by Holly Rayner
Chapter Two
Back at her one-bedroom apartment, also situated in the Mission area, with its tiny bedroom, attached office, and combined kitchen and dining nook, Audrey swept her wet rain jacket from her shoulders and undressed. She put on her comfiest pair of sweats and slipped beneath the covers of her bed, content to be out of the chill.
Beneath the sheets, her mind swirled with thoughts of her boss—that crooked smile of his, his tan skin, his thick head of black hair, and his occasional five o’clock shadow, which made him look even more handsome, if that was possible.
What if he fired her?
Bringing her hair into a ponytail, Audrey dove into damage control, calling the journalists and tabloids across the state of California. She began with a San Francisco-based tabloid called the Lighthouse, whose writer, Monica, was actually in charge of following the Sheikh’s every move. He’d made her famous and rich, and as such, Audrey had become a constant caller of Monica—always trying to get her to take the stories down a notch.
“Oh, hey there, Monica,” Audrey said, speaking companionably. “How’s your day? I hope you’re staying out of this rain. Brrr.”
“Get to the point, Audrey,” Monica said. She chewed gum religiously; Audrey couldn’t remember a phone call with her that didn’t include the sound of it smacking between her teeth. “I know you’re calling about the Sheikh. What did he do this time?”
“Oh, he did nothing, absolutely nothing,” Audrey said, stuttering. “I just wanted to let you know that he’ll be appearing at a benefit auction this weekend regarding victims of the recent flooding in New Orleans.”
“Is that so?” Monica said, almost showing her eye roll through her tart voice. “Because you know we don’t print anything like that, Audrey.”
Audrey pressed her lips together, trying to think. “He did nothing wrong,” she said, trying to be honest. “I just took a few too many steps in the PR department and might have messed up his chances of having any good news in the next few months. It’s all about me. And I’m asking you—professional to professional—not to print it.”
“Ha! You messed up? You, the hotshot PR whizz of San Francisco?” Monica said, sounding giddy. “This is almost too good to be true. I imagined the Sheikh had just, you know, slept with another dumb model or something. But this—” She started to chuckle. “This is something I can turn into a story.”
Audrey swallowed, sensing she was in deep water. “I respect you a great deal as a journalist, Monica—”
“Ha. No, you don’t. I would never believe those words out of anyone’s mouth,” Monica said. “I don’t even respect myself as a journalist. But you know what? I pay my damn bills, and I can’t expect a whole lot more from myself, especially in this poisonous city. Hey, Audrey, if this works out well readership wise, I’d love to take you out for a drink, really rack your brain to see how best to get the Lighthouse readership up. Seems like you’re already working with us in mind.”
Irritated, Audrey hung up on Monica, anger throttling her. After taking a deep breath, she dialed a few more journalists across San Francisco, Los Angeles, and New York, trying to get a sense for if she could bribe them into not writing a horrible story about her and the Sheikh. But none of them seemed ready to promise anything.
Audrey could understand why, but she hated that she was going to be outdone by a dramatic television actress who would soon surely fade into obscurity. Shifting back in her bed, she dialed another number—a bit less familiar than the journalists’—and waited as the phone rang out across the continent.
Her father picked up on the third ring. His familiar, gruff voice made tears spring to her eyes.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he said. “It’s been a while since we’ve heard from you.”
“I know, Dad,” Audrey said. “I’ve been caught up in work, as usual. All of a sudden it’s April, and I haven’t seen you guys since September…”
She trailed off, remembering that long-ago day in Alaska, the place her parents had retired to five years before. They’d gone for a hike through the mountains, and they’d gazed out over the water, not able to find words to make up for all the time they’d missed.
“Well, I know your work makes you happy,” her father said. “It always has, ever since you were a girl. Never had to tell you to do your homework.”
That was something her father almost always brought up at parties—that his daughter had always had her life and her priorities straight. Of course, Audrey didn’t feel like that now.
“Must be pretty cold up there still, huh?” Audrey asked.
Her father laughed. “It’s always on the brisk side, but you know this suits your mother. She always hated California and that heat. I know you don’t get it in the Bay as much, but in Marine, when you were growing up, it seemed sweltering sometimes. Never got a break. Plus, the different landscape and everything makes us feel like we have this whole new life open to us. Our friends back home are getting fat and bored. Not us!”
Audrey laughed appreciatively, wishing more than anything that she was locked away with her parents in their cabin, hiding from the rest of the world. “I’ll have to make plans for a visit,” she said.
“Once everything at work calms down, I’m assuming?” her dad asked, sounding understanding yet a bit sad.
“Right,” Audrey said, feeling her heart sink in her chest. “This new client—the Sheikh—is a handful. Even Mom knew his bad reputation, and you guys are hidden from the rest of the world. I have my work cut out for me.”
“If anyone can do it, honey, it’s you,” her father said.
“Is Mom around?” Audrey asked, hoping for some of her mother’s soft, poetic words, which always caused her tense muscles to ease.
“She went out to the store,” her dad said. “Always gets caught there for an hour or so, chatting to whoever she can find. She’ll never change. Always has a friendly word.”
