Meanwhile, across the city, in a penthouse with a view of the sparkling skyline, Zayn Cole Virelli was sprawled out on his king-sized bed. He lay on his stomach, his toned body only covered by a pair of black boxer briefs. One arm was tucked under his pillow while the other held his phone up to his face.
He had been staring at the screen for the last ten minutes.
Delivered. Read.
But still no reply.
"Come on," he muttered, constantly refreshing the message thread, like that would somehow make her respond. "Just say something."
Zayn got her number from his secretary earlier that evening. He made a quick call, pretending to check in after yesterday's incident at the shopping center, wanting to see if the young woman was okay. His secretary was super-efficient and managed to snag the info within an hour.
Not one to overthink attraction, Zayn shot a simple "Hi" the moment he saved her number in his phone.
That was twenty minutes ago.
