After having her heart well and truly broken, Zara Smith is more interested in fun than forever. But she's starting to wonder if she's slept with every (somewhat) eligible bachelor in Glasgow... and if there's such a thing as too much fun?!
With competition ramping up in Glasgow, Zara and her friends at Individualise can't pass up an opportunity to promote their aesthetics clinic - especially not when it involves an all-expenses-paid quick getaway to Dubai! It's THE summer destination for the sexy, rich and famous. Cue sun, sand and disastrous flirtations for everyone. But it's okay because once they get back to Glasgow, what happens in Dubai stays in Dubai, right?
Warning: this is NOT a romcom. It's dating in the 21st century and Sophie Gravia is about to give you all the toe-curling, cringe-worthy, laugh-out-loud details.
Readers are loving What Happens in Dubai!
'Hilarious, filthy and totally relatable'
'I love love loveddd this book. Had me laughing out loud to myself one minute and crying the next'
'I was getting bored reading the same old romantic story lines. This book is real, it's hilarious, and it's the perfect follow on from A Glasgow Kiss!'
'It was THAT good that I read for 8 hours continuously to get it finished, couldn't put it down'
Release date:
August 18, 2022
Publisher:
Orion
Print pages:
368
* BingeBooks earns revenue from qualifying purchases as an Amazon Associate as well as from other retail partners.
Remember when I thought I had my life in order? Well, it turns out that I definitely fucking didn’t.
Within a few short weeks of my transformation into a happy single gal no longer obsessing over men or marriage, I realised I was, in fact, the same old Zara.
The thing is, on the outside, my life looked terrific. I am, after all, a successful aesthetics nurse in one of the most exclusive clinics in Glasgow. I work with my best friends, Raj and Ashley, and still occasionally take on a couple of shifts a month as a nurse when I need to feel more fulfilled in my profession. I am no longer scrimping to get by and this year I have purchased a bundle of leather shoes instead of my Primark plastics, which do not cope well with the stress of the Scottish rainy season, every fucking day. But even with my new-found comforts in place, it only really meant that as my life spiralled out of control this year, I appeared a smidge classier than usual.
The problem came at night, when I was alone with absolutely no distractions except Netflix and Pornhub. My once-unhealthy obsession with settling down with categorically anyone seemed to have evolved into an even worse habit of shagging literally anyone, with no real interest in them afterwards.
I seemed to develop the ick at an alarming rate – during or immediately after sex.
Anything could put me off, from an outfit they wore to the way the poor fucker sneezed, or merely the unmasculine way they drove their car. I was incredibly picky for someone who once fantasised for several months about a stranger who held a door open in a shopping centre for me, wondering if he felt the connection too. My attitude to men and sex had done a complete one-eighty. I couldn’t find a man who kept me interested in them for longer than a couple of dates, and even my Penguin-loving Mark got ghosted when someone more interesting came along. After slating the shagging type on Tinder last year, I recently grasped that I am now the Glasgow gigolo and my list of accomplishments that I had fucked and chucked my way through this year was expanding rapidly.
I hadn’t seen much of my ex, Tom, since I was working less at the hospital and practically full time at the clinic, but I’d heard rumours of his aesthetic business folding. Not that I cared or even gave him a second thought – I was thriving. But I couldn’t help thinking the way he treated me had left me psychologically scarred and unable to form a real attachment or even a tiny bit of interest in any male after they’d penetrated my increasingly large vagina. The only person I could trust was myself and I wasn’t prepared to take any shit from any man ever again.
Ping.
It was a frosty Tuesday morning in January, and I rolled over in bed to retrieve my phone after hitting the snooze button for the third time – six new matches and a message from William.
Morning beauty, looking forward to tonight. Enjoy work x
I planked my phone back down on my pillow and stretched widely, letting out a large groan.
Another day of work at the clinic. I rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up, looking around my chaotic bedroom.
This place is a fucking disgrace.
I stood up, kicking aside mounds of clothes to create a pathway for my feet and opened the wardrobe to find suitable attire for today’s shift. Raj had been stricter with our dress code as a flurry of new aesthetics clinics had swept the city recently, and he was keen for us to stand out and insistent we all looked our best. A black midi dress, gold waist belt and small black pumps would have to do. Everything else seemed to be getting tighter as I took my December hibernation Dorito diet to the extreme. I opened my underwear drawer, rummaging for a clean pair of knickers, disturbing my growing stacks of dildos as I did so, but none could be found.
Shit.
