Chapter 3

The sound of movement and the sudden brightening of the bedroom roused Harry from a deep sleep. He cracked open an eye and located the familiar form of his personal assistant moving about the room. The man was readying clothing and packing a small duffle bag.

"What's going on, Brady?" Harry asked in a groggy voice.

"The trip to the London offices. I regret having to disturb you when seemed to be sleeping well."

"London? Oh..." he groaned and rolled over. "I forgot."

"Everything else is ready to go; I left this as late as possible."

"Alright. I'll get in the shower."

"Your coffee will be ready as soon as you're out."

"Thanks," he muttered, and stumbled to the bathroom. Harry couldn't remember when he had actually fallen asleep last night, but he couldn't have had more than just a few hours' sleep.

Within twenty-five minutes Harry Osborn was dressed and out the door. Once settled into the back of the luxury sedan, he realized that there was something important that he still had to do before leaving this country. Pulling out his phone he typed quickly:

Hey... I forgot I have business meetings this week in London

London, England?

Yes. I'm going to be away until the weekend

Okay, I hope things go well over there

Thanks. I'll message when I land

Please do. Thanks for letting me know

Zahra felt her breath catch the moment he said that he was going away. She was going to miss him; they had been hanging out so much that going most of the week without seeing Harry was going to be strange. It struck her how much she had come to rely on him for emotional support. Somewhere along the way, they just clicked. When she was around Harry she felt like she mattered to somebody.

"You have several messages, Harry."

"From Oscorp?"

"Social ones."

"Would you read them out?"

"Of course," the man replied, his eyes scanning the tablet screen. "The first three are from women who have visited... basically they would all like to hear from you."

"Not a chance."

"The next five are invitations to events."

"I'll look those over."

"The last eight are requests for interviews from various journalist organizations, bloggers, influencers…"

"Pass."

"That's the lot."

"Thank you, Brady."

"You're welcome. Is there anything you need right now?"

"Not at the moment... I might go out later though."

"I'll be taking care of this correspondence; let me know when you're ready."

Even from a young age, Harry had had a multitude of personal assistants or butlers in his life. Some were okay, some had been terrible, but his latest assistant of two years was his favourite. The man didn't judge or convey any passive-aggressive attitude, neither did he try to counsel Harry like a father-figure even though he was mid-thirties. Brady was simply there to help in any way possible. Traveling with Harry since graduation, he had become well-acquainted with the young man's personality. Despite adhering to formalities, Harry knew that he could trust the man's discretion in all matters. Brady seemed to possess a refined sense of anticipation - he was there exactly when needed, and knew what to say and do.

Harry sat up on the sofa and picked up the yet another invitation lying beside him. He glanced on his tablet at the others – a couple galas, a fragrance launch for a designer brand, a few concerts; the list went on. All he could think about was whether or not Zahra would be interested in them. More and more he wondered if she would find his care-free, fun-seeking lifestyle boring, or worse, shallow.

His phone buzzed with a notification and he reached for it with greater speed than he expected. After all, he was hoping to hear from Zahra. Harry's elation disappeared when he read the name of someone else. A quick scan of the message told him that it was one of the party girls he'd met a few weeks ago; she was too much like his model ex-girlfriend that he'd left back in Italy. Harry had made it clear that he wasn't going to get involved with her, but he must have forgotten to block her number. He did that and then called Zahra.

Several minutes later Harry located Brady at the desk in his room across the hall from Harry's suite. "Zahra and I are going for dinner and we're going to drop in at an art thing," he informed his assistant.

"The dry cleaning has all been returned. Is there anything that you would like laid out?"

"I can manage, though I wouldn't mind a second opinion."

"I'll come over in about five minutes - give you some time to decide."

Zahra was close to panicking. Out of nowhere, Harry called and asked her if she wanted to go to the opening of an art exhibit, not to mention dining out after that. Although neither of them had actually said the word "date", that's exactly what it was shaping up to be, and Zahra had no idea what to wear. After pulling every dress out of her closet she finally found something to match up with tights and heels, and then dragged out the rarely-worn wool overcoat that she had received from a grandparent.

"I heard you rushing around – where are you going in such a hurry?" Zahra's mother asked pointedly when she saw her in the hallway running between the bathroom and bedroom.

"A friend just invited me out. I have to get ready."

"And when were you going to ask permission?"

"Since when do I have to ask for permission before going out? I'm in and out of the house all of the time without anyone paying attention."

"You're wearing a dress? Are you going on a date?"

"I just want to dress up for once," she replied, not wanting to allude to the friend being a guy.

"Oh, so now you dress up, despite all of the times your father and I have tried to get you to socialize more," her mother retorted.

Zahra glared at her mother. "You mean stepfather. And by 'socialize' you mean hanging out with these catty girls you're always wanting me to be friends with – they hate me, by the way."

"It's not like I didn't try to help you to be more popular," her mother huffed and finally left her to get ready.

This was the third time that Brady had glanced in his direction through the rear view mirror since they had gotten in the car. Harry surmised that his assistant wanted to tell him something, but hadn't decided if it was the best career option. It was unusual of him – normally he was neutral on whatever the Osborn heir did.

