Servant To The Sheikh Read online

  “It seemed like the only thing you did for a while,” she said.

  “Well, your time’s not up yet, missy,” he said, rising from his chair. “Grab your notebook. We have an entire afternoon at our disposal, and we’re not going to waste it. It’s against everything I stand for.”

  Curious, Audrey darted after him, standing mere inches from him in the elevator and sensing that their fingers were millimeters from touching. Memory of their time on the plane filled her with another burst of affection and attraction, something she had to constantly try to stamp out.

  Chapter Nine

  Once outside, Jibril told her they’d be leaving the car behind for a while and proceeding on foot. “We’re going to dive into the depths of this city,” he said, rubbing his palms together conspiratorially. “Enough of these skyscrapers. Enough of these business meetings. It’s time for the grittiness of Ash-Kahlbi to be revealed.”

  Audrey followed him down the street, walking in the dramatic shadows of the skyscrapers. Stuffing the notebook into her purse, she felt her heart humming with apprehension and excitement. This was it. She was finally seeing the world.

  Ducking into a dark alleyway, the Sheikh led her down first one passageway and then another, darting left and right. The alleys went behind restaurants, and the air held the aroma of falafel and shawarma and melting cheese. Anxious and suddenly hungry, Audrey reached up and grabbed the Sheikh’s shirt, getting his attention.

  “Mind if we get something to eat before we keep walking?” she asked, her voice soft. “Everything smells absolutely delicious.”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” he said, grinning. He bolted left and then knocked his fist against an alleyway door, crying out, “Ammar! Hey, Ammar!”

  A man appeared in the crack of the doorway, looking surprised, his cheeks red from the heat of the kitchen. At the sight of Jibril, he formed an elated smile, wrapping his jiggling, fatty arms around the Sheikh and crying out his name. “JIBRIL!” He spoke quickly in Arabic, his hands gesturing wildly.

  “Calm down, Ammar,” Jibril said, laughing hard, placing his hand on his abdomen. “I’m sorry to scare you like this. I’m here with my—my friend”—he pointed toward Audrey, who grinned sheepishly—“and we were wondering if we could have some of your world-famous falafel sandwiches. To go, please.”

  Ammar’s face was nearly consumed with his massive grin. He clapped a few times and then bellowed, “Anything for you, old friend!” Then he headed back into the kitchen, keeping the back door ajar.

  “Are you in the habit of knocking on restaurant back doors and demanding meals?” Audrey asked Jibril, giggling.

  “I’ve known him since we were kids,” Jibril said. “We used to wander these streets together, picking up scraps from restaurants, just whatever they had around. They knew my father was important, but they let us have our fun. Now I always like to come and pester him this way. It’s a nice way to keep the memories of our childhood alive.”

  “That’s beautiful,” Audrey said.

  Ammar appeared in the hallway, clinging to two steaming meals: falafel wrapped in pita bread and slathered in white and red sauces. “Here you are, pretty lady,” he said to Audrey, passing her a sandwich. “And for you, old friend.”

  “Let me pay you this time,” Jibril said firmly.

  “You know your money’s no good here. I don’t care if it’s from San Francisco or Los Angeles or New York. It holds no weight,” Ammar said. “We’ve been through too much. And besides, I want to show good hospitality to the lady.”

  “I want to pay you, too,” Audrey said, laughing.

  “Well, too bad. I’m sorry to burst your bubble,” Ammar said. “If you want to pay, you come in through the front, like a normal person. As it is, you’ll now be on your way. Explore, Jibril! Live the life you gave up on!” He gestured forth, toward the winding roads and alleyways. “Are you showing her the—”

  “Of course,” Jibril said, cutting him off. “But I want it to be a surprise.”

  Audrey eyed them both suspiciously before taking a small, tentative bite of the warm falafel. The tender, nutty flavor coated her tongue, warming her grumbling stomach and giving her new energy. Ammar watched the change unfold, his eyes showing his delight.

  “She likes it.”

  “Of course she does. As if you needed the ego boost,” Jibril said, taking a large bite of his sandwich.

