Bought For One Night: The Sheikh's Offer

by Holly Rayner

SIX

  Aziz sat at the garden table, situated between a golden birdbath and another mighty collection of plants, which spun into a colorful overhead canopy. It was a cozy garden, one that made Amity feel as if they were hidden away, shadowed from the ever-penetrating sun.

  She cleared her throat, then, leafing through her purse to find her notebook. She turned the page, beyond the initial notes she’d taken during their meeting that morning. When she raised her head, she found Aziz looking at her expectantly.

  “What do you think of my home?” he asked, his voice like honey.

  “Hmm,” she began, searching for the words. “Well. I think—beyond anything—it is gorgeous.” She couldn’t help but attempt to please him. She felt anxiety pummeling through her. “But I have to admit, that although I’m impressed with your collection of lions and tigers, others won’t be so inclined to promote you. In my experience, these ostentatious shows of wealth rarely change people’s minds for the better.”

  Aziz’s smile faltered. He tipped his head to the left, his eyes inquisitive. “I see,” he said. His voice was gruff. “Well. This is quite interesting to hear, I must say. Exotic pets are more common than you might think, but I suppose, looking at it from another point of view…”

  Amity couldn’t believe he hadn’t put these pieces of the puzzle together before, but she cleared her throat—brightening. This was why she was here. “Don’t worry,” she said, her face growing kind. “This is why I’m here. I’ve been doing this for years, and trust me—you’re not the worst I’ve seen. I worked with Britney Paige briefly. Every move she made gave me nightmares. I couldn’t sleep for weeks.”

  Aziz laughed appreciatively, and the air surrounding them loosened. “Well, it’s good to hear that I’m not as bad as her.”

  Amity chuckled, shrugging. She moved to write something in her notebook, but her strategic mind was faltering.

  “So. Tell me more about yourself,” Aziz said then.

  To their left, a maid entered the garden, carrying a tray of tea and coffee. She placed it on the table before them, along with a small bowl of cookies, before sauntering back into the house.

  Amity called out a brief thank you before reaching for a cookie. She shrugged her shoulders. “About me. Well. As I’ve said, I lived in Minnesota prior to moving out to L.A. and diving headfirst into the PR industry. From an early age, I knew I wanted this life, this professional world. And because I busted my butt for the first few years, I got a very early promotion.”

  “That’s impressive,” Aziz murmured. He ignored the tea and coffee, choosing instead to focus upon her.

  “Provided everything goes well with this encounter, I’ll be able to work my way up on the East Coast. I’m always looking for my next big endeavor.” She gave him a false grin, knowing she sounded a bit plastic, a bit strange. She hated discussing herself, although she did have immense pride in her accomplishments.

  “Well,” Aziz said, bowing his head slightly. “I have the highest respect for your professional success, Amity. However—I’d like to reiterate. I wanted to hear about you. Not about your accomplishments. I want to know about you.” His voice was warm, soothing.

  Amity blinked wildly, realizing that she hadn’t been asked that question in years. She swallowed, unsure. Why was he so curious about her personal life? As seconds passed, she realized she needed to say something—anything. Her tongue played against her teeth.

  “Well. I suppose you could say that I’ve had trouble separating myself from my work. Especially in the last few years.” Her words were tentative. They hung in the air.

  Aziz nodded, understanding. Urging her to go on.

  “I mean, working late at the office for the likes of Britney and Christina—plus a stint with Lindsay Lohan.” Amity gave him a broad smile. “It certainly doesn’t leave you a lot of time for yourself, to think about what you might want. To imagine any kind of personal life.”

  Aziz leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You weren’t much of a partier in your early twenties, then?” His eyes gleamed.

  “I could probably count on one hand how many ‘big nights’ I’ve had since I turned 21,” Amity admitted. “I haven’t been committed to making friends, let alone any kind of romantic life.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I’m only 27. Maybe there’s still time.”

  “Of course there is,” Aziz replied, giving her a grin. “Hey. Before we really get going on this, do you mind if we order lunch from my chefs? I’m not really feeling cookies, and breakfast feels like it was light-years ago.”

  “Not at all.”

