by Holly Rayner
She was right, actually. But it didn’t matter.
The next day, I was back at work, and Khabib had us on a busy schedule. We went to the store I’d ordered his ties from on my first day. The shopkeeper was nice, almost too nice. As Khabib tried on his suits, the slim young man chatted me up.
“So, you’ve been working for the Sheikh long?”
I shook my head.
“Only a month or so.”
“Oh yeah? How do you like it?”
It was at this point that I noticed his gaze flitting to my chest. I turned away slightly.
“I’m really enjoying it actually; the Sheikh is a good man to work with, and my job is interesting, always changing.”
“Mhmm. He seems pretty lucky to have you all to himself.”
Thankfully, just then, Khabib emerged, clad in a deep purple suit that only he could pull off. He looked incredible, and my breath caught in my throat.
“This suit is extraordinary, no doubt about that. The only question is: can it be tailored further?”
The young man’s dark eyes slid to Khabib, and he shook his head.
“No way to know for certain unless you talk to Pa. He’s down in the shop.”
As Khabib walked off, presumably towards the shop, I followed him. At the door, however, he paused.
“You wait here, Lucy.”
“You sure?”
He nodded and, leaning in, lowered his voice.
“The owner’s pretty old. I don’t want to disturb his routine—or worse, give him a heart attack—with the sight of my stunning personal assistant.”
I giggled with my hand over my mouth, hoping Khabib couldn’t see the furious blush that was sure to be spreading rapidly across my face. Then, Khabib was gone, leaving me alone with the young man.
Walking to the door, he changed the “Open” sign to “Closed”, then revolved on one heel so that he was facing me.
“How about a private tour of our changing rooms, babe?”
Before I process what he was saying, he was grabbing my hand, pulling me towards the dressing room Khabib had just been in. I pulled myself away.
“What are you doing?”
His smile was unsettling, all spaced-out yellow teeth and glazed-over eyes.
“We have a good hour. Pa talks people’s heads off. I saw the way you were looking at me.”
I shook my head and tried to push my way past him, back out into the store.
“I think you’re mistaken.”
Now he was the one shaking his head.
“C’mon, you know you want this—”
“Excuse me.”
Standing at the door was Khabib, looking at him like a bull about to charge.
“Oh, sir, I’m sorry. I was just—”
“I saw what happened.”
Striding forward, he ripped off the suit coat and the shirt underneath, revealing his tan, muscled chest. He dropped both garments on the floor, then grabbed his shirt and pulled it on. As the young man muttered apologies, excuses, and blame on me, Khabib strode back to the door.
“Let’s go, Lucy.”
When I had joined him, he returned his fierce glare to the shopkeeper.
“You have lost my business, permanently. Goodbye.”
And then we were walking out of there, down the street. It was only once we were in the car that Khabib spoke.
“Lucy, I am so, so sorry. I would have never taken you there with me had I known he was such a creep. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine! It’s fine. I—”
He took my hand and squeezed it. His touch was soothing, though my heart still hammered in my chest. I wasn’t sure if it was from the close call with the creep, or from the closeness between the Sheikh and I in that moment.
“I swear, I will never let any harm come to you. I’m glad you’re all right.”
And, as he stared into my eyes, I forced mine to look away, to not search to determine if I’d seen what I really thought I’d seen in those deep, warm brown eyes of his. Affection.
Chapter Six
Khabib
After the tailor incident, the rest of the week and weekend passed by uneventfully; I made my plans for the next week, loaded up the days. Monday was Angelica, Tuesday was Kristy, Wednesday was Diana, and Thursday was…Lucy, by accident.
I saw her when I went to the gym, huffing and puffing away adorably on an elliptical machine. She took a while to notice me, but when she did, she looked shocked, then shyly pleased. She got off the machine to greet me.
“Khabib. Hi.”
“Nice to see that you’re using the job perks.”
She nodded, her pink face going pinker.
“It’s actually only the second time I’ve used it, to be honest.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I…” Her gaze flit away from mine. “I’ve been distracted, had a bit of extra time to kill. Thought I’d try to be productive.”
As I took in her nervous expression, a smile formed on my face. Could it be that she, too, had been distracted by exactly what I had been, lately? Was it that she, too, was making the most of the clear glass wall separating us?
“Are you finished? I was thinking of going for ice cream.”
As soon as the ridiculous proposition was out of my mouth, I felt my own cheeks redden. Both of us now blushing idiots, she snuck a glance at me.
“Really?”
No, I thought, but “yes” was what I said. Really, after the weights I hadn’t even done yet, I was supposed to meet up with Gina and let her know gently that things weren’t going to work out. But, suddenly, all I wanted to do was have ice cream with my ravishing personal assistant.
As if suddenly remembering she was only wearing track pants and a sports bra, Lucy crossed her arms over her chest.
“Mind if I get changed first?”
I waved my hand.
“Not at all. I’ll wait at the front.”
