Sheikh's Revenge

by Jessica Brooke

  “Maybe they want to, but all of them are too scared and keep kissing your ring,” she said, her chin jutting up sharply.

  Her blue eyes sparkled with intensity, and he wanted nothing more than to sweep everything off of his desk and have his way with her. At least she’d be more rewarding for him, help him ease off more tension that Svetlana had. He was on edge; that was all. If Svetlana had been up to her reputation, then he wouldn’t be taking a second look at this plump reporter.

  “Then tell me more. What do you actually think about the casino and resort?”

  “I just flew in yesterday. So far, I do find the pool the best spot. It’s hot as hell out here, and I don’t have any patience for it. I think there’s sand in every crevice of my body and definitely in my mouth. I don’t think I was ready for Abu Dhabi at all. I used to think that one family vacation I had once in Texas was too much. This is like trying to murder me in a sand sauna.”

  “Alright, so the pool’s a hit. You don’t care for the rest?”

  “I haven’t had time to window shop with designer labels or see shoes I can’t possibly afford. I also am not a huge sushi fan.”

  “We have traditional Middle Eastern and French dishes as well. These are all Michelin chefs who are beyond amazing,” he countered.

  “Yes, and yet you named it Ali Babba’s. That’s beyond cheesy,” she objected, wrinkling her nose up in a way that was equally annoying and adorable.

  “To be fair,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, “my PR department decided that naming it something that could be a nod to tales that Americans and other Westerners would know would help with tourism. You’d be surprised how hard it is to get Westerners out here, even though we’re a completely safe area.”

  “Well, most Westerners can’t tell Dubai from Abu Dhabi if you held a gun to their heads,” she admitted. “But this is completely off the record. You have to admit that it’s a terrible name.”

  He nodded, rejoicing in her candor. It was so rare for even the press to be forthright with him. “I wasn’t in love with it. I wanted to name it after my little sister, but the focus groups were against it.”

  “I didn’t know you had a sister. The briefing materials didn’t list anything on that, and neither did my online research.”

  “Well,” he said. “I suppose you don’t know everything then, Miss Sinclair. I was a twin, but she died of a fever when we were seven. As for the name, I went with what I thought would sell because the old axiom isn’t wrong. Everyone has a price.”

  She frowned, and for the first time, something besides hardened skepticism glinted in those blue eyes of hers. Maybe it was understanding; he just hoped it wasn’t pity. He never should have said as much, but he’d always loathed himself for letting go on that one point. He shouldn’t have budged on the name.

  “You shouldn’t have sold out on that one thing. It’s a sweet gesture, and frankly, it would have made a great story.”

  “I wanted to honor Farana, but maybe it’s for the best. I don’t know if I have the strength to explain about her to everyone. Perhaps I should, though. It’s a shame how easy it is for family to grow forgotten.”

  She nodded and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “I get that. I love my dad, and my stepmom has always tried so hard. God knows I gave her so much crap as a teenager. Still, there’s something about my dad remarrying at all that burns me up. I know it’s selfish, and still childish in some small part of my mind, but I sometimes feel like even that much moving on makes it seem like Mom’s been buried a second time.”

  She surprised him then by reaching out and touching his hand. “Don’t ever hide the truth about someone you care about. Trust me, I know that way too well.”

  “But I am led to believe,” he continued, “that you find the kitsch of the ‘Ali Babba’ name as ridiculous as I do?”

  “I think it’s a bit degrading. I suppose it’s better that you didn’t call it ‘Aladdin’s’ or make a ‘1,001 Arabian Nights’ pun,” she replied, smirking.

  So the intrigue continues, does it not?

  “Do you have other questions for me?” he asked. “I can tell you about the specs for the restaurants and our chefs. I can talk about the amazing magicians and stage shows we’ve hired for the night entertainment. I can even tell you about the literal, arduous process of creating this skyscraper girder by girder.”

  He couldn’t keep the pride from creeping into his voice. No matter how risky this maneuver was or how much his father had frowned at the idea of going big with their next building venture, the resort and casino had been a complete labor of love for Amir. It was almost like his child, something he’d fought for in order to bring lovingly into existence. Considering he enjoyed his bachelor lifestyle, he figured this would be the closest thing to a legacy he’d leave on the world…assuming the casino survived and flourished the way he sincerely hoped it would.

  “I suppose you’ll have to tell me.”

  He frowned back at her, still intrigued by her utter lack of care. He’d dealt with reporters for years. It went hand in hand with being a royal and with his family’s vast financial holdings. He’d rarely met one who couldn’t fake enthusiasm or even politeness. Whatever else were true about Miss Sinclair, she had a serious stick up her bum, and he wasn’t sure where it had come from. Yet, her acerbic nature was refreshing, something that toyed with him.

  “We can keep talking about you. I have a feeling this isn’t the assignment you actually wanted at the Sentinel.”

  “I’m trying to be polite. I just…and don’t take this the wrong way,” she said.

  “Oh, I won’t.”

  “But this is a puff piece. I could be easily asking the same questions for Us Weekly or People. This is not at all my type of journalism. To be perfectly frank…” she started, biting her lower lip a little.

  “Why stop now?” he asked, chuckling.

  “Look, usually I’d be covering political news in America’s capital. This is a side diversion, so I really just have to type whatever gets the inches filled and record the right quotes tonight at the press conference. If you can just go through the spiel for my recorder, then we can both be closer to freedom.”

  He leaned lower and traced a finger over her shoulder, smoothing back her golden hair. “Of course, if that’s what you actually want, Miss Sinclair. We can go by the book…but perhaps one day you should learn to hide your disdain for the assignment you’re currently on. It’ll get your subjects to open up more,” he said, leaning so close that his lips were hovering over her left ear. “I’d open up so much for you.”

  She stood up fast and swallowed hard. “I think I’ll just get what I need from your press secretary. I...until tonight at the press conference, Sheikh Bahan.”

  “Yes, we meet again, Miss Sinclair,” he finished, enjoying the view as she walked out of the office.

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