"Alright, what is it?" Harry asked resignedly. "I'm not going to bite your head off."

"It's possible that there will be photographers at the exhibit, as this is opening night for a prominent artist. If any are taken of you and Zahra, it won't take long for word to spread."

Harry's brow furrowed and he muttered a curse. "I never even thought of that… I don't want Zahra photographed, she doesn't need that kind of publicity."

"You're rather famous, if you haven't realized it," Brady remarked, walking the line of candid and facetious. "I've noticed that Zahra doesn't seem to realize that, or if she does, it's not a big deal to her."

It was a bit of a revelation to Harry. He had grown up wealthy and well-known, so it was totally normal for him and everyone he was used to associating with, but Zahra was different. That was just one of many things that made her shine brighter.

Zahra was waiting on the corner just down the block from where she lived; getting picked up at the house would raise too many questions. The black luxury sedan pulled up, and Brady got out to hold the door open for the young woman. She thought the man looked familiar, but when Harry stuck his head out and grinned at her, she was sure.

"Are you coming?" he asked.

"Yes, I just wasn't expecting all of…this," Zahra said as she got in.

"Yeah, and I didn't really prepare you either." He paused, trying to find the right words. "My father is kinda wealthy..."

She nodded, not really sure how to reply.

"So, since this this an exhibit opening," Harry continued quickly, "there are probably going to be photographers. I want to stay out of the press tonight, because this isn't a business thing – this is just a personal night out to do something interesting. My father doesn't need to see me doing fun stuff, or he'll just lecture me."

"I'm totally fine with that; I don't want my picture taken either."

Harry let out a small sigh of relief. So far he was succeeding in not disclosing the whole Osborn legacy, while simultaneously managing not to sound like a pompous jerk. At least he hoped that was the case. "My assistant, Brady, is going to hang around and look out for us. Sorry, I should have planned this a little better."

"It's alright. I think I'm understanding this part of your life a little better," Zahra replied with a smile. "Honestly, this is just really fancy and exciting – I never do anything like this."

When they pulled up to the front of the gallery, Brady got out and opened the door for Harry, who then went around to assist Zahra. The keys were handed off to the valet service, and the trio went into the gallery. Leaving their outerwear at the coat-check, Zahra turned away from the counter and Harry paused mid-step, transfixed. Her dress was sensible for the cold weather, yet fit her perfectly, flaring out a bit at mid-thigh while the patterned tights and heels polished off the look. Her curly brown hair was swept over one shoulder and her makeup was modest. In short, she was beautiful – not that this fact had been lost on Harry, but this was the first time that he had ever seen her dressed up. Unlike the models that he had dated who obsessed over their appearances, Zahra was effortlessly elegant.

The contemporary exhibit which wasn't as eccentric as Zahra feared, since she knew absolutely nothing about art. Someone handed them each a glass of sparkling wine; Zahra had a taste, but didn't want to drink on an empty stomach. A few people tried to approach Harry, but either he or Brady – who had been drifting around keeping a watchful eye – dismissed them. It was more likely that they assumed that he was a prospective buyer, rather than recognizing him as someone of particular fame.

However, by the time that Zahra and Harry had gotten through the exhibit about an hour later, he noticed a small group of patrons about Harry's age whispering among themselves and pointedly looking at him. They recognized him for sure. Harry discreetly signalled to Brady, and then moved to collect Zahra.

"Hey, I must tell you that I'm starving," he said lightly. "How about you?"

"I could do with something to eat," she agreed.

"Well then, I know the perfect place. Shall we?" Harry offered his arm and watched with amusement as a pink hue spread across Zahra's cheeks.

Dinner was a cozy affair with Zahra and Harry at a candlelit table and Brady sitting bar-side nearby. The place was bustling with a hip-looking crowd, but nobody took a second look at them. Harry sipped at his glass of wine as he gazed across the table at Zahra. It seemed like her face was glowing as her eyes scanned the scene, eventually falling on him.

"What is it?" she asked, self-conscious.

"You look happy."

"I've looked in the windows of places like this, where everyone seemed to be having fun. Now to be here myself feels really good."

"Like where you're meant to be?"

"Maybe," she said with a laugh. "I'm just happy you want to share experiences like this. I don't have many close friends; I know people and we hang out, but they're more like acquaintances. It's probably me though, I'm just weird."

"Not weird," Harry replied. "You have a very definite of idea what you need in your life, and you're not willing to settle for less. Nothing wrong with sticking to your values. I can't say the same for myself - I feel like I'm out of control most of the time."

"You seem like you've got goals though."

"I guess… If I don't implode first."

After three courses of artfully plated food, both of them were starting to feel sleepy. The walk to the car was short but chilly; Zahra and Harry walked close together, her hand in the crook of his arm. His assistant went ahead of them to lead the way.

"You have to work tomorrow, don't you?" Harry asked.

She sighed, "Yes… I'm glad it's not really late."

"We'll get you home soon. It's been a good night."

"Thank you, Harry. This was a treat."

He gazed at her and smiled. "It was my pleasure."