My eyes scanned over Bin Laden’s cave till I spotted a black thong still tangled up in an old pair of work tights. I picked them up cautiously, and gave them a little whiff, feeling utterly disgusted with myself. Commando it is then. I ran my brush through the tugs in my messy hair and managed to slip it into a neat ponytail, then glanced at my watch: 8.48 a.m. Shit. My first client was due at nine. I only had time for tinted moisturiser, so I began rubbing it frantically into my cheeks while brushing my teeth at the same time. Shit, shit, shit! Why did I insist on snoozing my alarm so many times today?
Grabbing my leather jacket, I ran to the front door and headed down the cold stone steps onto the bustling streets of Glasgow. The wind was blowing fiercely, so with my head down I battled through the wintry weather on my usual ten-minute walk to the clinic. I saw the ‘Individualise’ sign light up a gloomy George Square and breathed a sigh of relief. Finally.
As I walked in the door feeling dishevelled, I checked the clock above the reception desk and felt pleased I was only a few minutes late. Ashley was standing behind the desk awaiting my arrival, looking immaculate as always.
‘Morning!’ she said and beamed her brightest smile at me. I couldn’t help but grin back at her infectious energy.
‘Morning. You look pleased. Dave putting out this morning?’ I replied, taking off my jacket, suspicious of her contentment.
‘Ew, as if. His morning glory disappeared along with Oasis. No, I just love product day! Such a skive.’ She was pottering about the desk, humming cheerfully away to herself.
I had completely forgotten it was product day. On the first Tuesday of each month, our product branding rep Andrew comes to the clinic to pitch us new products, filler and treatment ideas. We had all become good friends, and because of the overall success of the clinic, Andrew gave us tips and constantly kept us up to date about new concepts in the industry and what products the other clinics were buying in. He had been the brand rep of Individualise for years, but as I previously worked part time, I had never got to know him. I would occasionally pick up his name in conversations between Raj and Ashley, but it was only when I qualified and increased my hours that we were finally introduced.
If I had remembered it was product day, I would have got out of bed a little calmer this morning as it meant I only had a few clients before spending the afternoon ogling Andrew. He was incredibly charming, chatty and funny. Initially, I wouldn’t say he was a complete ten but the more he spoke, the better-looking he got, and the hotter he became. Ashley would make jokes and slip in some uncomfortable questions to find out his status, but he always had a witty comeback prepared for her, which made us even more curious.
I walked through to the treatment room and slipped my dress down before shoving it into my desk drawer, keen to keep this room tidy. I peeled on a set of navy blue scrubs that were hanging on the door, these things must be shrinking in the wash, and neatly set up my sterile trolley: OK, so – needles, product, wipes. Then I sat on the stool and examined the room, which was now my room. My certificates hung proudly on the wall, and my desk sported two large silver frames, containing photos of my graduation day, one with my mum and sister and me, and the others with my friends. Some days I forgot how much I had accomplished and others, like today, I felt proud and warm inside thinking of the opportunities I’d had.
There was a gentle knock at my door, which snapped me from my daydream.
‘Zara, Mr Patterson’s here for his top-up.’
‘Yip, I’m coming!’
I stood up quickly and headed to the reception area.
‘Peter, how are you?’
‘I’m great. How are things, darling?’ he replied, standing there in a pristine suit. Peter was one of my favourite clients. He worked as a top banker in London and would commute back and forth to Glasgow for work. He was initially one of Raj’s clients from years before, and when I started training, he offered his face to me as a guinea pig for injection techniques and since then had remained on my client list. We got on exceptionally well and often commiserated about the gruelling task of online dating.
Together we walked into the treatment room, and I shut the door.
‘So, just a top-up today?’
‘Freeze me please – as much Botox as I can handle!’
I giggled at his demands.
‘Deal!’ I had prepared the syringes already, anticipating the large amount of product he was going to request, and began marking his face with a tiny white pencil.
‘Look up. OK, big frown. Perfect.’ I headed over to the sink and washed my hands.
‘So, how’s the dating life? How’s the restaurant guy from the last time?’ Peter asked.
I sighed a little, slightly embarrassed that I had moved on so quickly.
‘Ehhhh … aw, nothing exciting. It didn’t work out, but I do have a date tonight!’ I turned around to him smirking. ‘What about you?’
‘Oh, never mind me! I’ve not been in the same place for two nights running! I’m living off other people’s dating stories. Spill.’
I put my gloves on and sat down on the stool beside him, feeling uncomfortable at my tummy bloat.
‘Well, his name is William. He’s older than me. Considerably older, actually. He’s like fifty-five but very DILF-y.’
