by Cat Shinier
Above me, the spectacular building structure of the hotel stretches up into the deep blue sky. I love to swim. It makes me feel better. So I swim back and forth for quite a while, relaxing and enjoying myself. I return to my chair dripping wet. After I have dried myself off, I lean back to enjoy the sun for a few minutes, and in no time both my bikini and I are dry again. My watch tells me that it is time to get ready for the evening event. I decide to return to the pool as soon as I can, but for today the time has run out. I pack my things and put my sundress back on.
Just as I am about to grab the bag with my things and hang it over my shoulder, I notice a movement above me. Instinctively I glance up in the direction and see a dark black mother-of-pearl pair of eyes. The man who was watching me by the pool is now standing by a window up in the second floor and watching me. His eyes are literally burning. I can feel them on my skin like a warm echo. Who is this guy? I seem to have struck a chord. At any rate, he definitely has awakened my interest.
I wonder to myself whether men and women can just strike up a conversation here. In the public, the role of women is completely different than in the Western world. I bet it’s easy to overstep boundaries, even when you don’t want to. I am a shy person and don’t tend to approach people. And approaching female Western tourists is probably out of the question for an Arab. So there will certainly be no contact between us. With this thought in mind, I shrug my shoulders and head towards my room. I am never going to see this man again. Our lives are worlds apart.
Chapter Three
When I get back to my room, I discover a piece of paper on my bed that wasn’t there before I left. I pick it up and read the details of the location of the room where all of this evening’s participants will meet for the first time. It also tells me that if I would like, I can visit the spa and the beauty salon free of charge. I debate whether I should allow myself the luxury, but I decide against it because I do not want to take advantage of the hospitality.
The stay here at this hotel and the flight have been expensive enough. I put aside the piece of paper and take my clothes off, hang them over a hanger and take a really nice long shower. The sun has deepened my tan a bit. I can see the light bikini stripes on my skin. I use the hotel’s lovely cream and take a deep breath while I enjoy the calming and relaxing fragrance I am covering myself in. The warmth, the beautiful smell and the generosity almost make me swoon. Before I realize, it is a quarter to seven and I have to hurry in order to be dressed in time for the evening event. Quickly I apply mascara and lip gloss, plus a blue eyeliner that has the color of my eyes.
The dress for tonight is supposed to be casual and not formal, so I choose my white dress and the sandals that I wore for the graduation ceremony. I glance at the mirror and can see that I have never looked better. My hair is soft and curly, and my eyes look particularly blue tonight. Maybe that handsome man will cross my path again, who knows. All of a sudden I imagine again what it would be like to lie in his arms and feel his body close to mine.
Without further warning my inner muscles deep down inside clench. Just let it happen, my conscience whispers into my virtual ear. It would be good for you. I close my eyes and revel in the idea of being kissed by a stranger. And the next pleasant shiver runs through me. Oh yes, definitely, something has changed. I take a deep breath, push my shoulders back and proceed to head toward the dinner and the relaxed get together.
Within no time the elevator swiftly delivers me downstairs to the lobby. I look for signs with the name of the room we will be in to show me the way, and I realize that I have to take the lift back up to the 3rd floor. It doesn’t take me long to find what I have been looking for. A group of about 50 people is standing in front of the open doors of a conference room. I see beverages – alcoholic and non-alcoholic ones. Unfortunately, I don’t see any women. Geology is a men’s domain, but I had secretly hoped that there would be a quota of women when the participants were selected. But this is obviously not the case.
I join a group of men who willingly move aside and accept me in their midst. I notice that two of the men are Spanish. They introduce themselves as Miguel and Carlos. And then there is Frederico from Portugal and Aiman from France. So we are quite an international group. Just when Frederico starts telling us about the work he completed in the mountains of Madeira, one of the conference organizers appears and beckons the group into the conference room.
I enter the room in the midst of a group of people I have just met. The room is nice and cool. The windows here reach the ground, too. Even from where I am sitting I have a fantastic view of the pool. There are little white signs on the tables that have the names of the attendees. And there is a writing set in front of each participant, including a writing pad and a piece of paper, which turns out to be a confidentiality agreement. This confidentiality agreement states that everything I learn about Shalazar Industries is to remain confidential.
As if I had nothing better to do than to go public with all of my impressions and experiences. And except for Susan I don’t even know anyone who would be remotely interested. Frederico is sitting right across from me, on the left side of the person who is leading the conference, while I was placed four seats further to the right. The tables all form a full circle.
While we have found our places and almost everyone has taken a seat, two men enter the room. One of them is wearing a traditional robe while the other one is wearing a dark suit and a white shirt without a tie. Both approach us and sit down.
And the first thing I notice is that the guy who is wearing the traditional robe looks almost exactly like the guy I noticed by the pool. And then I realize that it is him. I can feel myself blushing, and my cheeks warming. Holy Moly, I wasn’t expecting to see him here at all. He looks right at me with his black mother-of-pearl eyes. And while he scrutinizes me his eyes darken slightly. My knees go soft and my inner stomach muscles kick back into operation.