And there I waited, staring absently at the gym attendant, who was fiddling around on the computer. What on earth I had gotten myself into, and why was I so damn excited about it? Thankfully, after a few minutes, Lucy emerged, looking less red, and even more beautiful, clad in a soft-looking green dress.
I grinned at her as she walked up.
“You look great.”
Her face went red again.
“Thanks.”
“So, got any favorites?”
She shook her head.
“No, though Scoops is where I normally go. For their vanilla cone. My Mom and I always go for those.”
I chuckled and nodded my head in approval.
“A classic kind of girl, yeah? I like that.”
Another blushing, awkward “Thanks”, then, “What about you?”
I shrugged.
“I like to change it up every time—vanilla soft-serve in a bowl, cookie dough or mint sundae, banana split, chocolate cone, whatever. I love it when they introduce new flavors, because by this point, I’ve tried just about everything.”
“You’re adventurous.”
“Yeah, I get bored easily.”
I said it casually, yet, once the words were out of my mouth, they sounded strangely sad, prophetic.
Luckily, we were at the nearby Scoops already. It was nice going to a gym right downtown, close to everything. That way, you could reward your workout with a nice, big, fat ice cream sundae afterwards.
Inside Scoops, Lucy, true to form, ordered her vanilla cone, while I settled on a bubblegum sundae. Despite her protests, I paid for both, then steered us to a little table in the corner. Seated face-to-face there, she tried mine and I tried hers, although we both laughingly admitted we preferred our own. Once all that was left of her cone were some stray crumbs on her napkin, I gestured with my spoon in her direction.
“So, you only come here with your mom?”
“My old boyfriend from high school, too. We’d share a banana split, although I secretly always wanted a vanilla cone.”
I l
aughed.
“Ah, young love.”
She smiled and shrugged.
“You know how it is.”
And the way she looked at me, as if I knew the slightest thing about love, made me feel like a giant fraud.
“You say old boyfriend—you seeing anyone now?”
She shook her head.
“No, I…I’m not dating anyone. Have to concentrate on my career for now.”
“Ah, trading relationships for work, I get you. Be careful with that; it’s a slippery slope.”
Lucy looked at her hands sadly.
“I know what often happens, the risks…I just don’t have much choice.”
And she looked so miserable there, I almost wished I could go back in time and take back what I’d said, or at least have the courage to hug her. Instead, I just patted her hand.
“Ah, forget what I said. You’ll be fine.”
Glancing up at me, she visibly brightened.
“You think?”
I almost wanted to chuckle, it was so touching. Just how oblivious to her magnetism she was.
“I know it. You seem like you have a good head on your shoulders.”
Her smile was so wide that dimples appeared in her cheeks.
“Thanks. You probably get this all the time, but you seem to, too.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. And a good brain, and heart, and eyes and…”
Suddenly remembering herself, she fell silent.
“Sorry. I got carried away. You’re my boss and—”
I patted her hand again.
“Lucy, really, it’s fine. We’re just having an ice cream, a nice chat. It’s nothing.”
But the mood was ruined, now.
Rising, her face still red, Lucy could barely look at me.
“I really have to get going. I need to walk my dog; he’ll be waiting for me.”
I rose as well.
“Okay. Thanks for a fun time; it was nice running into you. See you tomorrow.”
She smiled, this time the dimpled grin spreading even to her eyes, turning them into upside-down half-moons.
“Thanks again. See you.”
As she walked out the door, I sat back down to watch her go. Poor woman, she had no idea, probably figured that was the end of it. Because really, I was just getting started.
On my car ride home, I called Donna.
“Bethany Griffiths can still make it as my date to the car launch, right?”
“Yes, sir. She called a few hours ago to confirm.”
“Okay, great. Tomorrow morning, call her to cancel.”
“Sir?”
“I have other arrangements. She’ll understand.”
I hung up to emphasize how sure I was. Yes, I had a much better idea for who I’d have on my arm tomorrow night. Something more fun, more…risky.
Chapter Seven
Lucy
By Friday, I’d mostly kept my word to myself. Despite my little ice cream setback with Khabib, I’d been good at work. I’d kept my conversations with the Sheikh as brief and professional as possible. I’d kept my distance, and done my job. It wasn’t that hard; it had been a busy week after all. We’d been planning almost non-stop for Samara Motors’ biggest car launch of the year, so calls and meetings had pretty much consumed my entire week.
Now, however, my hand on my glass door, I was face-to-face with Khabib, who looked as surprised as I was. With a laugh, he stepped back and gestured for me to come out.
“My apologies, Lucy. I just came to ask you something.”
“Oh, sure. What’s up?”
“About our big launch tonight—”
“Yes, I know you said I’ve done enough already, and if you really don’t want me to be there, I won’t come. I just think with all the happenings and events…” I trailed off, seeing his amused face.
“Sorry for cutting you off.”
He shook his head.
“Not at all. It’s just funny. I was actually here to ask you something to that effect.”
“Oh. To come?”
