The Secrets of Their Souls

by Brooke Sivendra

  “Well, that’s a colorful answer, Miss Foster… fortunately, for you, I agree.” Jayce dropped his head but not before Zahra saw the amused smirk on his lips. As he did a final review of the papers in front of him, Zahra stood still, not daring to look at her colleagues, and a moment later he looked up again. “Thank you all for your time. We’re done,” he said, dismissing the group.

  ‘I can’t believe you said that’ Holly mouthed at Zahra as they packed up the boards. She couldn’t either.

  *

  Clear glass cubicles lined the walls on each floor of the Mason Corp. building. The managers each had their own glass box while the assisting team members had a workstation in the center of the floor. The cubicles were not unlike fish bowls; employees hated them and the directors loved them. They said they met the needs of a senior position by providing adequate privacy to manage a team whilst maintaining an open workspace. Read between the lines: chastise your team members in private, when required, and don’t take a nap, or flirt with staff in your office, because everyone will see you.

  Zahra had been afforded the corner suite, imparting envious views of the Manhattan skyline and, in order not to disturb the prized outlook, she had very little else in her office other than an orchid plant, a couple of framed pictures of friends and family, and a glass crystal clock that had been a gift from Jemma. Her eyes trailed to it now, noting the time. 1:11 p.m. It was the second time she had seen those numbers in the past few days, the significance of which escaping her.

  “How did it go, Za Za?” Jemma asked as she walked into her office bearing gifts in the form of sushi and coffee.

  “Ah…” She blushed, thinking back to the meeting, particularly her lack of filter. “He’s a little hard to read…” Zahra said as she reached for the latte, her index finger tracing the rim of the white lid.

  Jemma laughed. “I heard he’s very good looking.”

  “Oh yes, he is.” Even Zahra had to admit it. He was charming and had a formidable presence that was lethal to a woman’s mind.

  Jemma’s eyes crinkled as she smiled. “I didn’t realize he was American. I just assumed he was Japanese based on his family name.”

  “Holly told me Mr. Tohmatsu is his stepfather. I don’t know much else about him. His eyes… they’re so familiar, Jemma. I swear I’ve seen him somewhere before.” Again Zahra ran through past memories, recalling past lovers, past friends, old family friends, but nothing came up. It left her unsettled and intrigued.

  Jemma cast a very unsure look her way before taking another bite of her sushi. “I’m sure you haven’t met him before; however, if I’m so blessed with the opportunity to meet this masterpiece, I will definitely keep it in mind,” she said matter-of-factly, appearing to make a mental note.

  Her sister was right, Zahra concluded, there was no way she would have met him before. They had nothing in common and he had assumingly been raised in Japan, a country she had never been to. She shrugged it off as nerves and let it slip from her mind.

  A fleeting knock on the glass panel roused her from her thoughts and she gawked in shock as Jayce Tohmatsu stood with one hand on the open door and the other on the glass frame. His head did a sweeping assessment of her office, and Jemma, before focusing on her.

  “Am I interrupting?” he asked, though Zahra received the distinct impression that he didn’t care if he was.

  “No. This is Jemma Foster, who works on the finance team.” Zahra didn’t need to mention that she was her sister since there was no mistaking it.

  He nodded his head in agreement with her unspoken thoughts, a slight smirk gracing his handsome face. “I see,” he said as he walked toward Jemma, who in an untimely moment had taken another bite of her sushi. She stood to greet him, gulping her mouthful as she extended her hand. Zahra stood too, it seeming like the polite thing to do. She noted she wasn’t as tall as he was, even with her heels on, but she wasn’t far off either. She rested her fingertips on the glass desktop, tapping them nervously as she waited for him to reveal the reason for his impromptu visit.

  “I would like to tour the Church Street property tonight at six o’clock. I will meet you downstairs in the lobby.” It wasn’t a question but rather a politely disguised command.

