Page 1 of What Happens in Dubai

Chapter One

Remember when I thought I had my life in order? Well, it turns out that I definitely fucking didn’t.

Within a few short weeks of my transformation into a happy single gal no longer obsessing over men or marriage, I realised I was, in fact, the same old Zara.

The thing is, on the outside, my life looked terrific. I am, after all, a successful aesthetics nurse in one of the most exclusive clinics in Glasgow. I work with my best friends, Raj and Ashley, and still occasionally take on a couple of shifts a month as a nurse when I need to feel more fulfilled in my profession. I am no longer scrimping to get by and this year I have purchased a bundle of leather shoes instead of my Primark plastics, which do not cope well with the stress of the Scottish rainy season, every fucking day. But even with my new-found comforts in place, it only really meant that as my life spiralled out of control this year, I appeared a smidge classier than usual.

The problem came at night, when I was alone with absolutely no distractions except Netflix and Pornhub. My once-unhealthy obsession with settling down with categorically anyone seemed to have evolved into an even worse habit ofshaggingliterally anyone, with no real interest in them afterwards.

I seemed to develop the ick at an alarming rate – during or immediately after sex.

Anything could put me off, from an outfit they wore to the way the poor fucker sneezed, or merely the unmasculine way they drove their car. I was incredibly picky for someone who once fantasised for several months about a stranger who held a door open in a shopping centre for me, wondering if he felt the connection too. My attitude to men and sex had done a complete one-eighty. I couldn’t find a man who kept me interested in them for longer than a couple of dates, and even my Penguin-loving Mark got ghosted when someone more interesting came along. After slating the shagging type on Tinder last year, I recently grasped that I am now the Glasgow gigolo and my list of accomplishments that I had fucked and chucked my way through this year was expanding rapidly.

I hadn’t seen much of my ex, Tom, since I was working less at the hospital and practically full time at the clinic, but I’d heard rumours of his aesthetic business folding. Not that I cared or even gave him a second thought – I was thriving. But I couldn’t help thinking the way he treated me had left me psychologically scarred and unable to form a real attachment or even a tiny bit of interest in any male after they’d penetrated my increasingly large vagina. The only person I could trust was myself and I wasn’t prepared to take any shit from any man ever again.

Ping.

It was a frosty Tuesday morning in January, and I rolled over in bed to retrieve my phone after hitting the snooze button for the third time – six new matches and a message from William.

Morning beauty, looking forward to tonight. Enjoy work x

I planked my phone back down on my pillow and stretched widely, letting out a large groan.

Another day of work at the clinic. I rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up, looking around my chaotic bedroom.

This place is a fucking disgrace.

I stood up, kicking aside mounds of clothes to create a pathway for my feet and opened the wardrobe to find suitable attire for today’s shift. Raj had been stricter with our dress code as a flurry of new aesthetics clinics had swept the city recently, and he was keen for us to stand out and insistent we all looked our best. A black midi dress, gold waist belt and small black pumps would have to do. Everything else seemed to be getting tighter as I took my December hibernation Dorito diet to the extreme. I opened my underwear drawer, rummaging for a clean pair of knickers, disturbing my growing stacks of dildos as I did so, but none could be found.

Shit.

My eyes scanned over Bin Laden’s cave till I spotted a black thong still tangled up in an old pair of work tights. I picked them up cautiously, and gave them a little whiff, feeling utterly disgusted with myself. Commando it is then. I ran my brush through the tugs in my messy hair and managed to slip it into a neat ponytail, then glanced at my watch: 8.48 a.m.Shit.My first client was due at nine. I only had time for tinted moisturiser, so I began rubbing it frantically into my cheeks while brushing my teeth at the same time.Shit, shit, shit! Why did I insist on snoozing my alarm so many times today?

Grabbing my leather jacket, I ran to the front door and headed down the cold stone steps onto the bustling streets of Glasgow. The wind was blowing fiercely, so with my head down I battled through the wintry weather on my usual ten-minute walk to the clinic. I saw the ‘Individualise’sign light up a gloomy George Square and breathed a sigh of relief.Finally.

As I walked in the door feeling dishevelled, I checked the clock above the reception desk and felt pleased I was only a few minutes late. Ashley was standing behind the desk awaiting my arrival, looking immaculate as always.

‘Morning!’ she said and beamed her brightest smile at me. I couldn’t help but grin back at her infectious energy.

‘Morning. You look pleased. Dave putting out this morning?’ I replied, taking off my jacket, suspicious of her contentment.

‘Ew, as if. His morning glory disappeared along with Oasis. No, I just love product day! Such a skive.’ She was pottering about the desk, humming cheerfully away to herself.

I had completely forgotten it was product day. On the first Tuesday of each month, our product branding rep Andrew comes to the clinic to pitch us new products, filler and treatment ideas. We had all become good friends, and because of the overall success of the clinic, Andrew gave us tips and constantly kept us up to date about new concepts in the industry and what products the other clinics were buying in. He had been the brand rep of Individualise for years, but as I previously worked part time, I had never got to know him. I would occasionally pick up his name in conversations between Raj and Ashley, but it was only when I qualified and increased my hours that we were finally introduced.

If I had remembered it was product day, I would have got out of bed a little calmer this morning as it meant I only had a few clients before spending the afternoon ogling Andrew. He was incredibly charming, chatty and funny. Initially, I wouldn’t say he was a complete ten but the more he spoke, the better-looking he got, and the hotter he became. Ashley would make jokes and slip in some uncomfortable questions to find out his status, but he always had a witty comeback prepared for her, which made us even more curious.

I walked through to the treatment room and slipped my dress down before shoving it into my desk drawer, keen to keep this room tidy. I peeled on a set of navy blue scrubs that were hanging on the door,these things must be shrinking in the wash,and neatly set up my sterile trolley:OK, so – needles, product, wipes. Then I sat on the stool and examined the room, which was nowmyroom. My certificates hung proudly on the wall, and my desk sported two large silver frames, containing photos of my graduation day, one with my mum and sister and me, and the others with my friends. Some days I forgot how much I had accomplished and others, like today, I felt proud and warm inside thinking of the opportunities I’d had.

There was a gentle knock at my door, which snapped me from my daydream.

‘Zara, Mr Patterson’s here for his top-up.’

‘Yip, I’m coming!’

I stood up quickly and headed to the reception area.

‘Peter, how are you?’

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