Audrey sniffed, disappointment making her stomach feel heavy. She told her father she loved him, that she’d call again soon, and then made an excuse to hang up, knowing it was time to call a few more journalists and writers and hop back into work mode. Before she knew it, she was doling out the same old sly words to writers across the country, trying to mop up her mistakes. Already, she was sensing defeat.
Chapter Three
Audrey woke early the following morning, her body buzzing with fear for the coming day. Lifting herself from her soft, cloud-like pillow, she eased her laptop over to her, expecting the worst. Experience had taught her to view the world as a battlefield, especially as a PR agent handling top-tier clients. No matter the defenses she’d attempted to put up the previous day, she knew the journalists wanted nothing more than the Sheikh’s head, and she’d essentially handed it to them on a platter.
She wasn’t disappointed in the least.
The first headline she read was from the Lighthouse’s Monica herself, and it shamelessly announced, “Puppet Master PR Agent Plays Matchmaker with Sheikh.” The article said Audrey had catastrophically ruined her attempt to match the Sheikh with the “world-renowned actress” April Brevet, whose philanthropic efforts made her a model in the acting community.
“I’m sure Audrey assumed a brief date with April Brevet would boost her client’s ratings throughout the country and the greater world, but alas, the PR-whizz flubbed up, making a mockery of April Brevet—and of herself,” Monica had written.
It was worse than Audrey had thought.
She continued to read, finding articles in several New York tabloids, Chicago magazines, and lifestyle blogs from everywhere, including Miami, Paris, and London. The entire world had wrapped their sticky fingers around the story, and Audrey was thus a complete failure as a PR rep. She was certainly walking toward the death of her career.
It was nearly seven thirty in the morning. Sun blasted in through her tiny window, reminding her that the world and weather would continue while she withered away. Slamming her laptop closed, she entered the
bathroom and scrubbed herself clean, dried her hair with a loud, roaring hair dryer, and then dressed in a prim black blazer and pencil skirt, wanting to look demure and professional as the Sheikh told her the news.
How on earth would she pay for her apartment? How would she find additional clients now that her name was plastered across countless headlines proclaiming her one of the worst PR reps ever to walk the planet? She would surely go broke, have to give up her apartment, perhaps move into that tiny, wooden-floored bedroom built off the side of her parents’ cabin in Alaska, joining them for their strange venison stews and long hikes in the woods.
Essentially, her life would be over.
It was strange, really, that the rain had halted on this wretched day. Audrey slipped her jacket from her shoulders almost immediately, feeling naked and free in just her work clothes and heels.
Flinging an arm into the air, she hailed a taxi and stepped into it hurriedly, telling the driver to take her to work. The car pushed and pulled through traffic, weaving its way up several steep hills toward the Mission-based office. Finally, the taxi spit her out on the sidewalk in front of her glass-walled office, which glittered a reflection of the sunlight down upon her, looking almost heaven-like.
It was time.
Taking the elevator to the fifth floor, Audrey prepped herself as she would a client. “You’re going to smile,” she whispered. “You’re going to thank him for everything he’s done for you, and you’re definitely not going to cry. You’re a grown woman, and you’ll find something else. Eventually. After you change your name and hair and face.” She sighed, her nostrils flaring, as the elevator doors parted.
She walked toward her office, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor as she sensed her coworkers’ eyes upon her. Wanting to stick to her regiment, she went to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee, sipping it evenly and forcing herself to make eye contact with everyone who passed her.
“Hi, there. Beautiful day,” she heard herself say over and over. She felt robotic, outside of time, if only because she was trying to avoid her true emotion of fear.
At around eight thirty, after she’d checked her emails and read nearly 15 additional blogs regarding her “puppet master” ways with the Sheikh, she received a message on their work email server from the Sheikh himself.
“Hello, Audrey,” he’d typed. “I’d love to meet with you in my office in the next five minutes if you can spare the time.”
Audrey shuddered. If she’d ever gotten into trouble as a child, she sensed it would have felt like this. Rising onto deer-like legs, she walked toward his door, just 20 feet away, and knocked on the mahogany wood.
“Come in,” the Sheikh’s voice boomed.
Cracking open the door, Audrey’s slim form slipped into the warmth of his sunbeam-filled office. She flashed a smile, trying to appear confident even as her stomach acid seemed to eat her insides.
“Audrey, Audrey, Audrey,” Sheikh Jibril said, gesturing a long arm toward the seat before his desk. “Please, sit.”
As she moved toward the chair, Audrey couldn’t help but bask in the gorgeous, masculine form before her. His dark eyes, filled with confidence, moved over her, and his dark skin gleamed. He wore an immaculate suit, as he always did, which highlighted the muscles in his shoulders and his biceps. A fine-cut jawline and high cheekbones completed the package, making her insides turn to mush. She’d long thought he was handsome, but gazing at him never got old.
“Before you say anything,” Audrey said, planting her palms on her thighs, “I want to tell you that I apologize for everything that happened yesterday and the resulting headlines today. I know it looks messy—”
“You’re right. It looks quite messy. That’s definitely a word I’d use,” the Sheikh said, still flashing a smile. It wasn’t unkind, yet it was harder, not necessarily friendly.
