by Holly Rayner
Yanking the clothes and shoes the rest of the way into the office, she stuffed them beneath her desk, opened her laptop, and prepared to write a resignation letter, although she felt largely unqualified to be doing so, having not typed anything in the days since she’d been demoted.
“Jibril,” she began to type, her brain humming. She had to do this; it was necessary. “It has been marvelous working for you the past three months, but given the conditions of our new arrangement, along with my major mistake, I’d like to take this opportunity to resign. Thank you for the opportunity, and my sincerest apologies again for failing you.”
As her mouse hovered over the “Send” button, she waited, her eyes skimming the document over and over again. After a last-second panic, she reached for her phone, wanting to speak with her parents just to get their feel for the situation. It had been a long time since she’d wanted their advice, but in this case she felt child-like, nervous and unsure.
Before she could dial her father, however, she received a text message from the Sheikh. Sensing it would be more of the same—“Please, go back and feed my dog again” or “There’s a huge mistake in the granola bar stock in the pantry. Far too many carbohydrates for the afternoon. Please fix”—she opened it, sighing evenly, to find a surprise.
“Happy one-week anniversary of your personal assistant position. You’re halfway through! To thank you for your troubles, I’d like to take you to dinner tonight. I hope you’ll consider it.”
Audrey shivered. Mere moments before she’d sliced the connection between herself and the Sheikh, he’d asked for more personal time with her. Was this a sign? Hurriedly, she typed a text message back, agreeing to dinner. She was excited to get to spend some downtime with the attractive Sheikh.
Of course, she couldn’t immediately forget all the horrendous things he’d forced her to do in the previous week. The trash she’d had to clean up. The ex-girlfriends she’d had to corral. The dog. The shirts—the endless, endless button-downs, each of which, she’d learned, cost about five hundred dollars.
But she raced home, centered on finding an appropriate dress for the occasion, knowing that wherever the Sheikh chose to dine would be spectacular, exclusive, and better than anything Audrey would be able to afford for years—especially if she ended up putting in her notice.
Chapter Six
Jibril texted her when she arrived home, explaining that he’d pick her up at around eight-thirty for the evening ahead. In response, Audrey texted him her address, grateful that she lived in a decent neighborhood—yet further grateful he wouldn’t have to see the state of disrepair her apartment currently existed in given that she hadn’t slept or spent more than a few hours in her apartment in the previous week. Clothes were strewn about, dishes were piled high, and it certainly wasn’t visitor-ready.
From the depths of her closet, Audrey grabbed a deep-cut red dress, which she’d worn exactly once to a celebrity wedding when she’d needed to keep a certain actress away from her ex-husband for PR purposes. The woman had grown outrageously drunk and then plotted to douse her ex in an entire bottle of champagne. Just in the nick of time, Audrey had slipped her into a cab and made them both disappear into the night. She’d been grateful the woman hadn’t vomited on the nicest gown she owned.
Now, she donned it noting that she’d lost a bit of weight around her waist and on her thighs—probably from the stress of the previous week. She pushed her feet into nude heels early to grow accustomed to them and curled her hair in the bathroom while humming along to the radio.
Audrey felt a glimmer of youthful excitement, a reminder of when she’d been in high school and going on her first few dates. Would they kiss her? Would she let them? Back then, she’d felt a lifetime away from marriage. Now, as a 27-year-old, she felt the time slipping away too fast, as if she should have found someone by now.
Unfortunately, she knew her parents felt the same. They’d hinted at it occasionally, telling her how much they wanted grandchildren, how much joy they would have showing her son or daughter around their Alaskan wilderness. “We just want you to be happy,” they’d said on more than one occasion, instilling a fear within Audrey that perhaps she wasn’t, truly, all that happy.
Once eight-thirty came, Audrey awaited Jibril at the front entrance of her apartment building, her eyes looking up and down the street, hunting for him. Moments later, a large red sports car zoomed down the road, halting abruptly in front of her apartment building and revealing the stunning Sheikh, dressed from head to toe in black. His skin was glowing in contrast to the dark black, and his hair was chaotic and loose, not reined in and gelled as it normally was at the office. Audrey’s body stirred with desire.