  She cleared her throat. “Why? Are you worried about it?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m not concerned about it, I just want to see it… make sure it justifies the Fantasy Bra.” His face gleamed with amusement. “Did you tell your sister what you said today?”

  A barely audible whistle slipped from Jemma’s lips. She looked between Jayce and Zahra and then wisely decided to keep her mouth shut.

  Zahra cleared her throat. “Not yet, but I will. And I will ensure Holly’s schedule is cleared and we will meet you downstairs.”

  He cocked his head. “I didn’t ask for Holly. I just need you.” His eyes penetrated deep within her, daring her to challenge him again.

  “I will meet you downstairs at six.”

  “Very good.” He nodded to Jemma and left the room without another word.

  Zahra collapsed back into her white leather chair, letting out a strangled, exasperated sigh. “Oh, Lord help me.”

  CHAPTER TWO - JAYCE

  The slightly subdued lighting created an atmosphere similar to a hotel lobby—a sensual hotel lobby. Zahra arrived at 5:55 p.m. and, when she saw him, she looked at her wrist with a strike of panic. She wasn’t late, he was early. There were four things he already knew about Zahra Foster: she was intelligent, she was confident, she was guarded and she was beautiful.

  He had been in the café ordering breakfast that morning and through the glass doors he saw her walk into the lobby. His body had spiked with adrenaline and his veins pumped with a vigor he had not felt in a long time, if ever. He had no idea why his body reacted that way, and it made no sense to him. What was so special about her that set his soul on fire? Business deals made his heart race; women did not.

  The Fantasy Bra. He hadn’t been able to decide if he should laugh or reprimand her, so he’d done neither. He did vow in that moment, however, that he would find out more about her, so this visit wasn’t about Church Street, it was an opportunity to get inside her mind.

  As she walked toward him, Jayce gave her his most charming smile and she looked back at him warily. “Let’s go,” he said.

  Zahra nodded her head and headed for the towering glass lobby doors. Mason Corp. was the perfect illusion, appearing to be built entirely of glass. Not until you looked past the striking façade could you see what it was truly made of.

  A driver was waiting on the sidewalk and he took Zahra’s hand, helping her into the car. Jayce now knew a fifth thing: she had a great ass.

  He slid in beside her and relaxed into the seat.

  “Tough first day?” she asked.

  He turned his head to look at her, not troubling himself to lift it off the headrest. “There have been one or two surprises; otherwise, as to be expected, I suppose.”

  When he didn’t offer any further information, she turned her gaze to the front.

  “How long has Jemma worked at Mason?”

  Her head swiftly turned back, surprised by his line of questioning. “About six months. Why?”

  He smiled. “Why? You like that word, don’t you? It’s been a long time since someone has asked me why, especially twice in one day.”

  “Oh, I can imagine,” she mumbled.

  Sixth thing noted: she was judgmental. “I’m sure you can. Do you have other siblings?”

  “No, it’s just the two of us.”

  Zahra kept her answers short, but he pressed on. Little information was better than no information. “And your parents?”

  “Alive and well. They’re living the retired life in Puerto Rico.”

  “Good for them,” he mused sincerely.

  She eyeballed him and then crossed her legs toward him. He could see the flicker in her eyes as she turned the tables on him.

  “And you—do you have s
iblings?”

  “I have two brothers, stepbrothers to be exact. And my father is obviously Mr. Tohmatsu Senior. He is my stepfather, but he raised me from the age of two. I call him Father. My mother unfortunately passed away a few years ago.” His voice was void of emotion but he knew his eyes had betrayed him, as they always did where his mother was concerned. His vulnerability was on display, but it wouldn’t hurt for her to see that—maybe if he opened up a little, she would too.

  “I’m sorry.” She seemed genuine.

  They finally arrived at Church Street and Jayce was eager to escape the confined space of the car. The sweet, but not sickly, scent of her perfume had infiltrated his senses and it was hard to keep his mind focused on the task.