“But in the next days, I’ll do my best to clean this up. I am a PR master, sir. This has been my first mistake in the past five years since I’ve taken on this professional career, and I’m asking you to give me another chance,” she said, her voice wavering only slightly.
Silence hung between them. She’d never imagined she’d have to beg for her job. Quivering, she laced her fingers together on her lap, waiting for the axe to fall.
“You think I’m going to fire you, don’t you?” the Sheikh said, his voice firm.
“I see no real reason why you shouldn’t,” Audrey admitted. “I suppose I’d even recommend it if I were your PR agent trying to help you work through this specific problem. That said, I don’t think you should in this case. I have a lot to offer you still, and these things always blow over.”
Her eyes were misty, showing her emotion. Remembering her monologue from the elevator, she pleaded, internally, with herself to not let a single tear drop. Her honesty made the room sizzle.
“What an interesting thing,” the Sheikh said. “You’d advise me to fire you. You can see it objectively then—that you’ve dug my hole even deeper into the ground and made me look like a fraud. And you know, I couldn’t care less about this April Brevet woman. I hadn’t even heard of her before this.”
“She calls herself one of the best actresses of her generation,” Audrey murmured, rolling her eyes, “if you can believe that.”
“I take it you pissed her off,” the Sheikh said, shifting around to the side of his large desk and leaning on the edge, half-sitting on it. He crossed his thick arms over his chest. “I don’t think she’d do so much damage without being prompted.”
Audrey nodded slowly. “I accidentally offended her. That said, she seems easily offended. She drank a half liter of wine in about twenty minutes and then sped out the door to ruin our reputations.”
The Sheikh considered these words for a moment, looking as if he were juggling them through his head. After a long pause, his large, pillow-like lips parted. “You know, when I walked in here this morning, I felt like I had no choice but to fire you, Audrey. We’ve only worked together for three months now, and I expected much more from you. But I can see it in your eyes: you know that what you did was wrong, and now you’re ready to fight your way back to the top. I appreciate that in an employee.”
So he wasn’t going to fire her? Audrey felt shaken, tossed about like a salad.
“However, I don’t see any way around a certain type of punishment,” the Sheikh said. “I’d like to demote you for a period of two weeks. During this time, you’ll work as my personal assistant. This will teach you a lesson about humility and remind you just how important it is that you do your job correctly—especially as you’ll get a sense for what my life is truly like.”
Audrey’s eyebrows rose high on her forehead. A personal assistant?
“So—your dry cleaning? Your appointments and meetings and coffees and everything in between?” she asked, almost incredulous. She’d never worked as a personal assistant, and had always looked down on them from her higher tier as a professional PR rep.
“Unless that’s not something you could dip down to—” the Sheikh said, shrugging evenly. “If not, of course, I’d have to ask you to leave.”
“No, no,” Audrey said, realizing she had to cling to this opportunity. This job was a top-tier, high-paying position—one that would give her career incredible longevity if only she could keep it. “If this is your offer, then I’ll take it. I’ll be your personal assistant. It would—it would be my pleasure,” she stuttered.
The Sheikh flashed an almost cheeky, confident smile. “Excellent,” he said. “I wasn’t prepared to hire a new one after my personal assistant quit yesterday. This will help both of us out a great deal, I think. Quite thrilled with myself for coming up with the idea.”
Audrey peered at him curiously, unsure what to say. Conscious of how handsome he was in every second, her heart hammered in her chest. With this new assistant position, she’d probably be seeing a great deal more of the Sheikh. Somehow, that gave her incredible pleasure—despite knowing that
she’d spend most of that time doing manual labor for him, akin to a personal slave. But she was up for the challenge.
“I look forward to it,” Audrey said, standing and leaning forward, offering him her hand to shake.
The Sheikh accepted it. The moment their hands touched, a spike of electricity pulsed through her, causing her to pulse with sudden lust. Why did he make her feel as if he were peering into the depths of her soul? After a firm shake, he released her hand. She let it drop to her waist, still throbbing. She swallowed sharply, hoping he didn’t recognize how nervous she was.
“I’ll probably start you out today then,” the Sheikh said. He slipped a pair of keys onto the desk and pressed them toward her, giving her permission to enter his home. “An ex-girlfriend left a bag of clothes at my apartment. I’d like you to go to the apartment, gather the bag, and take it to her place; I’ll text you the address. And I’d like you to do it without making her feel, you know, inferior. I think she thought we were really going somewhere.” He winked at her.
Audrey’s lips parted; her brain wanted to form words of hesitation, to insist she was above such silly acts, but she knew this was the only route to returning to her normal position. So, she stood tall in her heels, trying to make her face appear calm. “Absolutely,” she said. “I’ll go immediately.”
“You know where I live, correct?” the Sheikh asked, his eyes dominant and dark.
“Of course, Jibril,” Audrey said, smiling, using his first name and saying it softly. “I’ve been your PR rep for three months. I already know the ins and outs of your life.” To show off, she added, “The ex-girlfriend? It’s that Parisian model living in the ocean-front mansion she’s renting from the basketball player, correct?”
