Mr. Malik

Zayn grew up in a town called Bradford in West Yorkshire, England. He was the only boy of four children – his father Yaser’s pride and joy. The only one to pass the family business on to, in his father’s eyes. Sure his sisters could do it, but his father was a proud man and there wasn’t anything better than passing on his legacy to his only son.

Zayn didn’t give a shit about the business as a teenager. He had a fuck you attitude and really only cared about screwing women and skirting around on his father’s money. It wasn’t until he turned nineteen that he finally accepted his fate, and by the age of twenty-four he was almost single-handedly in charge of his father’s entire empire, especially after Yaser suffered a heart attack and almost didn’t make it. By then, Zayn was already a master of his own universe and perfectly capable of taking on the position of CEO, making him one of the youngest in his field. He was already labeled the youngest billionaire in the world, which really was just words and money. He liked the extravagances, sure. But like most men his age, he was certain he could get by on much less.

When Katherine Mason strolled through his door he was instantly intrigued. She was beautiful and had an air of mystery about her. He wanted to peel back her layers one-by-one to see what was underneath. And he did in many senses. He found her to be a naïve, intelligent, caring, head-strong, beautiful woman. Everything she did pulled him in. She’d ruin his belongings and instead of making him angry, it just made him more interested.

The second she stepped foot into his fortress, his apartment in the sky, he knew he wanted to bed her. He knew he would fuck her into oblivion if she let him. He never did something like that before – not with anyone under his direct employment, but for some reason he knew he would have her. And that first time, on his kitchen table, after wrestling with his deviant thoughts for longer than he cared to admit, he took her, he owned her and she purred for him. She was his. And he had to have her over and over. Every time he was with her he lost another little piece of himself to her, to his addiction.

The night he bent her until she broke, the night she exploded on him, he knew his life was spiraling all over again. He knew he was on a dark and narrow path, but he thought she might be the one to bring him back to the light. And maybe she did for a little while. He snapped the fuck out of his perversion when he realized how upset she was, how tormented she looked. He almost felt the beating of his heart again. And then he woke up in her bed the next morning, her scent, her warmth, her everything right at his fingertips. And just like that, his heart beat heavily in his chest. So much so that he could feel it in his ears, in his throat, in every appendage. He knew he would be nothing without her. He knew his career, his fortune, his whole life meant nothing if he didn’t have her.

He called Ava, his mentor, that morning because he knew he was spiraling and he knew he needed to rein himself in before he took it way, way too far. Ava always knew how to bring him back from the brink. When Katherine walked in with Ava sitting there on his couch with him, Zayn saw the jealousy in her eyes. He saw the twisting in her pupils, the set line on her jaw. She thought he was sleeping with the older woman sitting next to him, even though he wasn’t, he never did. But his anxiety over what he was kept him from clearing the air. He just let Katherine believe things that were so far from the truth.

The next morning, Katherine collapsed in his arms and was rushed to the hospital. The doctor told her she suffered a miscarriage. A miscarriage of his baby. It was the only explanation. She wasn’t sleeping with anyone else. It was his child. He was the father. And he accused her of getting pregnant on purpose, even though she wasn’t that type of girl. He knew that. She was too pure, too caring, her heart too big. She didn’t want anything from him, other than maybe his company, his bed. But he was too hard, too brash, too stubborn to allow her entrance, to let her worm her way into his charcoal heart.

The guilt hit him hard. The guilt of it all. Something so foreign to him. She lost the baby she was carrying only days after he brought her to the brink of torture – torture in her mind anyway. He didn’t see anything wrong with the situation, but then again he wasn’t the best judge of that sort of thing. He was like a shark in blood-infested waters when his libido was running the show. He lost control too many times to know he would never be a good judge of what was appropriate. Not only with her, but with countless women before her. He was a lothario in the truest form and he knew it.

What it all boiled down to was that he was the reason for her hospital stay. He was the reason for the blood between her legs, the blood that stained her sheets. He was the reason for the loss of life. And something about that broke him worse than he knew he already was. He was the lowest form of life and he knew she deserved so much better.

When she confronted him in his office, after days of him avoiding her, he knew it was inevitable. He knew she’d come air out her grievances. He just didn’t expect his icy exterior to hold so well. His heart beat for her, warm and true, trapped behind his iron-clad ribcage, underneath his stone shoulders. His heart was on fire for her. He was sure to burn like a phoenix for her and rise from the ashes, becoming a new man, a man she could see herself with in the end. But when he stood firm, his expression stony, his regard for her feelings indifferent, his ego too fragile, too much of a mess to fight against, he knew he really fucked everything up. She threw her resignation in his face like it was the last nail in his coffin, hammering it shut tightly, assuring he would never be free from his cold, unresponsive disposition.

