August 2007

ZOE

It's the day before I start my grad scheme, and following a decision-making process fuelled almost entirely by blind panic, I've dyed my hair. For twenty-two years I've been blonde. Now I'm brunette.

Blonde Zoe made a lot of bad decisions. She was a pushover. She feared change. She showed loyalty to the wrong people. Brunette Zoe will be courageous and firm, but careful. She won't dive headfirst into situations.

Unfortunately, the hair transformation hasn't changed my personality as fast as I'd hoped, which is why I find myself doing role play with Mark in the living room, and not the kind of role play I'd like.

"Are you the manager?" he asks.

"No, but the manager isn't available right now. How can I help you?"

Mark folds his arms, drawing my gaze to his broad shoulders. He's trying to appear intimidating, but instead he looks devilishly attractive. Not helpful.

"I want to speak to the manager," he says. "I need to talk to someone who actually has the authority to solve my problem. Not some young kid who's fresh out of uni."

"I'm so sorry, Sir—"

"Zo." Mark breaks character, holding up a palm to interrupt me. "Don't apologise to customers who are being rude to you. They'll sense weakness and will continue being rude because they think it'll get them the result they're looking for."

"I still have to provide a good level of customer service," I counter. "The customer's always right, after all."

"They can be right without being rude. And if you do need to apologise, keep it short. A simple I'm sorry."

I frown. "That's what I said."

"You said you were so sorry."

"Oh. That's just me."

"Well, don't be you. There needs to be a barrier between your personality and your professional attitude. Otherwise you'll take everything personally and it'll destroy you."

Deflated, I collapse into the armchair and cover my face with my hand.

"I'm going to be so crap at this. Why did I think changing my hair would work?"

"I doubt they'll throw you into role play situations on your first day," Mark replies. "You'll have time to gain confidence before they do that."

I disagree, but I don't have the energy to argue. Grad schemes can be notoriously tough in the first few weeks as they separate the wheat from the chaff. This is my dream. I can't afford to bottle it.

"Stand up and let's go again," Mark nudges my ankle with his toe.

I drag myself to my feet and suck in a deep breath.

"Are you the manager?" Mark asks.

"No," I say. "The manager isn't available right now but I'm here to help. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing. I don't want to waste my time talking to someone who isn't senior enough to solve my issue. This hotel has messed me around enough. The least you can do is give me the manager's time."

God, he makes a convincing pissed off customer. The ideal role play partner, really.

"The manager isn't in the building right now and won't be back for another few hours. How can I help in the meantime?"

"I think we both know that's bullshit but fine. You guys have fucked up my room reservation. I booked a corner suite with a view of the river, and instead I'm on the opposite side of the hotel in a standard double. So, tell me: what the fuck are you going to do about it?"

I swallow. In role play with a friend, I can handle this. In real life, I think I'd burst into tears if someone spoke to me like that—especially in public. But I can't burst into tears. I also know I can't let someone talk to me like that. Customer or not.

"Sir, I understand you're upset, but I'm going to ask you to talk to me with some more respect. We don't tolerate abuse of staff here, and that includes verbal abuse."

Approval briefly flashes through Mark's eyes before he resumes character.

"What are you going to do? Call your manager on me? Be my guest. He's the one I want to talk to."

"She's not in right now, but I will call security. I should warn you, though, you'd likely be asked to leave the premises and that would forfeit your deposit. I'd rather resolve your issue than resort to that. So, what's your name and room number?"

A smile stretches across Mark's face. "Much better."

I relax, dropping my shoulders as the tension drains out of them. "You make a great dickhead customer."

"Plenty of practice in the police. Dealt with dickheads day in, day out."

I step closer and rest my head against his chest. With the same reluctance as always, he winds one arm half-heartedly around my back.

"You'll be fine, Zo," he says, his voice gruff.

"Thanks for your help," I mumble into his t-shirt.

"Any time."

Closing my eyes, I grip the back of his top and squeeze him in a tight hug. His hard muscles sear through his t-shirt, and his cologne sends my mind straight to the bedroom. The manly scent of it always lingers on my sheets after he's left. I need courage for the next part. Courage and willpower.

I sigh and withdraw from him, running a hand through my hair. It's always so soft and silky after a trip to the hairdressers. Only temporarily, though. Just like the inevitable awkwardness of this next conversation will hopefully be temporary too.

"So, I've been thinking," I say. "I want this grad scheme to be a fresh start for me. Maybe I'm delusional with the hair having an impact, but I'm determined to try. To be a better version of myself. A stronger version. But I think... In order to do that... To totally commit to a fresh start... You and I should probably stop fooling around."

Fooling around? I cringe. That seems like such a childish and dismissive term for the most mind-blowing sex of my life. There lies the problem, though. There's no romantic future with Mark. Maybe there might be in a different life, if we weren't both so damaged from past relationships and unwilling to risk it, but for now, it's just a barrier to both of our futures.

Mark's face doesn't change. What did I expect? Hurt? Anger? We've been so clear with each other from the beginning, so this shouldn't be a surprise.

"I'd never want to hold you back from being a better version of yourself, Zo."

Guilt slams into me. "No! Crap, sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that I want to work on myself. I can't do that if I'm falling back into..."

"Bad habits?" He arches a brow, and this time there's a definite hint of hurt.

"You're not a bad habit, Mark. I actually like myself when I'm around you. I just need to start liking myself when I'm not around you, too."

His face softens and he nods. "I get it. It's fine. We kept saying it would be the last time. We need to mean it for real now."

This feels too much like a break-up. It shouldn't. The ache in my heart reassures me it's the right decision. If this is difficult now, how hard would it be a year down the line?

"You still okay for me to live here?" I ask.

"Yes. Of course. We're still friends, aren't we?"

"I hope so."

His lips twitch. "Cut the pouting, Zo. It's not a big deal. I'm sure you'll find someone else who can fill the void."

The flippancy confuses me. Just last month he punched JJ for reasons I largely assumed were due to jealousy. Jealousy and protectiveness, but jealousy all the same. Now he's pretending he doesn't care if I replace him? I'd like to think our chemistry couldn't be replicated so easily. If he brought a girl around next week and I had to listen to them have sex, I'd seethe with jealousy.

Not because I have feelings for him—but because she'd get to have part of him that used to be reserved only for me.

Just another reason why ending this now is the right decision.

"Speaking of fresh starts," he says, "I have some news, too."

"Oh?" I'm intrigued. Mark likes his routine too much to actively seek new opportunities.

"I signed up for the close protection training course."

Pride flutters through my tummy. "You did?"

"Yes. I thought about what you said, and it'll be good for me. I need to be doing something that makes me feel like I'm protecting someone. I couldn't protect Ben. I couldn't protect my parents. I need to make a difference to someone. This is an obvious route, plus I already meet all of the eligibility criteria because of my time in the police."

"Mark, that's great." I step forwards to hug him again, then pause.

He rolls his eyes. "Come here."

Grabbing my wrist, he tugs me into an embrace and wraps his arms around me. Properly this time. Everything about him screams safety. It always has done. Cocooned in his arms, it's like danger doesn't exist, or at least can't reach me. But whenever his touch leaves me, whenever the cloud of his aftershave lifts, I look into the future and see only danger.

Danger of heartbreak. With no friend to help pick up the pieces.

***

Thank you for reading :) xx

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Mark's finally on the path to becoming a bodyguard! Where do you see the pair of them going from here? 

If you want to read ahead, the next 11 chapters are available on Ream!