Peter let out a big laugh.
‘Oh, Zara, you crack me up. Nothing wrong with a DILF but at that age he could be a grampa you’d like to fuck! Where are you guys meeting?’
I leaned over Peter, trying to concentrate without giggling as I began injecting his forehead.
‘Meeting at The Ivy for drinks. Just a couple – I’m working tomorrow.’
Peter’s eyes were blinking as I got closer to them with the needle. I carried on for a few minutes, holding his head.
‘That’s you done, I’m just putting pressure on the bleeding.’
‘Oh, it feels better already. It’s been too long between appointments. Can’t wait to shave off a few decades now. Oh, maybe you could inject your new man? Have him looking in his thirties again.’
We both laughed as I handed Peter a mirror.
‘How the hell did you meet him anyway?’ he asked, smising in the mirror from the treatment bed.
‘Tinder,’ I shrugged.
‘What fucking age range do you set, Zara?’
I blushed, remembering that I’d recently had to expand the limits at either end of the scale as I had exhausted all my swipes, having either shagged, messaged or ditched my original group of suitors. This resulted in Tinder itself messaging to say No more potential matches are meeting your criteria.
‘Right, come here, you.’ Peter leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. I felt his expensive, strong aftershave hit the back of my throat. He always smelled amazing.
I smiled back at him as he walked over to the desk, shaking his head.
‘Thanks, Peter. See you soon.’
I wiped down the bed and set up another sterile trolley before heading back to the reception desk just as Peter was leaving. I waved him out the door.
‘Who’s next then?’ I asked.
Ashley stared at the computer screen. ‘Jan Hark? I can’t remember who that is again, can you?’
I paused for a second, trying to recall.
‘I know the name but can’t think.’ Ashley began searching the client database with her extra-long and pointed acrylic nails until we found a picture of Jan.
‘Oh yeah, I remember, she’s nice. I’m sure she’s lips and Botox.’
I sat down on the swivel chair at the reception desk beside my friend, but as soon as my legs expanded on the flat surface, my scrubs felt like they were about to burst open at the seams. I gasped uncomfortably as I observed my stomach drape over the struggling elastic waistband.
‘I’ll need to steal a pair of Raj’s scrubs again, Ash. I swear the scrubs are shrinking. Look at this – I’ve got more rolls than Morton’s.’ I was squeezing my stomach jokingly.
Ashley shook her head, looking annoyed, so I instantly shut down my White Chicks ‘Tina the Talking Tummy’ impression that was coming next. She had heard my moans so often and could only reassure me so many times. Right now she seemed more concerned about changing her hair parting using the computer screen as a mirror. I watched on enviously. Her perfectly curled blonde hair suited any part and any style. The last time I tried a side shed like that I just looked like fucking Hitler. Ashley stood up eventually and walked around the desk to the filing cabinet, before handing me a pair of freshly ironed scrubs from the bottom drawer. I smiled gratefully at her for providing Raj’s spares. There I was, fitting into men’s clothing while she was rocking a tight pencil skirt with a short crop top tied at the front, managing to look trendy but still professional.
‘So, is it tonight you have the date with the old guy?’ she asked, finally satisfied with her hair.
I slapped her arm jokingly as I giggled.
‘Don’t call him that. He’s not that old, is he? I’m in my thirties now.’
‘Aye, just. No, I totally agree he is fit-looking but there’s no denying he’s ancient. Are you talking to anyone else?’
I sneered up at Ashley while I retrieved my phone from my scrubs’ top and held up a picture of another Tinder match I had been chatting to.
‘What do you think of this wee belter? I’m also messaging him.’ I began flicking through pictures of Luke. A student architect, he was young, muscly, blond and incredibly flirty.
‘He is also very, very good-looking, but …’
‘But what?’
‘Zara, he looks about twenty!’
I started to giggle, zooming into incredible abs and the large grey jogger bottom bulge he sported.
‘He’s twenty-four actually.’
‘Oh my god, Zara! You’re like fucking Goldilocks. Nah, this cock is too old, hmm … This one is too young. You need to sit on one that’s just right.’
We started laughing loudly, the sound of it filling the shop around us.
‘Stop judging! And by the way, they all feel the same after a while, to be honest.’
Ashley’s eyes were shiny with tears from giggling.