“Jesus,” she whispered, watching as he bounded up the sidewalk, the car keys jangling in his hand.
She stood in the arch of the doorway, awestruck. The Sheikh halted his walk when he saw her, gazing at her with a mischievous smile. They’d obviously dressed up for one another, becoming new, more sensual versions of their office personas. Audrey swallowed harshly, trying to find words of greeting.
“Hey there, Audrey,” Jibril said, beating her to the punch. “You’re looking ravishing this evening.”
Always so devilishly confident, Audrey thought. A grin crept across her face. “Jibril, hello.”
“Are you going to wait at the door forever, or are you going to join me for dinner?” he asked.
Audrey took a dramatic step forward, elongating her stride. “Don’t mean to hold you up. More than anyone, I know how tight your schedule is,” she said, teasing him.
Once she drew even with him, Jibril placed a gentle hand on the small of her back. Was this a romantic gesture? Audrey couldn’t tell. She quivered, feeling like a schoolgirl.
“You’ve been wonderful,” Jibril said, his voice kind. “I normally lose personal assistants after about the sixth or seventh day. They just can’t handle my schedule, and I just can’t do it by myself.”
Audrey’s eyes flashed. Had he really had that many personal assistants?
“It’s been my pleasure,” she answered, always looking to say the right thing.
“Ha. If only I could believe you,” he said, opening the side door of his sports car and then watching as she slipped onto the seat. “But tonight’s your night to relax. Let me do the hard work, won’t you?”
Audrey nodded almost imperceptibly, feeling her heart jump in her chest. As he joined her in the front, she forced herself to remember the terrifying, drooling face of his ex-girlfriend’s bulldog moments before he’d ripped at her shoes. This man had given her the worst week of her life; he didn’t deserve any kind of compassion—or lust—from her.
Jibril played the local radio station, speaking companionably to her about a television show he’d begun to watch while on the treadmill.
“It’s the only time during the day that I have a chance to do anything—well, normal,” he said, shrugging. “And I find it fascinating that some people commit their entire lives to TV. I can’t keep my eyes on that screen for more than 25 minutes.”
“Oh, I can,” Audrey said, finding a laugh. “I could watch my favorite shows every single day of the week. I wish I could quit my job and just watch TV full-time,” she teased, half-joking.
“You don’t mean that,” Jibril said. “You’re far too industrious for such a thing. I’ve been watching you at work for the past three months. You’ve got a fire in you. And it wouldn’t do for you to rot away on a couch somewhere.”
Audrey’s heart stirred at his words. A fire in her? She’d long sensed that about herself as well. The moment she found a passion, she felt compelled to be the best she could be, to strive for the top position, to beat out the competition. But it felt strange that the Sheikh could see this about her.
“That’s why I knew you’d be a wonderful personal assistant even though you’re tremendously over-qualified,” Jibril said, yanking the car off to the side of the road and pulling into the valet zone. With a flour
ish, he leapt from the car, tossing the keys to the thin-boned valet driver on the sidewalk.
Opening the side door, he helped Audrey into the cool, spring air, flashing her a smile. “And far too beautiful, I might add. I’m sure all the ex-girlfriends were incredibly jealous when you appeared at their front stoops saying you were my personal assistant. They probably assumed I was playing a prank.”
“They certainly haven’t been very nice to me,” Audrey said, smiling sheepishly. “How on earth did you find such a collection of horrible human beings?”
“I will take that as a compliment,” Jibril said, teasing her, “for I suppose that means I’m not nearly as bad as they are. I am incredibly grateful for that.”
“I suppose I can’t know that for sure yet,” Audrey said, her eyes flashing. “We haven’t even gotten through the first drink.”
“Fair point.”
Jibril led her into a small burrito place that had plastic chairs, plastic tables, and a large poster of Bob Marley on the far wall. Incredulous, Audrey frowned, drawing her eyebrows tightly together in the center.
