Bought For One Night: The Sheikh's Offer Page 18

The top floor of the Able & Abelson offices offered a glorious view of the city, over a large, glowing green park. Amity blinked into the sunlight and took tentative steps through the atrium, toward Charlie Campbell’s secretary, who sat typing swiftly, peering through her glasses.

  “Hi, Emery,” Amity said, standing before her. “I believe I have an appointment with Charlie?”

  But the secretary didn’t budge. She continued typing. A man in a gray suit coughed in the corner, reading a magazine. Beside him was an empty chair, glowing in the sunlight. Should she take the hint and sit and wait?

  The door to her left was the door to Charlie Campbell’s office. She’d entered it exactly twice, once when she’d accepted the position as one of the senior executives, and another time when she’d hoisted the pop star client into the spotlight, elevating her career and allowing the firm to demand much, much more money from their clients. She’d been in awe of Charlie then, but now her skin buzzed with fear.

  “He’ll see you now,” the secretary suddenly spoke.

  Amity bowed her head and righted her blazer once more, directing her heels toward the door. Charlie Campbell had been where she was, once upon a time. Surely he’d understand that she’d wanted to move to New York to advance her career? Surely he wouldn’t think she was too greedy? And, in PR, wasn’t greed technically an appropriate thing?

  She placed her hand over the doorknob and spun it, pulling the heavy door open and revealing the stunning office, with its floor-to-ceiling windows. In the center of the room there was a massive desk, behind which sat not just Charlie Campbell, but his two partners, Martin and Craig Taylor—brothers—on either side of him. The men were all over sixty, their sideburns singed with black and gray hair. Charlie wore eccentric, round glasses.

  “Miss Amity Winters. Why, it is quite a pleasure to see you again,” Charlie said, his classic, Old Hollywood voice bouncing. Amity had heard that a long time ago, he’d been a contender in ‘60s and ‘70s movies and television, but he’d snuck off and found the real money in PR.

  “It’s my pleasure,” Amity replied. She felt the stern gaze of the Taylor brothers. “How can I help you all today?”

  “Please, sit down,” Charlie said, waving a wrinkled hand. “Shut the door, would you? My secretary doesn’t like the noise.”

  Amity did as she was told and tapped to the only chair on one side of the desk. She sat in it demurely, crossing one leg over another. The awkward silence had begun to gnaw at her.

  She felt her lips part, the words fly out of her mouth: “Mr. Campbell, I wanted first to apologize for the emails I’ve been sending regarding opening an office in New York. It’s been my pleasure to work here, and I would never want to put that in danger. If you wish me to remain here, in California, then I am more than happy to do it.” She bowed her head as she spoke, her heart pattering like a rabbit’s. She felt her volume trail off.

  “Sure, sure,” Charlie said, waving his hand once more. “I’ve received your inquiries and appeals, Miss Winters, and I must say the prospect is not without its merits. But I have to inform you that, unfortunately, we’ve come to a decision not to open a New York office at this time.”

  Amity looked at her hands. Her left fingernails were bitten to the quick. She wondered if she’d nibbled them in her sleep, when thoughts and fears of the future most riddled her.

  “That being said, Miss Winters, we do have another proposition for you,” Charlie continued. His voice grew gruff and he sipped at his water, swishing it left, then right, moving his bearded cheeks. “This is a last-minute opportunity, one brought to us most exclusively. And the Taylor brothers and I have realized it is quite perfect for you.”

  Amity raised her left eyebrow, tilting her head. “Perfect for me?”

  “For your particular aspirations, certainly,’” Charlie said, his tone cryptic.

  Amity wondered if the man could possibly understand the depths of her aspirations. “I’m listening.”

  “We’ve had an inquiry from the Middle East. The man’s a sheikh. He’s a billionaire, based in Al-Mabbar—oil-rich, a practical oasis in the desert.”

  “He’s coming to L.A.?” Amity said eagerly. She reached into her purse and yanked out a notebook, squiggling notes across the page. This was surely big money for the agency—and, if she worked out her commissions correctly, big money for her.

  “That’s actually why we’re contacting you, Miss Winters,” Charlie said. “You’d have to relocate to the Middle East, at least temporarily, to work with this client. I see, already, that your eyes are lighting up at the prospect.”

  Amity blushed. She’d yearned to travel her entire life, and now: here was her opportunity, her last-ditch moment in the sun.

  “And now, you have my full attention,” she said, laughing slightly in spite of herself. She eyed Martin and Craig Taylor, neither of whom had spoken since she’d entered. Were they the brains or the brawn of the operation?

  Charlie laughed appreciatively. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. Do you wish to proceed with this project?”

  “More than anything.”

  “All right. The Sheikh has requested that you begin work on arrival in his country. He doesn’t want you to be given any further details about his identity until that point, but we think it’s necessary for you to know that our Sheikh is in a tricky situation, image-wise.” Charlie’s eyes flashed.

  “And that’s where I come in,” Amity said, stabbing her pen in the air.

  “We hope so,” Charlie said, nodding gravely. “The man’s image is that of a hedonistic partier. His connections to the L.A. community, especially the rich and famous, are quite overwhelming.”

 

  “Ah,” Amity murmured. She jotted down more notes, her eyebrows furrowed. With so little information to hand, this was already proving to be a complex task. “And do you know anything of his actual personality? Is he prone to this sense of excess?”

