of her voice.

I poured myself a drink, the amber liquid burning as it slid down my throat. Thoughts of her swirled in my mind, mixing with regret and longing. What would it take to forget her—to erase the memory of her touch, the taste of her lips?

A notification blinked on my phone, breaking the spell. An email from Taylor reminded me of an upcoming charity event, an opportunity to showcase our philanthropic efforts. I sighed, pushing aside personal turmoil for the sake of business.

Weeks turned into months with her, and the ache within me refused to fade. Kayla remained a specter in my thoughts, a reminder of vulnerability and desire. I threw myself into work with renewed vigor, chasing success and accolades to drown out the longing in my heart.

But in the quiet moments—late nights in empty boardrooms, early mornings before the world woke—I allowed myself to remember. I traced the contours of her face in my mind, replayed conversations and stolen glances. Each memory was a knife, cutting deeper into the façade of indifference I wore.

One night, unable to sleep, I found myself in the study once more. The room was bathed in moonlight, casting long shadows across the floor. I sat at my desk, staring at a photo of Kayla on my phone, her eyes filled with unspoken words.

"Why do you haunt me?" I whispered into the silence, knowing there would be no answer.

As the seasons changed, so did I. The pressures of business softened the edges of longing, tempered the ache of desire. I threw myself into philanthropic endeavors, finding purpose in giving back to the community that had shaped me.

Yet, as I stood before the mirror one morning, adjusting my tie for yet another charity gala, her reflection stared back at me. The echo of her laughter filled the room, a reminder of what could have been.

I took a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. Tonight, I would face the world with a smile, play the role of the successful businessman. But behind the façade, behind closed doors, I would carry the memory of her—a silent companion in the journey of a man who had everything but the one thing he truly desired.