Was this the type of date Jibril brought someone of her caliber on? Rage began to simmer in her stomach. She could have eaten a burrito anywhere—alone—and certainly not while dressed in her most expensive piece of clothing.
What had she gotten herself into?
Jibril charged forward toward the cash register before easing past the counter. He grabbed Audrey’s hand, ensuring she followed him. The high-school kid at the burrito counter gave them only a small thumbs-up before turning away from them. They darted past the kitchen’s microwave and through a doorway, where a large, antique-looking pay phone awaited them. Jibril lifted the pay phone to his ear, winking at Audrey’s skeptical expression.
“Hi there. I have a reservation for two,” Jibril said. “The name’s Jibril Rahal.”
The large door that seemed to lead to a cellar opened almost like a tomb, revealing a set of deep steps lit by only candles. A slight gasp escaped Audrey’s lips.
Jibril pressed the phone back onto its hook and lead her down the steps one at a time, telling her, “Watch your step on these. They seem to get steeper as you go down.”
“How did you discover this place?” she whispered to him, diving deeper into the ground.
“I am a man of many secrets,” he said.
Finally, the stone steps curved into a flat foyer, which was also lit with candles, giving it a glow like that from a fire in a cave. A man in a tuxedo bowed to them from a maître d’ stand as he held two menus.
“Jibril Rahal and guest,” he greeted. “Please, follow me.”
Anxious, Audrey slipped her arm through Jibril’s, allowing him to guide her into the dining room, which had stone walls, candles attached to golden holders, and large candelabras hanging from the ceiling. Just ten tables were situated within, all of them a deep wood with antique carvings.
The maître d’ led them to the furthest table, where he pulled one chair back and gestured for Audrey to sit. She did so, her eyes glancing around, hardly making sense of her surroundings. The other couples were gorgeous San Francisco millionaires and billionaires: the women with gorgeous, glittering blond hair and cinched waists, long, red-painted nails, and cat-like eyes that seemed both stern and secretive; and the men, wearing immaculate suits, their hair thick, their stomachs flattened with from many years alongside personal trainers.
Audrey knew the high life—could recognize it when it flashed before her eyes—but she’d never been a part of it before.
When she looked forward, she found that the Sheikh was gazing at her, watching as she examined the restaurant. He grinned, his aura filled with confidence. “What do you think?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Audrey answered, her voice quiet, honest. She delicately placed her napkin on her lap, turning her nervous eyes to the menu. The menu was written in French, making her shake her head in confusion. “Did we go through a portal to France or something?” she asked, her whisper a slight laugh.
Jibril shook his head, splaying his hands over the menu. “I’m actually good friends with the owner. He’s going to make us his specialty tonight if that’s all right with you. Not a vegetarian, right?”
“No,” Audrey said, trying to calm herself. “My parents would never hear of it. My dad’s an avid hunter, actually. If I didn’t eat the venison he cooked, I think he’d be destroyed.”
“Good,” Jibril said firmly.
When the server approached, his hands tucked behind his back, Jibril ordered a bottle of French wine—something Audrey hadn’t even seen listed on the menu. They watched as he poured the dark liquid into the glittering wine glasses. With each glugging sound of the wine leaving the bottle, the tension between Jibril and Audrey escalated, making Audrey’s heart leap with desire.
Calm down, she told herself. This isn’t a date. Just a brief dinner with the boss, who’s feeling thankful—and maybe a little guilty—about the personal assistant position.
She lifted her wine glass and clinked it with his before tilting it back. The moment the wine touched her lips, she felt she understood, perhaps more than ever, why people wanted to be rich. It was velvety, almost nourishing against her tongue, with a deep taste that was unlike that of any other wine she’d ever lifted from a grocery store shelf; that was certain.
“Wow,” she said, her eyes slowly opening. “Is this the kind of life you always live?”
“I can’t imagine anything else,” Jibril said. “Perhaps that’s a tragedy. That burrito place upstairs, I actually see people eating at it when I come in here, as if their entire existence is so sad, they accept such low-quality food.”