Except for the steady gaze, which is enough to make me melt, he does not let anything show but remains completely calm. When he sits down, all the other participants sit also. The man who accompanied him sits to his right, and he is the one to take the floor and greet us. His voice has a nice deep ring to it, and he greets us pleasantly, introducing himself as Raoul Décoste. He then gives us a summary of the company interests, which include shares in hotels, companies, airports and gastronomical chains. He pauses, and indicates the man beside him, and introduces the man of my dreams to us all. He is Shamar Shalazar, the owner of Shalazar Industries. Boy, is that ever embarrassing. Of all people, the boss of the company I have applied to is making me weak at the knees, and he has seen me in my bikini by the pool. Can it get any worse?
And why is Shamar Shalazar here anyway? Someone as important as him can certainly spend his time better than with a group of graduates. But at least he has a name now.
While Raoul Décoste continues speaking, Shamar’s glance keeps wandering over to me to check me out. Well, sure, I’m the only woman in this group, and I am blond and he just saw me when I was almost naked. A lot of the other participants also glance in my direction, and I don’t like the attention. Raoul finishes his talk and says that Shamar will continue. I think I read somewhere that it is customary in Arab countries to let mediators speak for you. That is probably why it was Raoul who gave the introduction.
Shamar thanks us for being here and hopes that we have a pleasant stay. He reminds us to sign the confidentiality agreement. Otherwise, we cannot continue to participate in the event. His voice is deep with a pleasant depth to it. He must have gone to the university in the States because his accent is American. I cannot take my eyes off him. He is gorgeous, with those full lips and those beautiful eyes, and he exudes sensuality.
If I had to rate him on a scale from 1 to 10, I would probably give him a 100. Every time our eyes meet I feel like I am getting an electric jolt, making me feel invigorated and excited. I have not felt this way in years. He seems to trigger a whole flood of emotions in me, emoti
ons that I had already forgotten. If I end up working for Shalazar Industries, I desperately need to retrieve my emotional armor and bury these kinds of emotions way deep down.
Isn’t that crazy? I ignored men for years and then I go to the other end of the world, and I rediscover my femininity with, of all people, a potential employer. How on earth am I going to get a grip on that?
I’ve lowered my gaze and am looking at the table, but when I look up again I land right in his eyes. He makes it feel like he is staring right into the depth of my soul, and I am unable to hide anything from him. Everything around us comes to a grinding halt. Raoul takes over and continues with the speech, and I listen to him as if from far away while the waves of shivers roll over my skin. My eyes are still locked with Shamar’s. My mouth is dry, and I repeatedly swallow. If I were not sitting already, I would probably keel over. Somebody starts to cough, and that breaks the spell.
Raoul has a waiter collect our signed confidentiality agreements. The young man in his hotel uniform walks up to me, so I quickly sign the form and hand it to him. I desperately need to drink some water and so I pour myself a glass. The room darkens and Raoul gives us more information about the company, its shareholdings, parent companies, locations, sales numbers, subsidiaries, turnover, staff, on-going projects and how the event that is taking place right now will pan out.
In the semi-darkness, I can now watch Shamar. He has leaned back and is following Raoul’s talk. He glances around the room and takes a look at each of the participants. Not me. Obviously our long eye contact was inappropriate, otherwise why should he overlook me? Well, certainly not the first blunder I’ve ever made, and certainly will not be the last one. The presentation is about to end, and the lights come back up. Now Raoul announces that there will be individual interviews tomorrow afternoon and that everyone is free to spend the first part of the day however they desire.
The interview candidates will receive their invitation with the place and time. Apparently we are now approaching the end of the official part of the event. Shamar rises and tells us that we will be having dinner together, followed by an after-dinner drink. He signals and the doors are opened by the hotel staff. Outside there is a number of waiters waiting with plates. Everyone is handed an hors d’oeuvre which consists of various salads.
Gradually people start to talk with each other, and the low hum of conversation fills the room. My neighbor to the left is from Switzerland and introduces himself as Lutz Steinbich. His German has a strong Swiss accent, and he launches into a lengthy description of what his professor was like during cave excursions. He is a good storyteller and more than once I have to laugh really loudly. I am having such a good time that I don’t notice how the time has passed, and that desert is already being served.
Tomorrow morning at 10 am we can take part in a city excursion and visit a bazaar. Lutz asks me if I would like to come along and accompany him. Sure, I say. And while I enjoy a delicious ice cream creation, I can’t help myself but glance in Shamar’s direction and find him staring at me. I’m alarmed and take a deep breath. Have I done something wrong again? Whatever it is, I don’t know, and I don’t really want to know.
So I turn back to Lutz and continue to enjoy my ice-cream. If they really do offer me a job here I will be a tiny little kernel of sand among many in a company of this size and will certainly no longer be the focus of Shamar Shalazar, I console myself. However I am overcome with a feeling of regret when this thought enters my mind. I actually would love to be the recipient of Shamar’s full attention. Dreams cannot be censored.
