The noise in the entrance to the hall seemed to quieten as Zayn Graham stepped in. He was the major sponsor for the fashion show so the name ‘Graham Conglomerate’ flashed everywhere. Zayn wasn’t sure it was something he loved to see, but he was doing it for Rina. The media team and other journalists from TV stations rushed toward him, shoving mics in his face. His men stepped forward to create a circle around him, keeping his fans at bay.
Zayn looked straight ahead, nodded slightly in acknowledgment, and approached the red carpet for a few pictures. He didn’t exactly like these parts of events because Zayn hated the lights flashing in his face. Still, he stayed put, his regular broody stare on, with both hands in his pockets. When the anchor of the red carpet stepped up to ask him a few questions, he shook his head lightly at her and stepped out of her way, intent on heading inside.
He planned on granting an interview, but not yet. The night was still young, and a lot of things were still going to occur, enough to make his one interview session everything TV stations could hope for that night.
As Zayn headed in, he walked into Kayla and Finn who were returning to the red carpet, presumably to smile some more and tell the world about how they had found their sick love. She looked great, Zayn had to admit. But there was no way in hell she was prettier than Rina. He would have felt sorry for Finn for the loss, but Zayn didn’t feel that way, not even in the slightest. In fact, he was elated that Finn left Rina because that had to happen for him to even imagine making her his wife, albeit only on paper.
“Zayn Graham!” Kayla gushed as she rushed ahead, taking her hands off Finn. She stopped in front of him and smiled so sweetly, that he would have been fooled if he didn’t really know her. “It’s such a pleasure meeting you here,” she continued, oblivious to Zayn’s internal cringe. “I was so surprised to see your conglomerate anchoring the publicity. I know it’s hard to get you to sponsor new brands.”
Zayn shrugged. “This was worth the investment, I guess.” He kept his answers brief.
“Right,” she drawled. “Everything looks so perfect, like a scene from dreamland. Thank you for bringing this to life.”
“I think the appreciation should go to Joel Osteen and his team,” Zayn said. “They did all the heavy lifting.”
“Come on,” she nudged her shoulders playfully in his direction, a coy look in her eyes. “We all know spending the money is the heavy lifting. All of this wouldn’t have been possible without your money.”
Zayn angled his head, watching her intently. He knew she was right, but he would rather walk on his head than agree to anything she said. “I don’t think so,” he shrugged. “The money can’t move around to get things done unless people are actually beyond its functioning. But I don’t think someone like you would understand. Just leave the business for who runs it, and focus on your acting.”
Kayla caught his condescending tone, but because she needed so hard to be in his good graces, she immediately assumed that she was the one who had imagined that tone. “My father was looking at giving you a call one of these days,” she continued, totally ignoring Finn who was standing right behind her like a forgotten bouquet. “He said he had something to discuss with you. Business, perhaps. I think he even called you sometime last week.”
Zayn had seen the call and he had most graciously ignored it. “Can you tell him to go through my secretary, Mia? I have just been so busy lately with planning this that I have barely had enough time to talk to anyone else.”
“Sure!” Kayla said in a high-pitched tone. “I will make sure to deliver your message.”
Nodding, Zayn walked around her and headed into the hall, relieved to have escaped the paparazzi and the reporters alike. The only media team allowed inside were those personally employed by the fashion house and a few other TV stations who had to sign a contract not to interview the guests until the end of the show, or during the breaks.
The employed ushers walked Zayn to his seat which was right at the front row. He crossed his legs as he sat and brought out his phone, checking to see if Rina had left him any message. Staring at the message he’d last sent her, with nothing after that, he sighed and returned the phone into his pocket.
“Graham!” One of the fashion icons who he had sent Joel to visit called out from beside him. Claire McGregor looked stunning at ever, even though she was way past 60, in her dazzling two-piece outfit, the front of the blouse cut shorter than the back and the arms alluring with the softness and darkness of the fabric. Zayn could tell she had personally picked it up and asked that it be designed that way. The pants were stunning, with double hems and slanted pockets. She saw him regard her outfit and laughed.
“You like it, don’t you?”
“You know I’ve always loved every one of your outfits,” Zayn responded. “You look great, Claire.” She’d insisted that he called her that.
“You said your fiancee is walking the floor today,” Claire said, her dyed black hair shining under the lights. “I am so excited to finally meet her. And although you flatter me so much, I can bet that she would look a hundred times better than me.”
“Of course.” Zayn didn’t know how to be humble, or how to mince words. It was something he didn’t learn growing up, and he was glad he didn’t pick up the skill over the years. “She would be the most radiant woman in the room today.”
Claire looked at Zayn with an indecipherable emotion in her eyes. “You must be so in love with her,” she murmured. “I’ve never heard you talk about someone that way before.”