“Yes, but not in the way we discussed. As…my date.”
I gaped at him. My study of his face—gaze flicking to the right corner of his lips, which lifted when he joked with me—revealed nothing. The longer I scrutinized Khabib’s face, the more I saw that he was not joking.
“My date—a beautiful yet unreliable Hollywood starlet who will remain unnamed—dropped out at the last minute. And, while I was sitting at my desk over there—” he swept his arm over in the direction of his marble artwork of a desk, “I glanced over here and thought to myself: why don’t I invite a woman who is both more reliable and beautiful?”
For a moment, I stared blankly at him. Then, as my face transformed with comprehension, Khabib’s smile broadened.
“So?”
When I opened my mouth, I had to stop myself from bursting out with hysterical laughter.
“Khabib, sir, are you sure?”
He grinned again.
“Nope.”
“Uhh…”
“Well, Lucy, how can I be sure, when you’re rejecting me already?”
I caught his merry eye and we laughed together.
“Fair enough. All right then, I’ll go. I just… Thank you, Khabib.”
He waved his hand.
“And don’t worry about a dress. I chose one out a few minutes ago online. It should go beautifully with that beautiful golden mane of yours. You’ll have it on your doorstep by the time you get home tonight.”
We stood there for a few more seconds, grinning stupidly at each other.
“You’re making me feel like Cinderella or something.” I giggled nervously. “Well, I’m gonna go on my lunch.”
Khabib nodded.
“Yes. You should. I’ll be leaving early again today, though. Got lots to do.”
He walked off a few paces, then paused.
“And, Lucy?”
“Yes?”
He shot me one of his megawatt smiles.
“See you tonight.”
“See you tonight!”
I hurried off to the bathroom so I could skip around its small interior unseen, whispering “Yes, yes, yes!”
Nighttime and the launch party came in what seemed like seconds. Seconds to finish up my work, race home, and get changed into the teal, jeweled wonder that was my dress. Seconds to feed and walk Oscar. Then, a split-second to fly out the door and into the limo that was picking me up, where Khabib was waiting inside.
At the sight of me, his grin became a jaw-dropped look of awe.
“Lucy, you look…”
I took a worried look down, to make sure my dress hadn’t gotten wrinkled or drooled on by Oscar or something.
“Is it all right?”
He nodded, his face still star-struck.
“You look gorgeous. That dress suits you even more than I thought it would.”
I flicked my gaze to my hands. I couldn’t bear looking at him as he said that; how I felt about him would be written all over my face.
“Thank you, Khabib. For this dress, inviting me, for everything.”
Leaning over to close the door behind me, Khabib stopped inches away from my face with a soft smile.
“Don’t thank me yet; the night’s not even begun.”
And he was right. The limo ride was comfortable and wonderful, with the two of us chatting easily, and the driver even offering us drinks at a stoplight. The car launch, however, was something else.
The second we got to the venue, I knew I was in for a big night. The Majestic Downtown Event Hall was almost unrecognizable, with the whole exterior transformed to resemble Samara Motor’s first fully electric sports car, the Samara Reseda. Its sleek noir exterior glinted more the closer you got, with lights that seemed to beam out in all directions.
At the wide-open doors, Khabib paused and turned to me.
“You ready?”
I nodded, and he squeezed my hand.
“L
et’s go, then.”
Inside was a whirl of well-dressed people, waiters with hors d’oeuvres, and cocktail waitresses in Samara-logoed dresses. Around the edge of the room was a partition-separated platform, where people were test-driving the Reseda. Another one of the cars was on a slightly raised platform, its doors opened, people clambering eagerly inside. At the sight of the Sheikh, everyone seemed to come alive, greeting him like the prince he was.
Khabib greeted them all warmly, as if they were old friends. To the various questions fielded my way (“Who’s your pretty friend?”, “And who, may I ask, is this lovely lady?”) Khabib only smiled mysteriously. Each time he declared, “She’s the most important woman in my life,” the words sent a new torrent of butterflies rushing through me.
The dinner itself was sublime, with more food than you could ask for—sushi, lobster, filet mignon, lamb—with each dish more delicious than the last, which didn’t even seem possible.
Although everyone seemed to have something to say or some question to ask Khabib, his conversation and attention, invariably, returned to me. First it was chitchat about work, the people, the display. But then, as the spread of food before us was replaced with a spread of desserts—luscious cakes, tarts and pastries alike—Khabib turned to me with a knowing smile.
“So, you have a dog?”
“How did you know?”
He laughed, shrugged, took another sip of his drink, then raised it.
“I have my sources.”
I raised mine to his.
“Well, yeah. Oscar is my little pug. He’s grumpy, chubby, perpetually constipated, and I love him to bits.”
At this, Khabib’s drink shot out of his mouth. He began choke-laughing, attracting the attention of several people around us.
“Sheikh Khabib, sir, are you all right?” one of the suited men asked.
Still laughing, Khabib nodded.