When he saw her in the lobby the day she left, Mr. Bates toting along her belongings, Zayn stayed tight-lipped, the last bit of hope for her to stay, for her to reconcile with him left him without hope of returning. She was gone. She left him. He fucked it up beyond repair and he knew it. She wouldn’t be his.

Eight days passed. Eight long, lonely days without Miss Mason’s sunny disposition infiltrating the confines of his home. Eight long days where the guilt nearly ate him alive when the silence crept in. He stayed unimaginably busy with work, with his new position of CEO, but it was exhausting. It was exhausting not having her.

...

Zayn’s knuckles rapped against the screen door of a small house in Williamsburg, New York. He knew where to find her, because he made Bates give him explicit instructions on where he took her the day she left. He needed to know where she went, if only to ease his mind. But of course it didn’t. Zayn waited patiently for someone to answer the door, his dark sunglasses hiding his eyes from the sun.

“Can I help you?” He heard a woman’s voice from the other side of the screen door.

Zayn looked up to find a heavy-set red-headed woman. He didn’t know what he was expecting, so he wasn’t surprised.

“You’re not selling anything, are ya?” The lady asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“No, ma’am,” he told her.

“Are you a cop or something?” She asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

“No, ma’am. My name is Zayn Malik—” He started to introduce himself.

“Ohhh,” she said, her eyes softening as she looked at him.

“You know of me?” He asked, looking at her questioningly.

“I’ve heard of you,” she told him evenly.

“I was just wondering if—” Zayn started.

“She’s not here,” the woman stated plainly and Zayn’s heart dropped noticeably.

“Do you know where I can find her?” He asked, pulling his sunglasses off, giving her a hopeful look.

“You’re even more handsome than she let on,” the woman told him.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, not even cracking a smile. If he had a dollar for every time someone complimented his looks, he’d be a billionaire twice over.

“She’s at work,” the woman told him a moment later.

“And where is work?” Zayn asked hopefully.

“The diner on 10th street,” she told him.

Zayn’s heart sank further. She was working in a diner instead of in her rightful place working for him. But then again, Zayn wasn’t looking for her to ask her to come back to work.

“Thank you for your time,” he told her as he replaced his sunglasses and took a step down the stoop.

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Malik,” the lady told him.

...

Zayn sat in the corner booth at the 10th street diner, watching her from afar. She worked quickly and efficiently, even chatting up the customers when she got the chance. Her smile was beautiful, but he could see it didn’t reach her eyes. Her eyes were sad and he knew why.

“What can I get ya?” Katherine asked as she walked up to the table, her eyes focused on the tablet of paper in her hands, ready to take his order.

“Miss Mason, always a—”

Her eyes shot up to his, looking completely flustered.

“What are you doing here?” Katherine snapped, quickly looking around the tiny crowded restaurant.

“Well, I was thinking of ordering—”

“No. You don’t eat at places like this, Zayn. What are you really doing here?” She asked in a hushed tone.

He looked up at her with his mysterious brown eyes and just stared. Katherine gave him an impatient look, before taking another glance over her shoulder, seeing a patron in need of more coffee. Without another word she held up her finger to pause him before he even spoke. She quickly moved back behind the counter, grabbing the coffee canteen before going to refill the patron’s cup. A second later she replaced the coffee pot and walked back over to Mr. Malik’s table.

“I’m very busy, as you can see,” Katherine said impatiently.

“What are you doing in a place like this?” He asked disapprovingly.

“Working. I was going to ask you the same thing,” she snapped.

“What time is your shift over?” He asked.

“I’m working a double. I don’t get off until late,” she told him vaguely.

“When is late?” He asked, his eyes narrowing in a warning. He knew she was pushing his buttons on purpose.

“Not until eleven,” she told him with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I’ll see you at eleven,” he said, grabbing his money clip out of his suit jacket.

“What? No. What are you talking about, Zayn?” She asked, watching as he threw down a hundred dollar bill onto the table.

“You didn’t even order anything,” she reminded him and he sent her another warning look.

“I will see you at eleven, Miss Mason,” he said again.

