His Irresistible Darling - Sarah Randall Page 0,88

up Melina. He’d given her his car keys and eventually found hers in the fridge…

He wandered into the kitchen and absently ran one hand along the black marble counter tops, remembering that first intense, game-changing look that they’d shared all those weeks ago, her tendency to burn every meal she cooked, the takeaway menus she pinned with a camel magnet to the fridge for just such eventualities. He abandoned the kitchen for his office where she’d sat on his desk feeding him ice cream whilst he made business calls, then went into the bathroom where for the first time he’d seen her pale breasts bobbing around through the bubbles and the glass of wine next to them. He smiled and shook his head at that memory. Only Pippa.

He found himself at his bedroom door and took hold of the handle but just couldn’t face going through it. Not yet.

He was going to have to sell the place. Hell he might even give it away to a charity—too many memories. He dropped his head and remembered the small gift in his hand.

He returned to the kitchen and placed the gift on the counter whilst he grabbed a beer from the fridge. After popping the top in the bin and talking a long swig, he gingerly picked up the small gift and rolled it in his fingers. He couldn’t remember ever having received a gift from someone who wasn’t related to him.

He finally opened up the gift—and chuckled out loud, shaking his head. Only Pippa.

After nursing several beers Jumal decided it was time to face his demons and go to bed, but a knock at the door provided a much-welcomed distraction… PIPPA?

As he threw the door open he tried to keep the look of disappointment from his face as his shoulders dropped. Malik.

He left the door wide open and stalked back to the living room, calling over his shoulder, “Beer or something stronger?”

He heard Malik close the door and join him. “Beer’s fine.”

“Here,” he said, handing his friend a bottle. “So what’s up?”

Malik choked on his first swig and coughed. “Sorry. ‘What’s up?’” he asked wide-eyed. “What happened to ‘What’s the matter?’ You trying to get hip or something?”

At his cool stare, Malik cleared his throat and wisely continued. “Melina called me and said that Pip’s back in her apartment. So—” He shrugged his shoulders. “I thought I’d see how you are. Her flight’s tomorrow evening, right?”

“Right,” Jumal replied gruffly, swigging on his own beer and sitting back in a lounge chair and planting his feet up on the low-rise table.

Jumal reached forward to check his mobile, along with the new ringtone—his father. No doubt ringing to make sure Pippa had left Dubain. He ignored it.

“What the hell is that?” Malik asked with a quizzical look towards the ringing mobile. “I never had you for a Miley Cyrus fan, Jumal. Bit of a depressing song, isn’t it?”

Jumal shook his head and shrugged. “Pippa. She liked to change the ringtones and I have no idea how to change them back,” he lied. Of course he knew how to change them—just didn’t want to.

“Well, at least you can get a new PA—one who can actually do the job without winding you up and pushing all your buttons,” Malik unhelpfully suggested, standing behind the sofa and leaning forward.

“Malik, I’m saying this because you’ve been my friend since we were five and you’re the brother I never had so I really don’t want to have to hit you. Don’t talk about Pippa like that. She saved us millions in that contract. Yes, the alternative counsel I instructed would likely have picked up on it but if she hadn’t reviewed that contract for me at the last minute I would have trusted Faridah and likely signed it. She saved this company.”

“Noted. But she was still just a kid, right? You can get someone with more experience—like Greta.”

“She might be young but she’s had more life experience than I ever had. She’s travelled, worked in homeless shelters in New York. She told me a couple of nights ago in some off-the-cuff remark that she’d parachuted from a plane for her brother’s charity. And don’t even get my started on her run-in with bloody knife-wielding guerrillas. She was the best PA I’ve ever had. I could leave her to talk to the foreign minister of Dubai or with a child in the Bedouin camp. And she’s braver than me. She stood up to my father and wouldn’t stand around