  Audrey and Jibril said their good-byes, with Audrey waving like an excited child before making her way through the alleyway behind the Sheikh, nibbling on falafel and feeling an overall sense of well-being. Was it the sun? The lack of rain? The sense that Jibril was revealing his true self, like a gift, in the midst of his gorgeous home city? She didn’t know.

  After finishing their meals, Jibril turned a quick corner, darting up a set of ancient-looking steps two at a time. Audrey followed, out of breath by the time she reached the top and yet gazing with shock at what seemed like an ancient palace complete with colorful pillars lining the sides and massive, painted doors, which were carved with intricate patterns.

  “What is this place?” she whispered, trying to read a sign that hung like a tapestry between two of the pillars.

  “It’s my grandfather’s old palace,” Jibril said. “Years and years and years ago, when I was a child, it was abandoned, and Ammar and I would come here after school and wander the hallways alone, making it into a kind of clubhouse. But now it’s been reappropriated by the city. It’s a museum dedicated to the history of Ash-Kahlbi.”

  “It’s gorgeous,” Audrey murmured, bringing her palm up to feel the smooth, circular pillar made of stone. “It seems impossible that humans used to make places like this without modern technology.”

  “Let’s go in,” Jibril said, his eyes glittering. “I haven’t been in here in ages. And I want to see my city’s history with your eyes.”

  Audrey followed, watching as he opened the thick entrance doors with a huff. Inside, he flashed a smile at the security guard and ticket salesperson, who both bowed their heads in honor, recognizing him as the ruling Sheikh’s son.

  “We’ll just peek around if that’s all right,” Jibril said to them, speaking in English. “I’ve brought an American to experience our history.”

  “Welcome,” the ticket seller said, her large cheeks squishing with a smile. “We hope you love it the way we do.”

  Audrey and Jibril wandered the long hallways, diving from one century to the next, Jibril pointing out several ancient artifacts and explaining their purposes: swords, tapestries, old goblets—the list went on and on, with Audrey asking countless questions. Never having been outside the boundaries of North America, she was fascinated with the sheer age of everything.

  “America is just—what, a few hundred years old?” she said, amazed. “But so much has come before us. And you’re related to most of the people who owned these things?”

  “They think so,” Jibril said. “My relatives certainly grew up in this palace. Until my grandfather, of course. My grandfather—he’s a rather interesting man, someone I kind of idealize if I’m being honest.”

  “What was he like?” Audrey asked, walking alongside her boss. She felt an emotional link with him, as if their hearts beat together in time, their brains on the same wavelength.

  “His name was Sheikh Kassim,” Jibril said. “And when he was a baby, his parents arranged for him to marry a woman from another kingdom when they both reached the appropriate age. Back then, arranged marriages were unquestioned. It was just the way to join kingdoms, the way to make treaties.”

  “Not even that long ago,” Audrey whispered, intrigued.

  “No. But my grandfather was a modern man, perhaps like myself,” Jibril said. “He saw a woman in the garden one afternoon when he was seventeen years old, and he said he fell in love with her immediately. He said ‘when I saw her face, nothing else mattered.’”

  “That’s beautiful,” Audrey said.

  “It was, until my gra
ndfather had to try to get her to talk to him. She knew about the arranged marriage, and she was nervous, not wanting to enrage his father, the acting sheikh at the time. But eventually, my grandfather convinced her to meet up, and he kissed her. That was when she knew it was real, too.”

  “Sounds like Romeo and Juliet,” Audrey said.

  “Kind of. They eventually eloped mere days before my grandfather was meant to marry that other woman. My great-grandfather was furious, but something extraordinary happened when the people of Ash-Kahlbi found out about it. They loved his honesty, his kindness, and his bravery in pursuit of his true love, and thus, his father and the rest of the royal family had to forgive him, lest they be hated by the public. And of course, they grew to love my grandmother very much. it was impossible not to. She was a sweetheart and drop-dead gorgeous.”