  The tradesmen had long since left for the day so Jayce slid his key into the lock and motioned for Zahra to enter in front of him. Church Street was a residential development of 180 units and it had the potential to be, visually, the most stunning building in Manhattan. But, from a developer’s perspective it was the equivalent of hell. “I want to see the penthouse first.” As they walked together, his shoulder brushed hers and she jumped at his touch. Seventh thing noted: she was more affected by him than she led on. He walked into the elevator carriage behind her and as they rose to the forty-fourth floor, he realized he was subconsciously leaning toward her, drawn to her like a magnet. “I read your report on this development. I think your concerns are valid, but the expense of completely styling such a high number of apartments is a huge risk.” He leaned back against the wall then, crossing his arms over his chest. Managers take note: cross your arms when you talk; it shows who is in charge.

  “An even greater risk is not being able to sell these apartments. I don’t believe anyone, other than a developer or a designer, would be able to conceptually visualize how amazing these apartments are. The angles are sharp and the space is elusive, so people need to see how they’re going to live in them and how to position the furniture. I understand it’s expensive but, if you want top dollar, I think it’s non-negotiable, to be honest.”

  “I agree, actually, but I want to see the apartments and your full concepts first. You are aware, if I approve this, that it will be the most expensive design fit-out Mason has ever done?”

  “Good. I love to set a new record.”

  She was his kind of woman and an image of her back up against the elevator wall, pinned up by his body flashed in his mind. His fingers gently caressed his jawline and her eyes followed them. “I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

  Zahra studied him, but she didn’t respond. What was she thinking? He would kill to know.

  Spectacular. 4 bedroom, 4.5 bathroom with an expected listing price of $46 million. They walked through the penthouse with not an arm’s length between them. The sun was setting, and the building was dim and full of shadows.

  “Thoughts?” Zahra asked.

  He sighed. “I’m not sure… this development will either be incredible or a fucking disaster. Would you buy this apartment?”

  Her salary was impressive but did not warrant buying such an apartment. Still, she entertained the ridiculous notion like a good sport. “Well, supposing Mason were giving me a substantial raise, I would actually invest my hard-earned cash into this penthouse. I think it pushes the boundaries without being gimmicky. Future resale should be strong.” She rocked on her heels, “But, the real question is, are you going to buy this apartment?”

  He pushed off the wall he had been leaning against and they stood close, far too close. “No, I’m not going to buy the penthouse. I might buy an apartment a few floors down though, depending on how long I’m going to be in New York.”

  She stepped back and cleared her throat. “And what does that depend on?”

  “How efficiently Mason is operating, the profit it is generating… things of that nature,” his voice was lower than he’d intended.

  “I see.” She looked down at the concrete floor and he resisted the urge to lift her chin back up, forcing her to look at him.

  She was so tempting and he could so easily lose himself in her but the objective was to get inside her head, not in her bed. He wanted to know why he had reacted that way when he’d seen her and he would not let it go until he had the answer.

  “Good.” Curtly, he put his hands back in to his pockets and began to walk. “Let’s go, I want to see a few more apartments before I need to be back in the office.” He was done playing games for the evening.

  Hours later, she still occupied his every thought. The only sound in Mason Corp. at 1:00 a.m. was the quiet humming of his computer. Jayce sat at his desk, as still and silent as a marble statue. For Jayce, women served only as tools, as a release from his high-pressure career. He wanted nothing else from them and he gave them nothing in return. But Zahra was different—he wanted to get to know her, everything about her. Those sparkling green eyes were irresistible and even now, just thinking about her, his body felt alive. A cocktail of lust and frustration swirled in his mind and he pinched the bridge of his nose. He would solve the mystery that was Zahra Foster but not tonight. No, right now he needed to focus so he picked up an engineering report and got on with his work. The number of projects Mason had in development was sheer insanity and he would never have approved that scale of growth. Expanding too quickly could end up killing the entire company if they didn’t get it right, and that made him very nervous. Jayce had convinced his father that Mason Corp. was a good buy and he had spent over a year in negotiations before securing the deal. He had a huge responsibility to his father to make this acquisition a success. It was ambitious but he could do it if he worked hard, if he utilized every second. He could not afford any distractions, but his intuition told him Zahra Foster was going to be the greatest distraction of his life.