“Sometimes crappy food can be comforting,” Audrey said. “A burrito in the middle of a rough week never hurt anyone.”
“But the meal we’re about to have,” Jibril said, lifting a finger, “is going to change your life.”
“Maybe I don’t want my life changed every few days,” Audrey said, her eyes glowing. Was she flirting with him? “And who said burritos can’t be life-changing?”
“Ha. I suppose I haven’t met one that has changed my life quite yet,” Jibril said. “Although I’ll keep my mind open to it if you suggest it.”
“I do,” she said, sipping her wine.
The food came much later, after they’d drank nearly half the bottle of wine. Audrey’s head buzzed as she found herself loosening up to the Sheikh’s charms. He was witty and knowledgeable, full of entertaining stories and compliments, giving her just a slight insight into his non-professional demeanor.
“Why did you choose San Francisco?” Audrey asked him, tilting her head to the side. “Of all the places you could have chosen in the world, like Paris, for example, or London, why here?”
“It’s the Bay,” he answered simply, lifting his fork to the duck confit, which had been prepared with an immaculate finish, making it look like a gorgeous painting on the plate. “The Bay has a certain magical quality to it, don’t you think? When I first came here, I gazed across the water, felt the energy of the city, and knew it had to be my home.”
“That’s how I felt as well,” Audrey said, her face growing warm. “I knew I had to find a way to stay, so I fought my way through college at Berkeley, which was, perhaps, the hardest time of my life. If you don’t count the past week, that is,” she said jokingly.
“Difficult school,” Jibril affirmed.
“The people were all going somewhere, you know? They had aspirations, goals. They wouldn’t let anyone get in their way. So, I kind of took on that mentality as well. That’s why I worked my way up the San Francisco PR ladder, taking on such high clients—such as yourself, I suppose.”
The Sheikh looked into her eyes, the candlelight flickering across his cheeks. “Don’t you wish sometimes that we could go back? All the way back to where we began, before all these aspirations. Sometimes I just want to curl up on the couch in my mother’s old reading room beneath a sunbeam a
nd fall asleep.”
“All the way in Ash-Kahlbi?” Audrey asked.
“Correct,” he said. “I don’t get there nearly as often as I should. And often, when I do, it’s only for work.”
“I can’t imagine how you travel so often,” Audrey murmured, her desire to explore the world growling from her heart.
She’d divorced herself from this desire for the past few years, watching as her career skyrocketed and her paycheck grew substantially. But there was still so much she hadn’t experienced.
“I’ve never even been on a plane before,” she said, “not even to visit my parents in Alaska. I always drive, and it takes forever.”
“Well, flying’s simply magic,” Jibril said, his voice low. “It’s like being a kid again when you first rise into the air. You have no control. You’re locked into a seat that’s throttling through time and space, and there’s nothing you can do once the wheels lift up from the ground. It’s a gorgeous feeling. It really is.”
“I didn’t think you were so poetic,” Audrey said, leaning her head forward slightly. An intimacy shrouded them, making her sizzle with apprehension. Would he kiss her? Should she kiss him?
But no. That wasn’t why they were there, and it would only complicate things. She moved back in her seat, slicing the tension in two. She’d eaten her entire duck confit, and her stomach sloshed with too much luxurious wine. As the Sheikh eyed her, her eyes closed in a long blink.
“You’re ready to head home, aren’t you?” the Sheikh said, his voice humored and understanding.
“I think so. I’m not an advanced drinker,” she said, feeling small and judged.
But the Sheikh gave her no reason to feel ashamed.
“The bill’s already been paid,” he said, rising from his chair. “We can leave whenever you feel ready to. After all, as I said, this is your night. I’m perfectly willing to call it quits early.”
“I just haven’t slept in a few days,” Audrey said, rising and joining him to walk from the restaurant, giving the waiter a small wave on their way out. “Maybe I just need to sleep. I have to walk the dog in the morning.”