  Charlie lifted his head and let out a mighty laugh. “Oh, Amity. I know you’re better than to ask that question. It’s not our job to understand who these people are, underneath it all. No, it’s our job to get a sense for what the public wants to see from them. It’s our job to paint a beautiful—if false—portrait of them, and make them believe it.” He shook his head, eyeing her with bright, mischievous eyes. “You’re a great exec, Amity. I’ve seen your numbers countless times. I’m surprised that you’d ask about his personality.”

  Amity blushed again, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Like we should care about that… Sorry, it won’t happen again.”

  “It’s quite all right, Amity. Such a big challenge should suit you.” Charlie lifted his coffee cup and sipped at it, making a face. His nose crinkled. “Cold coffee. One of the worst things in the world.”

  Amity smiled, unsure of what to say. She bit her lip, her white teeth eking into a smile. “So. When will I fly over? I can complete a few things with my current clients in the following weeks and probably—” She thought for a moment, her head spinning. “Probably be out there by the end of April. May first, I’d say.”

  But Charlie lifted his finger. “No, no, no. I’m afraid not,” he said. “This assignment is an extremely high priority for the agency. You will need to leave the office right now, pack your bags, and be prepared to fly out tomorrow.” His greying eyebrows waggled. “Can you handle that?”

  Amity felt she would burst into laughter, happiness bubbling within her. “I’ll be ready,” she said confidently. “I’ve been ready for this my entire life.”

  “Good,” Charlie said. All at once, he stamped his hand over a bell to his left. The moment it jangled, his secretary was at the door, glaring at Amity behind her cat eyeglasses. “Emery. I’ll need a flight booked for Miss Winters tomorrow evening. We’ll hire a taxi to pick her up and take her to the airport. And—oh, Amity?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’ll need an intern for your trip. Shall I book Flora on the flight, as well
?”

  This gave Amity pause. She bit her lip slightly, peering at her scrawled notes. It would be nearly impossible to do all the necessary organization herself, especially if she was the only person in Al-Mabbar who spoke English as a first language. But Flora? Ugh. She wouldn’t have time to find another intern who understood the game.

  “I suppose so,” Amity sighed. “Flora it is.”

  “Splendid. Emery, please book a ticket for Flora as well.”

  “Shouldn’t we ask her first?” Amity asked, frowning.

  “Nonsense. She’ll do as we say. What else are interns for?”

  Amity shrugged her shoulders and rose to her feet, nodding to the secretary and Charlie. She brought her hand out and shook his, grinning. His skin felt like sandpaper. “It’s been quite a pleasure today, indeed,” she affirmed. “And I suppose I’ll see you when I return?”

  “Oh yes. And we’ll discuss the potentiality of opening a New York office upon your return. I promise.” He winked at her, then.

  It was then that Amity realized: if she brought her A-game for this project, if she truly elevated the status of this man in Al-Mabbar, she would have her way in the future of the firm. Potentially, she could find her way to this office, to sitting in Charlie Campbell’s seat. Of course, that was years away. But still possible.

  She thanked Charlie once more, nodding to both the Taylor brothers, before tapping to the elevator and whizzing to the bottom floor.

  Outside, she stood in the Santa Monica sunlight, facing the water. This was the moment in her career that everyone spoke about—the moment when everything was going to change. Every step and decision, every sacrifice she’d made had been leading up to now.

  But now—before she could travel halfway across the world—she had some work to do. She ruffled her fingers through her hair and rushed upstairs to nab her purse and grab a few essential work supplies from her desk. God, all the years she’d spent there, hoping beyond anything else that she could escape.

  As she passed Flora’s desk, she saw tears gleaming down the intern’s cheeks. Flora wouldn’t look at her.

  Amity paused, bobbing her weight from left to right. Should she say something?

  “Um. Flora?” Amity began, her voice hesitant. “Did you get the news?”

  Flora blinked up at her, whipping her blond hair behind her shoulders. “I knew you hated me, Amity, but why are you making me go?” Her eyes swept toward Mark, whose back was toward them. She quivered.

  Amity kept her eye roll to herself. She leaned toward the girl, who couldn’t have been more than twenty-one, and pressed her palms flat on the wooden desk. “Flora,” she began. “I know it seems dark right now. Especially given whatever’s going on with Mark—”

  Flora frowned, her eyebrows joining in the center of her face. “What are you trying to say?”

  “I’m sorry,” Amity said, sighing. “Listen. We won’t be gone long, I promise. This sheikh—he won’t know what hit him. We’ll be in and out of the country in a jiffy. And maybe you’ll learn something while we’re there. Who knows?” She gave the girl a subtle grin.

  Flora struggled as she inhaled, exhaled. She nodded. “I’m sorry. It was just sudden.” She cleared her throat, taking on that faux professionalism once more. “I’ll clear your schedule. You go on home and pack. I’ll do the same when I’m done here.”

  Amity gave Flora a genuine smile, warmth flooding through her. “Thank you,” she breathed, before standing and exiting the office, not stopping to wish anyone else goodbye. She had a long journey in front of her. She didn’t have time to dwell.

  And this was very much her way. She didn’t dwell on the past, on any regrets she had about her life. She was centered on the here and now—and how this here and now could advance her future. First this gig, then New York.

  In the back of her mind, she questioned when she’d have time to meet “the one” in all of that; when she’d have time to go on a single date, even. But she brushed her wavy brown hair to the side and charged toward her little red car. She’d always done better on her own.

  She stretched her manicured fingers over the steering wheel, listening to the engine purr, and reminded herself that a life fulfilled with a career, with the possibility of travel, was much better and stronger than any life of love. Love was volatile; love could ruin you. And, as a PR agent, she knew better than to put herself in danger.