Gradually the dinner comes to an end and the plates are cleared. Now Raoul asks everyone to leave their seats and continue the conversation in the foyer. Lutz and I rise and slowly start to leave the room with everyone.
There are servants with champagne glasses and an assortment of drinks waiting for us. There is a little pushing and shoving and I step back. One of the waiters is standing a bit removed from the crowd, so I head towards him and take the offered glass of champagne. I look around. Lutz is talking to Raoul and two other men I saw to the left of me. I am not sure which group I should join. But before I decide, someone addresses me by name from behind.
“Miss Buchholz?”
I recognize his voice before I even turn around. It is Shamar. So he approached me from behind without me noticing him. He is standing so close behind me that I have to step back when I turn around to look at him.
“Mister Shalazar,” I answer, and does he ever smell good. Distinctly masculine while his aftershave has a woody and velvety headnote. For a moment, I close my eyes and enjoy his fragrance. His eyes are dark and send electric shivers over my spine and on to my legs.
“Please, call me Shamar,” he answers and smiles, offering a less formal way for me to address him. He exudes self-confidence and attractiveness as he stands in front of me. Alas, I can feel a slight blush spreading across my cleavage, over my neck and face right up to the roots of my hair. Hopefully, he does not notice. Hello, self-confidence, my friend – this would be the time to make a showing, is what passes through my mind.
“Okay, then … Shamar,” I answer, slowly pronouncing his name to sense what it feels like on my tongue.
“My … my name is Luna.”
“Ah, Luna … the moon goddess.”
He smiles down at me as if he is looking at me for the very first time.
“What a beautiful name. Very becoming.”
The tips of his fingers touch my elbow and direct me away from the group. His touch makes me feel like a bolt of lightning has just passed through my body, with tingles all along my spine. The sensation passes through me, right to the center of my being.
Very pleasant and yet confusing. Stupidly this reaction seems to have a negative impact on my ability to talk and the ability of my leg muscles to hold me up in a vertical position. My legs feel like rubber and unfortunately the only way I can communicate with him is by staring at him. In the meantime, I don’t even register the others, only their muted conversations which form the backdrop to the sound that is coming from the hallways that we pass through. We slow down, then he stands in front of me in a relaxed manner and continues our conversation.
“Do you like it here?”
“I am overwhelmed,” I finally answer. Moon goddess … what a romantic interpretation of my name. I like the fact that he’s referred to me as moon goddess. I feel obligated to continue talking.
“The scope of everything here is so generous and the room is huge and offers a beautiful view of the ocean. I must thank you. It is really a unique and wonderful experience for me to be here.”
“I am glad you are happy to be here.”
He smiles at me, exposing his pearly white teeth. I have to look up at him, noting that I was probably wrong when I estimated how tall he was because he looks much taller now. I don’t even know what to say to him, somehow I can’t think of anything to say. But contrary to me Shamar does not seem to be nervous.
“Why is it that you studied geology? What is it that fascinates you about it?”
Now that’s an easy one for me to talk about.
“My father was a geologist. Ever since I started to walk he would take me along and show me the treasures of the earth. He never tired of telling me about the story of stones, and he would explain types of landscapes like the mountains and the deserts, even the history of the ocean, and what their connection to geology was. Everything.”
Suddenly I am flooded with memories of the times I traveled with my father. The North Sea where he showed me amber for the first time and how it developed, or a vacation on Teneriffe when we went to see a volcanic landscape. That period in my life was carefree and fun.
“It must have been nice to discover a hobby for yourself that early and to choose it then as your profession,” Shamar replies while I take a sip of my champagne.
“Yes, it was. My father was a very special person who had the same passion for geology as I do now.”
/> “You speak of your father in the past tense. What does he do now?”
He looks at me with interest, while I remember the day when my grandmother picked me up from school and told me as carefully as possible that my parents had been killed in a terrible car accident.
“My parents died in a car accident when I was 14, and I moved in with my grandmother.”
Shamar looks truly shocked.
“I am so sorry. I did not know that you lost your parents. Otherwise, I would not have asked.”
Of course, he did not know. That was not the kind of thing you write in a job application.
“That’s alright,” I say. “There was no way you could have known.”
“And despite all that happened you immersed yourself in your studies and managed to graduate with honors.”
“Yes, and thank you,” I say. Praise is something I have as much difficulty handling as handsome men, and Shamar in particular. “It was my grandmother. She was the one who helped me and supported me wherever she could.”
”She must be a strong woman. To accept losing your grown child and then taking on the responsibility for a small child is something she can be really proud of.”
I feel slightly embarrassed, but I nod as he speaks and quickly sip some of my champagne. Thank God we had dinner, otherwise I would have been drunk by now. Shamar looks at me, deep in thought.
“So how flexible are you about accepting a job offer? Even though my company has subsidiaries all over the world, you might get an offer in another country or even another continent,” Shamar asks, continuing our conversation.
I swallow. My throat feels dry. If I tell him that I am all alone, he might misunderstand me. I don’t want him to think I want him to pity me, so I take a deep breath and answer his question.