  Audrey stopped, peering up at the Sheikh as if she were seeing him with fresh eyes. Her lips parted as her attraction for Jibril mounted. “That’s a gorgeous story,” she whispered. “Your grandfather changed the course of your country’s history.”

  “You could say that, I suppose,” Jibril said, gesturing toward the wall. A dramatic, royal-looking portrait of a middle-aged man with the same deep-colored skin, dark eyes, and fine-cut jawline as Jibril peered down at them, giving Audrey chills. “This is my grandfather, Sheikh Kassim, the man who gave up on everything else just to fall in love. For whatever reason, love was always enough for him.”

  Audrey was in awe. She stepped forward, trying to memorize the man’s face. The paint had chipped in places atop his purple turban and along his large ear, but his firm lips, pressed together, lifted into a familiar smile.

  “He looks so much like you,” Audrey said. “And from the story, it sounds like you’re similar in personality as well.”

  “Personality?” Jibril said, sounding doubtful. “I’m not so sure about that. But thank you, I suppose. He was a sweetheart.”

  Audrey sensed she’d misspoken. She eyed the ground. Each time she felt she glimpsed the Sheikh’s real personality, he pulled back, assuring her she could never get too close. He was distant, a perpetual mystery—and a womanizer, based on his previous affairs with women in San Francisco.

  Don’t get too close, Audrey warned herself.

  “Well,” she said, clearing her throat, “I think I’m getting rather tired. You wouldn’t mind heading back to the hotel, would you? I imagine you’ll be wanting to meet up with your family—”

  “That’s not happening this trip,” Jibril said quickly, turning his feet toward the wide door of the palace. “Unfortunately, it’s just the way it is.”

  “Oh,” Audrey said, frowning. How on earth could he travel halfway around the world and not pop in to see his parents? Curious, her eyebrows low, she followed him out into the evening air, which was fresh with a bit of a chill to it, the smell of the sea carried on the slight breeze.

  Not wanting to walk all the way back to the office buildings, the Sheikh hailed a cab on the other side of the palace, where the more modern city opened up. Jibril got in hurriedly, and told the driver the address of their hotel in rapid Arabic. Audrey felt the door close between them completely now, assuring her that she was just a personal assistant, nothing more. Romance wasn’t Jibril’s specialty, not like his grandfather.

  Chapter Ten

  Jibril owned the hotel in the center of the city, where the taxi dropped them off. Suddenly conscious that they’d left their bags in the rental car, Jibril tossed the keys to one of the valet boys at the front of the hotel, telling him to take the taxi to the parking garage and then come back, park it, and bring their bags to their penthouse suites. Jibril spoke to the boy in both English and Arabic, allowing Audrey to keep up with the fragmented speech.

  When Jibril broke away from his conversation with the boy, Audrey asked him about it, curious.

  “He needs to know it to work here,” Jibril said. “It’s a test, really. I want to make sure they can keep up with me, follow the directions.”

  “Most of your hotel guests are from English-speaking countries?” she asked.

  “No, but it’s the second most spoken language,” Jibril said, entering the hotel with long, even strides.

  The moment he walked in, the woman at the front desk flung herself forward, handing Jibril and Audrey two keys each to two different penthouse suites. Audrey’s heart sank. She supposed she couldn’t have truly expected that they’d bunk together. That wasn’t why she was here—as she was continually reminded.

  “We’re both on the top floor,” Jibril said. “I’m going to turn in for the night, but please order as much room service as you need, and feel free to dive through the minibar. We’ll meet again bright and early tomorrow for another round of meetings. If you could transcribe those meetings from earlier—”

  “Of course,” Audrey said, bowing her head. “You’ll need them to look over. I understand.”

  “Knew I could count on you here,” Jibril said, causing her heart to warm for a moment. “It will be a shame for me when I lose you as a personal assistant.”

  Audrey didn’t speak. They entered the elevator together and then went to separate sides of the hallway at the top, saying casual good nights. Audrey’s heart hammered as she entered her hotel room, her bloodstream coursing with lust for her boss. But she curved her back, making herself small at her computer desk as she began to type up the long notes from the meeting that morning, no longer feeling as if she were on a gorgeous vacation.

