Page 11 of Oliver
I watched as Zahra methodically initialed each page, her focus completely on the document. Behind her, Seattle's skyline gleamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, so different from Norman's modest downtown. We had both fled here, built new lives, and now she was inadvertently giving me the perfect excuse to go back—hotel reservations and cover story included.
I hadn’t told Emmet that this job wasn’t just about tuition and transition costs. It was about reclaiming what our parents stole. About taking back the house that was rightfully ours, even if it meant stepping into hell to do it.
"I think we should reconsider the kissing limitations,” Zahra said, pen tapping against her pink-painted lips. She’d pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail while I was lost in thoughts of serving justice, exposing her neck. I wondered how she’d react if I traced the curve with my tongue and teeth—if she was sensitive there. Maybe she’d squirm. Maybe she’d moan. Maybe she’d… “Five seconds might look too choreographed."
Focus, Beck!
I pulled my mind out of the gutter and back to the contract and protecting myself—on maintaining control in the chaos ahead.
"The time limit ensures boundaries are maintained," I said, my voice clipped. "If you'd prefer, we can reduce it to three seconds."
“Or modify it to‘as needed’and add a signal for when to cut the act.” A hint of a teasing dare snuck into her gaze, and the corner of her lip curved up slightly. “Unless you lack the control to stop.”
I bit back my laughter at the irony of her knowing exactly which buttons to push—my pride, my control—and using it against me. A small part of me admired her cunning, but the rest hated how it stirred old wounds.
“That’s an acceptable compromise,” I answered, managing to keep the turmoil of conflicting emotions out of my voice.
Zahra let out a triumphanthahbefore crossing out my original clause and replacing it with hers in small, neat handwriting. She initialed the revision and handed me the page to do the same.
I hesitated for a beat; her poke at my inability to stop kissing her once I started suddenly seemed ominous, but there was no turning back now. The bigger picture trumped whatever might happen between us.Emmettrumped everything else in my life, including my own peace of mind.
“Anything else?” I asked as I handed the page back.
“No contact lenses.”
I frowned, but didn’t argue. It was a bizarre ask, but it made no difference to me either way.
When we reached the end, she signed with a flourish, then slid the contract back to me. I added my signature beside hers, did the same with my copy, and then we were done. The finality of it settled over me like a weight.
"I'll scan the contract, and you can keep the original," she said, rising from her seat.
While Zahra was out in the reception area, I took the time to survey her office more closely. A photo on her desk caught my eye—Zahra with her parents at her college graduation, all three smiling widely at the camera. They’d always treated me with warmth and kindness, like I was part of their family, like I mattered. I wondered if they’d still feel the same, knowing what I planned to do to their daughter.
Zahra returned, catching me staring at the picture, and a small smile warmed her face.
“They’ll be so happy to see you,” she said, approaching me but stopping short of invading my personal space. “They always saw you as the son they never had.”
“Your parents are good people.” I stood as well, hands tucked in my pockets as I battled with my conscience. “You’re lucky to have them.”
Sadness darkened Zahra’s features, and for a moment, I thought she’d start crying, but she remained composed.
"I’m sorry for what I did… Well,didn’tdo when Ryan was tormenting you,” she said quietly. “I wish I had stood up to him."
I forced a tight smile. “Ancient history.”
“I’m not convinced of your sincerity, Mister Beck, but I appreciate your dedication.”
I gathered my things, tucking the signed contract into my bag. "It's a business arrangement, Miss Nazarian, and I’m a professional."
Something flickered across her face, but I couldn’t read the emotion. I used to be able to tell what Zahra was feeling by the way she said good morning, but now we were nothing but strangers, bound by a contract that utilized our long-dead connection.
"We’ll start Sunday.” She gestured at the door. “I’ll send you the date schedule tomorrow."
"Perfect."
Zahra walked me out, her heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor. When she opened the door, she hesitated, then extended her hand.
"I look forward to working with you, Oliver."