  CHAPTER THREE - ZAHRA

  One foot in front of the other, that was her only focus. Zahra’s feet pounded on the treadmill in a dire attempt to eliminate last night’s dream from her mind. It was the same girl again, acting out another horrific crime in a chilling manner that was so cold, so lacking reverence for human life.

  Mostly her dreams were about this same girl. And the dreams were so real that she experienced every emotion as if she were in the girl’s body, as if she were the girl herself. But sometimes it was a different person, in another era, of another race. Sometimes the person was kinder, other times they were just as heinous with the only difference being the body, the vehicle of life. And then sometimes the dreams were merely observatory; she didn’t appear to be in any of the bodies but rather watching the events unfold like a Broadway show. These were the least anguishing of the repertoire.

  Running had become her method of survival—it kept her sane, pushing the dreams into some distant and forgotten realm. Zahra figured if she tortured her body instead of her mind, she had somewhere else to focus the pain. She turned up the volume on her iPhone, further drowning out her thoughts. Her chest burned as her lungs grappled for more air and her legs felt like lead but she pushed on—she was not getting off the treadmill until she hit 15 miles. Two miles to go. One by one other residents dragged their sorry asses into the gym, but for the first few hours she had been alone. No one else was messed up enough to be running at 3:30 a.m.

  After hitting her mark and walking back to her apartment, Zahra showered and then fixed a substantial breakfast, her body requiring increasing quantities of fuel to keep up with the miles she was tracking. If her dreams continued to accelerate at this pace, both in frequency and intensity, she’d have to find another form of therapy—there was only so much torture her legs could withstand. Even on the nights when she didn’t dream, or she couldn’t remember her dream, she rarely awoke refreshed. Zahra had a newfangled empathy for insomniacs. There is a good reason why sleep deprivation is used as a torture technique, she thought. It is brutal.

  Sitting at her dining table, Zahra checked her email while she drank a protein smoothie and consumed a large bowl of oatmeal, and then ch
ased it all down with a coffee. Now feeling more like a human being and less like a robot, she planned out her day, scheduling in the designer visits. She was relieved to be away from the Mason headquarters—she did not want to see Jayce Tohmatsu today. Zahra couldn’t work him out and that left her reeling. He never did what she expected him to and she’d have better luck rolling a dice and choosing the number it would land on than trying to guess what was going to come out of his mouth next. He was enigmatic and intriguing, and it was best if she stayed far, far away from him. And for the next few days, that would be easy.

  *

  Zahra scanned the crowded restaurant looking for a familiar set of eyes. She spotted her against the red brick wall and moved in that direction, squeezing between the tightly packed tables.

  “When did The Gallery get so busy?!”

  Maya, her design-school friend, stood and hugged her. “I know, right? Remember the old days when we were the only cool ones in here?” Her arm of bangles jingled as she moved.

  Zahra laughed. “I don’t think we were cool, which is why we were the only ones in here, but anyway—good for them. How are you?”

  Maya was the ultimate modern hippie; a brilliant interior designer who traveled the world, sourcing for pieces with that unique bohemian edge. There was nothing Maya loved more than to get lost in the secluded corners of the globe and then haul back her treasured finds. And Maya was an aficionado when it came to importing—there was nothing too large, too heavy or too fragile for this girl; one way or another she could get it back to New York City. Zahra was more on the reserved side. She liked her glass box and her local designers, but she loved Maya’s stories.

  “I’m fabulous. I’m so glad you called, I’m leaving for Morocco tomorrow morning for three weeks.” She tilted one shoulder forward seductively. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”