‘Absolutely no judgement here! At least you’re getting some!’ she exclaimed. ‘Every night Dave has a fucking moan. “I’m too tired” or “Wait till I play FIFA, babe”. You’ll notice he’s the one waiting after that. Oh, and the other night I was doing my fake tan and he waltzed into the bedroom absolutely livid because he finally wanted to have sex, but I had just done my tan so he couldn’t! The last time he shagged me with my tan developing, his mates at football kept saying he had a Michael Jackson dick. Mate, if it’s him or the Fake Bake, I know who I’m choosing.’
I was still snorting with laughter when the door opened. It was my second client, looking puzzled at all the hilarity.
‘Hi. Morning, Jan. Sorry.’ I cleared my throat, trying to remain professional as Ashley sniggered beside me.
‘Right, how are you? What are we doing today?’ I asked.
‘I think I walked in at the wrong time, girls. At least you lot can have fun at your work! I’m thinking half a mil in my lips and three areas of Botox please, Zara.’
‘Sure. I’ll set up for you and let Ash take some snaps. See you shortly.’
‘Not a problem. Let me fix this hair first, Ashley, before you take any photographs – it’s blowing a gale out there.’
I shuffled through to the treatment room, grasping the bigger pair of trousers tightly in my hand, still smiling from the banter with Ashley. I carried on with work that morning, injecting a couple more faces, chatting along the way, while discreetly performing a prolonged pelvic floor workout, feeling ever so paranoid about the size of my vagina.
Later that afternoon Ashley and I were gossiping in the staff room when Raj popped through the door.
‘Ladies, how was your morning?’
I nodded happily while trying to swallow my Koka noodles.
‘Yeah, good. Peter was in,’ I smiled, knowing it was still a sore spot for Raj to lose a client.
‘Oh, was he now? I still can’t believe you poached him, Zara.’ He squeezed my shoulders jokingly.
I started to giggle but remained engrossed in my noodles.
‘All right, people.’
We looked out towards the clinic floor as we heard a deep voice. Andrew.
Raj immediately went to greet him while I slurped the rest of my noodles down and quickly followed a few seconds behind.
Andy smiled over to me as he removed his dripping wet jacket and placed it over the desk, shivering slightly, still feeling the cold from outside. I was gawking at him as if he was in a Coca-Cola advert until I noticed him watching me back. ‘How’s it going, Zara? How are you?’
‘Yeah, not bad thanks, Andy. How are you?’ I asked, fiddling with my ponytail while checking him out from a distance. He was wearing a tight Ralph Lauren shirt which was carefully tucked into his dark denim jeans. The strong, masculine scent of his aftershave filled the room, which made me immediately turn my head a little to the side, taking in a deep breath, inhaling his scent. I could feel my face turn warm as he continued the conversation.
‘Yeah, can’t complain. Did I interrupt your lunch?’
‘No, no, not at all. I’d literally just finished. You’re totally fine to start.’ I walked over to the large white sofa in the centre of the room, glad of the slight breeze escaping from underneath the front door which was cooling my flaring face as nerves took over.
‘Well, you’ll probably be hungry later on,’ Andy said. ‘Half of it’s down your uniform.’
My flirtatious smile dropped as I glanced down at my scrubs, which were encrusted with curried noodles. Raj shook his head in disgust.
‘Aw, Zara. Are those my bloody scrubs you’re wearing again?’ Raj huffed.
Shit. Shit.
‘What? No. Well, I don’t think so. Oh, wait. Are they? Sorry, I must have lifted the wrong ones from the desk this morning.’ I glanced over to Ashley who had her hand over her mouth discreetly hiding her smirk.
Well, thanks for that, Raj. Now the guy I fancy knows we could shop jointly in Burtons together, even share sizes. It took a few minutes for my heart to stop pounding so loudly into my ears, till I could sit back, relax and finally admire our sales rep.
Andrew must have been in his mid-thirties, with a shaved head, bright blue eyes and great body that peered through his designer shirts. He had broad shoulders, large forearms and was pretty muscly uptop, with a slight pot belly. Normally this would instantly put me off someone – even though I personally felt like Pavarotti’s sister, I wasn’t a fan of podgy men. Nevertheless, his slightly bloated abdomen always seemed adorable. Combining all of this with a glistening smile and laddish patter, Andy really did seem to be the full package.
‘Right, troops, have you got the sales figures from last month?’
Ashley handed him the spreadsheet and he skimmed over it.
‘Yeah, looks pretty OK. A bit of a dip mid-month, Raj, eh?’
‘Yeah, and it’s getting more of a dip each month, Andy. It’s that bloody new place that’s opened right across the square, Botox Boxx. I mean, the council must have approved their premises when we’re right here. It’s a joke. They are stealing half our clientele. I’ve seen more than a few of our regulars pop up on their Instagram feed having had treatments there – cheap treatments.’ He rolled his eyes at me, sitting at the other end of the sofa.
