Page 53 of The Sheikh's Purchased Bride

“CDs, DVDs, Blu-rays. Two for twenty,” a voice suddenly called out, and Zoey could only laugh at how spectacularly its owner had ruined the moment.

The trip back felt shorter than the one she had made that morning, and in not too long Zoey was back in Brooklyn, at the door to her apartment building, a five-story, brick affair. Zoey took the elevator straight up to the fourth floor and made a beeline for her apartment.

Inside, she went to her bedroom and began peeling off her clothes. Her room featured a wall unit on the wall opposite the door. It had a small wardrobe on each side, and a chest of drawers in the middle. A thirty-two-inch television sat on top of the drawers, and a mirror was fixed to the wall above that. To the right of the door, as Zoey came in, sat a small nightstand, and a queen-sized bed stood directly beside that.

Wearing nothing but her underwear, Zoey went to the bathroom and filled the tub with bath soap, beads, and soothing hot water. When she liked the temperature, she shed her underthings and dove in, shutting her eyes and allowing herself to relax.

For the first time that day, she felt completely at peace as the beads invigorated her body, and the water drew the tension out of it. Her disgust with her mother and hatred of her job seemed to evaporate, leaving only blissful silence. The water enveloped her like a blanket, and the longer she lay in it, the longer she wanted to stay. But Blake was meeting her at Big Tony’s in a little under two hours’ time, and she could barely remember the last time she had been on a date. That fact barely bothered her now, but Zoey knew that would change when she was out of the water.

At last, she grabbed a nearby loofah and began washing in earnest. Soon, she added the spray of the shower so that she could give her hair a thorough washing. In minutes, she emerged from her bathroom feeling refreshed, but whatever spell the bath had put her under was broken, and her stomach was working itself into knots.

Zoey was convinced she would say or do something awkward, or worse, draw a blank in the middle of a conversation. For some time now, her job at Melinda Forde had been almost her only extended daily contact with people. There, she merely had to rely on a script built on lies, but she was going to have to wing it soon and she didn’t know if she was ready.

“At least I clean up okay,” Zoey said, staring in her mirror. In her stunning sapphire dress that accented her figure and matched her eyes, she felt fairly confident that Blake was going to be blown away by her, and felt a spreading sense of hope as she called herself a cab.

FOUR

Fortunately for Zoey, Big Tony’s was situated in a part of Manhattan that was much closer to her apartment than the dating agency. Traffic was light by New York standards, and it wasn’t difficult for her to get there at all. Her only problem on the ride over was that the cab driver was seemingly addicted to the sound of his own voice.

The diner was a small building with a simple welcome mat and glass doors that bore steel handles. Inside, there were around two dozen elegantly-decorated round tables that appealed to Zoey immediately. A soft jazz instrumental wafted through the intimately-lighted space, and pictures of famous New Yorkers hung on the walls. It was one of those places that sold the atmosphere it provided nearly as much as the items on its menu.

Zoey allowed herself to be led to the table Blake had reserved, and ordered a Long Island Iced Tea while she waited for him to arrive. She was still jittery, but her mood had greatly improved.

Ten minutes later, she was nibbling on a roll, mostly out of simply needing something to do. She texted Blake, only to get an automatic reply. Zoey didn’t like the look of that in the slightest, but she told herself to stay positive. After all, it had only been ten minutes; people were late all the time, and busy people set their smartphones to automatic reply—she had done it herself just a few days ago. But two more drinks and twenty minutes later, things began to get embarrassing.

“Miss, are you ready to order now, or are you still waiting for the rest of your party?”

Her waitress had asked the question with all the politeness in the world, but it was clear from her tone what she thought had happened.

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