“Don’t… don’t bother,” she said quietly as he stood up in front of her. His eyes narrowed further.

“Eleven,” he said again and turned away from her, leaving the diner altogether.

...

Zayn sat in his dark car, idling in the parking lot at eleven that night waiting for Katherine. When he saw the lights dim in the establishment, he knew she’d be coming out soon. Less than a minute later, she was walking out with some random bloke she worked with, laughing with him. Zayn’s jealousy bubbled up inside of him like boiling water.

“Goodnight, Calvin,” he heard her say just as she looked up to see his car.

She stopped in her tracks, staring him down, even though Zayn was certain she couldn’t see him through the tinted windows. Zayn put the car in drive and slowly drove up to her. Instead of getting inside, she knocked on the passenger window. Zayn rolled it down and watched as she leaned in slightly.

“What are you doing here?” She hissed.

“It’s eleven. Get in the car, Miss Mason,” Zayn told her.

“I told you not to come,” she countered quickly.

“Get in, Katherine,” he said evenly.

“Is everything okay, Katy?” They heard her co-worker ask.

“Oh, everything is fine, Calvin,” Katherine said, waving him off, yet he stood next to his car watching the interaction.

“Get in the car, Katherine, so we can talk,” Zayn told her again.

She let out a huff, but finally gripped the handle and slid smoothly inside next to him. Once she was safely belted in, Zayn gunned the engine and took off down the road.

“What do you want to talk about?” Katherine asked, her arms crossed tightly against her chest.

“Us,” he told her.

“Wha—” She said, looking at him with her jaw hung open.

Zayn stayed quiet as he shifted gears, not wanting to get into it while they were in the car. He wanted to be looking at her, watching her as they spoke. When they neared his apartment building, she immediately protested.

“No. I’m not going back to your house, Zayn,” she told him firmly. He looked over at her, narrowing his eyes.

“Too much happened there,” she said weakly, looking away from him quickly.

Without a word, Zayn continued passed the building and took a sharp left, heading further south on the tiny island toward the financial district.

“Is this where you work?” Katherine asked as he pulled into an underground parking garage underneath one of the massive buildings.

“Yes,” he told her.

They were silent as they got out of the car and as they rode the express elevator up 67 floors.

“Doesn’t it make you nervous working in such a large building?” Katherine asked as she watched the elevator hit the 67th floor and ding at its arrival.

“No. Why would it?” He asked, giving her an even look.

“Terrorist attacks happen, you know,” she told him. Zayn stared at her plainly.

“It’s happened before,” she mumbled as the two of them walked out of the elevator.

The two of them walked toward two very tall glass doors, etched with the words Malik Enterprises on them. Zayn easily gained access and led Miss Mason in. The entire floor was empty. It was just the two of them and that’s exactly what Zayn wanted. He led her to his large office and let her inside.

“Wait… you’re CEO now?” Katherine asked, stopping in her tracks, pointing at the name placard on the wall that read: Zayn Malik, Malik Enterprises, CEO.

“Yes, Miss Mason,” he told her evenly, placing his hand on the small of her back to budge her along. It was the first time they touched since they were in each other’s presence again.

“Please, have a seat,” he told her formally, falling into well-used clientele patterns.

He watched her nod and sit down in a chair not far from his desk. He opted to lean against the front of his desk, looking at her.

“What do you want, Zayn?” She asked, finally looking up at him.

His dark eyes watched her. He could tell she was nervous. He could read her like a book.

“I don’t like the way we left things,” he said finally, his fingertips gripped tightly to the edge of his large mahogany desk.

“How we left things?” She asked incredulously, looking at him the same way.

Zayn pursed his lips, staring menacingly at her. He didn’t like how things were between them now. And he supposed it was his doing.

“How I left things,” he corrected, his voice gravelly. Katherine stared at him, waiting for him to speak.

“I need to explain something to you,” he told her, feeling the muscles in his whole body tense. He didn’t much like talking, let alone talking about himself.

“Explain what?” She asked curiously.

Zayn was quiet for a long moment before he looked up to see Katherine looking back at him contently, waiting for him.

“You were the first woman I slept with in a year,” he told her, his confession coming out barely above a whisper.

“Oh,” she said, the sound falling out of her mouth as if she could no longer hold it in.

Zayn watched her, knowing there were many questions swirling in her brain. Questions he knew he didn’t have all the answers to.

“W-why?” She asked carefully.