‘I know, ma man, but that’s the business you’re in. Aesthetics is building, and more and more people are training in the industry,’ Andy replied.
‘Yes, well, I wish they’d move further afield,’ Raj muttered back.
‘I think I can do something that could help. Anyone ever been to Dubai?’
Ashley gasped. ‘Me!’
Raj and I looked at one another curiously.
‘Right, basically Dubai is where it’s all happening just now. Hundreds of influencers; big party girls – and boys – are flooding the streets of Dubai. The richest, most photogenic city in the world but there’s no fucking decent aesthetics out there. None. The company is expanding their products and have managed to book a luxury penthouse in the Palm for one day only. We need practitioners to go out there to deliver our product and set up the aesthetics correctly for a shoot. That’s it. The models will then take part in some fancy photoshoot and you guys can chill. You’d be on standby in case you need to show them how to hold the needles but basic work. They’ve hired top influencers, and of course you can take behind-the-scene content – fucking fantastic for your social media and followers as well. It’s half a day’s work at the most, and honestly, Raj, the publicity will be unbelievable, mate.’
My mouth dropped open and Ashley began screaming, clapping her hands and stamping her feet. Raj was totally calm.
‘Wait, Ash, shh, calm down,’ Raj said. ‘Do you have dates in mind? I can’t afford to cancel existing clients. I’m trying my hardest to keep them sweet in case they go elsewhere at the minute, Andy.’
‘Well, that’s the only thing: it needs to be next week. Next Friday to Monday, all flights and accommodation paid for. You would arrive on Friday and not need to work till Saturday, another day shopping or whatever you like on Sunday then home the following day.’
I was hanging on every word Andrew said with my herb-stained grin beaming over my face. I looked at Raj hopefully, who was deep in thought, contemplating the idea.
‘God, it’s tempting. It really is. It’s just the clients, Andy.’
‘Well, I thought I’d give you first dibs on it anyway. I know it’s short notice, mate, but if Individualise decline, I need to ask Botox Boxx next. Only because of their recent sale figures, my boss insisted. And see, if I’m being one hundred per cent honest with you, Raj, I know they will snap this shit up.’
‘Raj,’ I interrupted, ‘we don’t have to cancel any clients. We can rearrange appointments and do a couple of late nights this week. I could even come in on my day off. This is a great opportunity.’
I looked at my friend as he bit his lip, wholly lost in thought.
‘You think we could do it, Zara?’
‘Fuck, yes, of course I do,’ I yelled enthusiastically.
Raj didn’t say anything for a few seconds. I could see him working things out in his head, weighing up the pros and cons, of which I could think of exactly zero. The man would be stupid to say no. As his silence stretched on, I could feel my heartbeat racing and Ashley, standing like a ball of tension beside me, ready to burst.
Finally, Raj looked round at us and then turned to Andrew.
‘Looks like we’re going to Dubai, mate!’ he blurted.
‘YESSS!!’ Ashley stood up and began screaming. ‘Oh my god! I can’t wait till you guys see this place. It’s insane. I’m ready to cry. I’m so excited. Oh. My. God. I can hardly breathe.’ She was flapping her huge nails in front of her face enthusiastically.
‘Wait, Ash. Sorry, hen. There’re only two tickets,’ Andrew said. ‘You cannae go.’
Ashley’s face fell and her energy suddenly popped like a balloon. The room fell awkwardly silent.
‘Aww what! I cannae keep that going. I’m only pulling your leg. I told my boss better make it for three. There’s no show without Punch.’ Andrew burst into hysterical laughter. Raj and I followed, Ashley ever so slightly smiling as she took in his cruel joke.
‘Right, so, you’re all up for this? I’ll take a few details and finalise everything.’
I nodded my head frantically, still trying to take in the prospect, while Ashley stood clasping her hands tightly with excitement.
Raj smiled at us and shook his head. ‘Individualise is taking over Dubai!’
That evening as I scurried around my flat hiding the accumulation of dirty clothes anywhere that would fit, there was an excitable bubble in my chest that I hadn’t felt for a long time. I was going on holiday next week! The cold, frosty Glasgow air would soon be traded for a rich, warm, sun-kissed breeze and it couldn’t come quick enough. Tonight, however, I had my date with a mature older man, and I couldn’t wait for a civilised meal, preferably three courses, with lots of boasting about my upcoming holiday.
I . . .
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