  Aziz swept his phone from his pocket and quickly dialed a number. Speaking in rapid Arabic, he ordered what sounded like a long list of dishes, before adding in English, “Oh and a bottle of red wine. I have a guest today; make it a good one,” he teased the man on the phone.

  Amity felt lightheaded. Was this what traveling was meant to feel like?

  “Anyway,” Aziz said, ending the call. “It’s strange how committed you were to your career during these years, while I was whiling away here—trying to live from party to party.” He shook his head, his dark pupils meeting hers. “But it always seemed like I was missing out on something.”

  “That’s how I felt every single day,” Amity laughed. “Like I was working for something that almost didn’t matter anymore, after I’d lost so much time out of my life.”

  “After each party, I’d look around at my near-destroyed mansion, and I’d wonder what it was all for,” Aziz murmured. “Maybe it’s just an inescapable element of your 20s—that you always feel you’re missing out on something.”

  “Maybe,” Amity admitted, looking at her hands.

  “Anyway. You grew up in Minnesota. What was that like? Your parents—what about them?” Aziz asked. A basket of pita bread had been placed between them, and he tore a piece from one delicately, bringing it into the hummus and then biting it. Everything he did was so comfortable, without making Amity feel jarred.

  “Well. My father was a lawyer, my mother a teacher,” she began. “I was always living under the shadow of my older sister, Elizabeth. She was a sporty type. Won all these awards in high school. And on top of it all, she was absolutely gorgeous. Tall and blonde.” She blushed. She hadn’t spoken to anyone about her sister in a long time.

  “And I suppose you came out thinking you were less than her?” Aziz asked. He nodded, understanding. “I mean, that’s how I always felt in my father’s shadow. It was wonderful as a kid, at least at first. I was recognized with him constantly. We would visit the oil rigs, and we were greeted like royalty. We’re related to the King—and if, maybe six or seven people die before I do, I’ll be king myself.” He grinned sheepishly. “But anyway. Living in that kind of shadow, it gets to you, I think. In my life, I just tried to party as hard as I could. This was how I got out of his shadow. Everyone could see how different I was, compared to him. But you—you just worked until you were far enough above her—”

  “Actually,” Amity began, her voice gruff. “Elizabeth died when I was 22. I was working really hard, like you said. Struggling to get out of her shadow. Living day and night at the L.A. office. One night, I was working late when I got the call. She’d died in an auto accident.”

  She paused. Why was she confiding so much in this man—why did she think she could trust him? She just felt so comfortable talking to him, and now she’d opened up, she didn’t want to stop.

  “After that, it was like I was the only thing my parents had. They didn’t have each other, since they were divorced. They needed to feel pride in me. So that made me dive in all the more.”

  “Wow,” Aziz breathed. He placed his pita bread on his plate and stretched his fingers over the wood. “I’m so sorry, Amity.”

  Amity bowed her head, hating this feeling of being exposed, of revealing too much. But at the same time, she felt lighter, as if a burden had been lifted. She reached into the bread basket and began to eat, feeling h
erself coming back to life with each morsel. The garlic in the hummus made her tongue tingle.

  “What was it like when your father died?” she said after a while.

  “Well,” Aziz began, clearing his throat. “Of course, it was rough. I was his only child, and I felt incredibly close to him. I went off the deep end pretty quickly.” He shook his head, giving her a mischievous glance. “As your research will no doubt reveal.”

  “Do you know what I think?” Amity murmured. As she spoke, two more plates were placed before them, both piled high with steaming vegetables. “I think I’m here to help you for a reason. For so long, I thought my work was all there was in the world. And for so long, you thought your party lifestyle could save you. Maybe we’re here together to save each other.”

  Aziz laughed, lifting his filled wine glass toward her. “Cheers to saving each other from ourselves.”

  “Cheers to that indeed,” she said, clinking it.

  Their conversation swept on to lighter topics, to easier things to say. They ate slowly, sipping their wine, and Amity found herself feeling more comfortable with Aziz than she’d felt with anyone in years—even friends she’d known all her life. Somehow, he approached her without judgment; somehow, she had lost the feeling that he was just a rich billionaire, in between wild nights. Somehow, she felt sure that she’d enjoy her time in Al-Mabbar—it was already far different than she’d initially imagined.