Zayn’s dark eyes looked into hers. He was uncomfortable and it wasn’t a feeling he was well accustomed to.

“Because, Katherine, I’m a sex addict,” he told her, finally making her privy to his inner struggle.

“Oh,” she said, her eyes looking down at her tightly knotted hands in her lap.

“Oh,” she said again, her eyes looking up at him again, realizing what his words meant.

“The woman you saw at the house, Ava – she is my mentor,” he explained.

“Oh,” she said, nodding her head.

Zayn paused again, gaging her reaction. She wasn’t running away, which he was grateful for.

“What does it mean?” She asked quietly.

“What? That I’m a sex addict?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“Yes… yeah,” she said, nodding her head slowly, sitting on the edge of her seat.

“It means I have compulsive sexual thoughts and that I act upon them… often. It also means that over time, my sexual compulsions can intensify so much that I need more and more aggressive forms of sexual exploration to feed my addiction,” he explained to her. She almost looked horrified from his explanation, which festered inside of him.

“Oh,” she said again, her eyes darting away from him again.

“Miss Mason,” he said, getting her attention.

“Katherine,” she reminded him, her eyes looking back into his.

“Katherine—” he started to say.

“Why me?” She asked, cutting him off. He let the silence engulf them for a moment before he spoke.

“Because, Katherine. I crave you,” he told her, realizing how much of a deviant it made him sound.

Katherine let out a shuddered breath from his words and he felt it deep within him. A spark skated up his spine and gave him life. He still affected her.

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” she said, looking flushed and embarrassed.

“I can’t control it, Katherine. I’m an addict,” he told her evenly.

“Then maybe it’s not a good idea that I’m here,” she said, standing on her feet.

“Katherine, sit… please,” he demanded, not wanting her to move an inch. She obeyed immediately, looking up at him with her wide eyes.

“I’ve learned a long time ago that there are some things I can control and some things I can’t,” he continued.

“And the way you feel toward me is something you can’t control?” She questioned, her voice noticeably quivering.

“The way I feel about you is something I don’t want to control,” he told her honestly.

“Oh,” she said again – her word of the night.

“What does that mean?” She asked for clarification.

“It means I want you, Katherine. I want all of you,” he told her.

“Zayn…” she breathed, unable to look at him any longer.

“I’ve always had high expectations in life, so much so that I’d get angry if they weren’t being met. Which is why I probably am the way I am. But it’s gotten me this far…” Zayn began to explain to avoid the unease swirling in her eyes. He knew he wasn’t exactly what she had in mind when it came to a partner and it was almost devastating.

“Maybe you need to lower your standards a bit then. You shouldn’t expect so much out of people or you’ll constantly be disappointed,” Katherine told him.

“A lesson I have failed to learn,” he countered, their eyes meeting once again.

“Hmm,” she hummed, dropping her gaze again.

“I’ve never had to lower my expectations of you, Katherine,” he told her and she let out a snort.

“I highly doubt that,” she told him, finding amusement in his words.

“I spent a year celibate and then you came along and something changed inside of me,” he told her.

“Zayn,” she whimpered, looking almost pained.

“Katherine,” he breathed, pushing away from the desk as he took a step toward her. She quickly stood on her feet.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone, ever,” Zayn told her.

“It’s your addiction talking,” she said, shaking her head.

“It’s not,” he said sharply and her eyes snapped up to his.

“Katherine, you don’t understand. When you quit, when you left, I was gutted. Tell me why that was if what I feel is just my addiction guiding me?” He asked her, taking another step toward her.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“I want you, Katherine. I want all of you and not just for sex,” he told her. Her big eyes looked up at him, so vulnerable, so full of wonder.

“I want you to come back. I want you with me,” he told her.

“Come back to your house?” She choked out.

“Yes. I want you to move back in. You can have your room, or…” he said, trailing off.

“Or? Or what? Share yours?” She questioned, looking almost scared.

“Whatever you want. I don’t want to pressure you. I don’t want to rush you,” he told her.

“This is too much, Zayn. My God,” she breathed, taking a step away from him, placing her palm on her forehead.

“Tell me what I can do,” he said, well aware that the words sounded a bit desperate.

“Jesus,” she sighed, pacing across his floor and then back again.

“I don’t want to trouble you, Katherine,” he told her sincerely.

“I’m not troubled, Zayn,” she shot at him, her eyes narrowed as she stopped and stared.

