Written In The Stars. Mokopi Shale

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Название Written In The Stars
Автор произведения Mokopi Shale
Жанр Короткие любовные романы
Серия
Издательство Короткие любовные романы
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780795704390



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into his en suite bathroom to take a long, hot shower.

      * * *

      Masedi strolled through the Gaetsho shopping complex, impressed and with plans already forming of relocating her little jewellery shop from Greenside to here, which to her felt like home with all the acacias, thorn bushes and other indigenous plants sprawled across the centre of the kraal-shaped complex. She had already seen a tiny little shop that would suit her and Delores perfectly.

      Masedi was pleasantly surprised when she ran into a friendly acquaintance and client looking fabulous in a white linen princess-styled dress.

      “Tshepo?!”

      “Masedi, good to see you!” the woman responded as they embraced.

      “What are you doing here?” Masedi asked.

      “This is where my cooperative slash NGO Lorato-Khumo is located,” Tshepo answered.

      “Wow. How come everyone knows about this place except me?”

      “Maybe you’ve been hiding under a bush or something.”

      “Or something,” Masedi answered sardonically.

      “Come have coffee with me. Unless you’re in a hurry?” Tshepo invited.

      “I’d love to.”

      They walked into an African-styled shop with cowhide carpets and hangers filled with amazing designer clothes filling the racks, display cabinets with beaded jewellery and even a case with some of Masedi’s stuff. The back wall had an archway closed off with wooden beads.

      “This is the shop I own with my brother. It’s your first time here, right?” Tshepo enquired.

      “Yes . . . Isn’t it weird how all this time I’ve been selling you jewellery, but I’ve never been in your shop?”

      “Strange but true,” Tshepo said, leading the way through the shop and the beaded archway into the back space. This was a workshop environment with different sections containing computers, an arts and crafts area and rounded tables off to the side.

      They entered Tshepo’s office, which was a shock of colours and African prints with a sturdy leather-clad desk and plush office chairs.

      “Whu! Mavis has been here already. That woman’s a godsend.” Tshepo picked up two mugs and poured coffee into them. “No milk, right? But plenty of sugar?”

      “You have a good memory.”

      They took a seat and Masedi looked out at the sliding doors that opened into a small back garden.

      “This is an impressive operation,” she complimented Tshepo.

      “Yes, fulfilling too,” Tshepo answered.

      “I was actually thinking of moving my little shop here from Greenside. Found the most amazing little corner.”

      “Over by the restaurant?” Tshepo asked, and Masedi nodded.

      “But that means I won’t be able to stock any of your stuff,” Tshepo complained.

      “Don’t worry about that,” Masedi comforted her. “I’m sure there’s a way we can fill the gap.”

      “So how did you find this place?”

      “I was here last night with some girlfriends. And I met this man who just . . . It was strange, I’ve never felt like that before.”

      “Love has a way of doing that.”

      “Love! Hell no . . . We just stumbled over our words, making no sense. It couldn’t possibly be love.”

      Tshepo smiled and changed the subject. “So if your friends hadn’t dragged you here last night, you wouldn’t be thinking of moving your shop here and robbing me of your stock?”

      “Right.”

      Tshepo ruffled through her drawers, pulled out a business card and slid it across the table. “The centre’s manager is Moitiri Molefe. Tell him I sent you, and that he’s to give you a good deal.”

      Masedi smiled. “It pays to have friends in high places.”

      Tshepo smirked. “So other than partying up a storm, what else have you been up to?”

      “Running the rat race, working for directors who don’t really care about their employees,” Masedi replied.

      “That’s why my brother and I started Lorato-Khumo. As a legacy for our children. You know our parents passed away?”

      “Yes, I remember you telling me about that.”

      “Pelo was working as a quantity surveyor for a conglomerate, earning a lot of money and being the heart and face of that department. And I was a marketing exec on my way to the top at a parastatal transport company. But then all of a sudden our parents were killed in a terrible accident, and it all seemed so pointless. We realised that we had no desire to try and help others build their legacy off our hard work and sweat.”

      “Oh, God . . . You have no idea how much that speaks to me right now,” Masedi replied. “I work with this buffoon child of these people. He has so little talent or interest in the work, but he’s being shoved down our throats. I’m seriously reconsidering my priorities right now.”

      “You’re still young, so you should do it now. Because the older you get, the more reluctant you are to take a risk.”

      “Yes, like you would let me be your accountant for a fee so that I can stop working at the accountancy firm.”

      “Why not, if you’re qualified? We should help each other out like that.”

      Masedi stared at Tshepo, wondering how serious she was. But before she could enquire they heard loud male voices entering the shop.

      “It’s my brother with his mentees.”

      “I should get going.”

      “Hoping to catch a glimpse of the hunk from last night?” Tshepo teased.

      “Don’t think I’m in the market for all that. And he looked like the kind of guy who never lacks for a paramour.”

      “That’s a big word.”

      “Sexy, isn’t it?” Masedi said jokingly. “Rather than girlfriend or lover, you can be a paramour. Illicit and steamy.”

      “All these years, and I didn’t know that about you!” Tshepo exclaimed.

      “What?”

      “That you were a closet romantic.”

      “Pshh . . . I save that for my romance novels and the movies.”

      Masedi drank the last of her coffee and got up. The two women embraced.

      “It was lovely seeing you again. I’m tired of getting brushed off in favour of your other fancy friends,” Tshepo said.

      Masedi led the way out of the office. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

      They entered the segmented open-plan area.

      “Let me introduce you to my brother,” Tshepo said. “He’s been dying to meet the woman who makes this jewellery.”

      Masedi’s heart plummeted into her solar plexus as she saw the shoulder-length dreads brushing those muscular shoulders clad in a white linen shirt, and the navy-blue shorts that ended just above the knee, showing off well-shaped, hairy legs. She couldn’t help but suck in her breath as desire flooded her.

      She couldn’t believe that it was him, and that she was reacting in this way.

      “Pelo, come and meet Masedi, the woman of the crystal jewellery!” Tshepo called out, oblivious of Masedi’s reaction.

      He turned around with a smile on his face, which froze when he saw the beauty from last night and from his