  She slept stiffly in a large, king-sized hotel bed, using three pillows beneath her head and feeling the cool whizz of air from the fan on her cheeks. She didn’t dream.

  The next day continued much like the first day had begun, with countless meetings one after another, Audrey’s hand scribbling rushed words across her notepad. Again, the Sheikh was impressive. But he was cold. He didn’t show her a single second of the warmth she’d felt, if only briefly, on the plane when he’d clung to her thigh.

  She was beginning to believe she’d imagined it.

  They dined together at lunch, speaking like a boss and an employee, with Audrey telling him her opinions regarding the meetings and the new partners the Sheikh was signing. She was bored and fidgety beneath the sun, and she hardly touched her meal, to Jibril’s chagrin.

  “It’s good food here. That’s why I brought you,” he said, almost angrily. “It’s a client’s husband who owns the restaurant. He’s Michelin-starred.”

  Audrey didn’t have a response for him—she was nervous, and tired, and her mouth felt too dry to eat anything.

  At around six that night, they closed their final meeting, Jibril shaking the hand of the final potential buyer and passing him on the way out the door. Lifting his briefcase, Jibril nodded firmly toward Audrey, saying, “I think it’s time we call it quits for the day, don’t you?”

  “Sure,” Audrey said, her voice a mumble. “I’m exhausted.”

  “You did good work today,” he said, still sounding far away. “Just a few more days.”

  He drove them back in the rental car, playing a local radio station. Audrey allowed her head to fall back on the headrest, her eyes glazing over, allowing the world around her to blur. The dramatic colors, the bright beaches—they all seemed unreachable to her now. Her heart was low, hammering slowly yet steadily somewhere in her stomach, a constant reminder that Jibril didn’t want her. He didn’t even want to get to know her.

  As he tossed the keys to the valet driver, Audrey paused before entering the foyer, sensing that she should head out for a walk and explore the city for herself. If she only had a few days left, she needed to distance herself from this man and take matters into her own hands.

  “Jibril—” she began, speaking tentatively.

  Jibril halted his rapid march toward the door, spinning around on one heel. Why did her heart skip a beat?

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “It’s just—”

  But as she spoke, three people bolted
through the entrance of the hotel, crying out Jibril’s name. Confused, Audrey stopped, her lips still parted. Two older people, a man and a woman, and a man who looked remarkably like Jibril, if just a bit younger, approached them, their strides long.

  “Jibril! There you are!” the older man cried, looking incredulous, as if he’d seen a ghost. The three people stood about few feet away, assessing Jibril, their eyes scanning him from top to bottom.

  “Hello,” Jibril said. He crossed his arms, forming a barrier between them. For once in his life, he looked caught off guard. “What are you three doing here?”

  “I heard from your business partner, from Rohan. He told me he’d had a meeting with you this morning,” the older man said, his eyes looking guarded, almost hurt. “Why on earth didn’t you tell us that you were in town?”

  The woman stepped forward, pressing her palms flat against Jibril’s cheeks. “You wouldn’t even tell your mother that you’d traveled halfway around the world?” she said, her voice high-pitched, irritated. “Do you even know how much I worry about you every single day? And this is how you repay me?”

  “Mom,” Jibril said, rolling his eyes slightly. “Can you please not do this?”

  Jibril’s mother removed her hands, placing them firmly on either side of her hips. Her face was heavy with a frown. The man who was just a bit younger than Jibril reached forward to shake his hand. “Hey there, bro,” he said. “We just wanted to say happy birthday is all.”

  Audrey’s lips parted in shock. Not only were these people his family—who obviously loved him and wanted to see him—but it was also Jibril’s birthday, a fact he’d avoided completely.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything,” Jibril said, speaking mostly to his brother. “I had a ton of meetings to get through and didn’t want to disturb you.” Audrey knew that was a lie. “But now that you’re here, it seems silly not to do something. Shall we have dinner together? Some sort of small celebration?”