Zayn was silent. He had no idea what she was thinking or why she seemed so upset. He just wanted to somehow make everything better. But he wasn’t sure how.

“Tell me what I can do,” he offered again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” she grumbled as she continued pacing across his office floor.

Zayn stood there silently, watching her, waiting. She seemed so erratic, so conflicted.

“I need to… I need to go home. I need to think and I can’t do that here,” she told him finally.

Zayn sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. It definitely wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but he figured it must be a good sign since she didn’t yet scream in his face and tell him what an asshole he was to her. He knew he deserved it.

“I’m sorry, Katherine,” he said quietly, his eyes falling to his shiny black leather Prada dress-shoes, feeling shameful over the way he treated her when she was in the hospital.

“For what?” She asked, sounding breathless.

“For not believing you, for accusing you of becoming pregnant on purpose,” he told her, finally looking up into her eyes.

“I would never…” she breathed, looking almost flustered.

“I know. As much as I didn’t want to believe you, I know you aren’t the type of person…” he said, his words trailing off.

“I just… Zayn, I just… I need some time,” she told him.

“Okay,” he told her finally.

...

Zayn spent the weekend at home – phone off. He hadn’t done that since before he started at his father’s company. He was always reachable, but he just couldn’t do it – not now. Katherine was taking time and Zayn knew he needed to do the same. It was very unlike him to spend any time in bed while he was awake – unless some sort of fucking was happening – but he couldn’t seem to pull himself out of it. His mind just spun in circles. He could only think of Katherine. He could only think about what his life was going to become once she told him to fuck off forever.

He never had time for depression before, but that weekend, he let it wrap around him like a cocoon. He hated himself for what he’d become. He hated himself for all his weaknesses and short-comings. He hated himself for what he did to Katherine, to their baby. He hated himself for everything.

“Mr. Malik…” He heard as the door to his bedroom opened slowly.

It was dark in his room. He spent the entire day in bed, doing absolutely nothing but sleeping and thinking and sleeping and thinking. His mind never shut off. He even dreamt about her.

“Sir…” He heard again and realized Mr. Higgins was at his door.

“Yeah,” Zayn breathed lowly.

“I’ve made you some dinner, sir. You should eat something,” Higgins told him.

“Yeah,” Zayn grumbled as he stared up at the dark ceiling.

“Okay,” Higgins said, closing the door once again.

Zayn got out of the bed slowly, realizing he hadn’t brushed his teeth all day. He went into the bathroom and relieved himself before brushing his teeth thoroughly. He looked at himself in the mirror and almost didn’t recognize who he saw. His beard was grown out too long, his hair was disheveled and in need of a haircut, and the bags under his eyes were dark and prominent. He looked how he felt – like shit.

He quietly made his way out to the kitchen to find whatever food Higgins made for him. He didn’t really feel like eating – he felt sick to his stomach more than anything, but he knew he probably should have some sustenance.

Higgins was in the kitchen when Zayn stepped in. He looked surprised to see that his boss was actually out and about. Zayn grunted a greeting at him as he took a seat that the breakfast bar where Higgins set a place for him.

“Hello, sir,” Higgins said, immediately turning to the large pot on the stove, ladling soup into a bowl. A moment later, he set it in front of Zayn and he noticed it was chicken noodle soup.

“I wasn’t sure if you were sick or not. Chicken noodle soup is good even if you’re not,” Higgins told him.

“Thank you,” Zayn said quietly, looking down at the hearty bowl of soup. He had no appetite, but again, he knew he should eat.

“Would you like something to drink, sir?” Higgins asked.

“Water is fine,” Zayn told him as he picked up his spoon and brought it down into the hot soup.

A moment later, the doorbell rang, reverberating throughout the large apartment. The two men looked up at each other, both their eyes questioning.

“I’ll get it,” Higgins told him as he finished filling the glass of water and set it in front of Zayn before making his way to the door.

Zayn finally ate a spoonful of the soup and it was good. It was the first thing he ate in over twenty-four hours.

“Mr. Malik,” he heard Higgins say to him.

“Hmm,” Zayn hummed, taking another spoonful of the soup.

“Mr. Malik,” Higgins said more impatiently.

Zayn’s eyes met up with his before they dropped to the person at the door.

“Miss Mason,” he choked out, standing on his feet immediately.

“I want to come home,” she told him as she stood there with her two suitcases next to her.

“Okay,” Zayn said evenly, feeling his heart come alive again because of her.

Notes