by Holly Rayner
“After that, it was like I was the only thing my parents had. They didn’t have each other, since they were divorced. They needed to feel pride in me. So that made me dive in all the more.”
“Wow,” Aziz breathed. He placed his pita bread on his plate and stretched his fingers over the wood. “I’m so sorry, Amity.”
Amity bowed her head, hating this feeling of being exposed, of revealing too much. But at the same time, she felt lighter, as if a burden had been lifted. She reached into the bread basket and began to eat, feeling herself coming back to life with each morsel. The garlic in the hummus made her tongue tingle.
“What was it like when your father died?” she said after a while.
“Well,” Aziz began, clearing his throat. “Of course, it was rough. I was his only child, and I felt incredibly close to him. I went off the deep end pretty quickly.” He shook his head, giving her a mischievous glance. “As your research will no doubt reveal.”
“Do you know what I think?” Amity murmured. As she spoke, two more plates were placed before them, both piled high with steaming vegetables. “I think I’m here to help you for a reason. For so long, I thought my work was all there was in the world. And for so long, you thought your party lifestyle could save you. Maybe we’re here together to save each other.”
Aziz laughed, lifting his filled wine glass toward her. “Cheers to saving each other from ourselves.”
“Cheers to that indeed,” she said, clinking it.
Their conversation swept on to lighter topics, to easier things to say. They ate slowly, sipping their wine, and Amity found herself feeling more comfortable with Aziz than she’d felt with anyone in years—even friends she’d known all her life. Somehow, he approached her without judgment; somehow, she had lost the feeling that he was just a rich billionaire, in between wild nights. Somehow, she felt sure that she’d enjoy her time in Al-Mabbar—it was already far different than she’d initially imagined.
Chapter 7
Amity excused herself to her extravagant rooms after lunch, taking pause at her desk to use the phone to dial Flora’s room across the street. Flora’s bright voice met her on the other line.
“Amity! This place is amazing!” she exclaimed. “I just went shopping downtown. Three people stopped me to look at my hair. They say they hardly see anything like it around here. I’m basically a goddess.”
Amity bowed her head, wanting to laugh but feeling far too fatigued to do so. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “Perhaps we can get together later to talk about how I want to proceed with Aziz? He’s quite a character, that’s for sure.”
“From what I gathered from the limo, he’s quite a looker, as well,” Flora teased. “Even you have to admit it, Amity. He’s hot.”
Amity didn’t say anything. She looked toward the bed, suddenly yearning for a nap. She didn’t give Flora a proper answer, only excused herself, saying she’d call her again in a few hours. She collapsed on top of the comforter, her eyes closing in an instant. She was miles away from home, and her body just couldn’t take it anymore.
She awoke an hour or so before sunset, to the delicious late-afternoon air of a desert city. She stretched, allowing her back to click, and rifled through her wardrobe, looking for a change of clothes. She wondered what the night would hold. Surely, since Aziz was trying to change his ways, he’d want to stay out of the public eye; he’d want to have a quiet dinner and perhaps some more conversation. Her tongue already craved it; her eyes craved the way his smile curved upwards with such humor, such life.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone knocking at her door. Amity frowned and opened it to find a maid before her, nearly a foot shorter than she was, with her hands clasped at her chest.
“Ma’am,” the maid began in a stilted accent. “The Sheikh requests to see you in his chambers. Immediately.”
Amity raised her left eyebrow. She thanked the maid, who scampered off, and she slipped into a black dress and some pumps. Something appropriate for dinner, she assumed. She tried to calm her revving mind.
She wandered downstairs, to Aziz’s chambers, and found the bedroom door wide open, revealing Aziz marching around in just his boxers, black socks, and a white shirt, unbuttoned.
Amity cleared her throat. “I—I’m sorry, Aziz. Your maid said—”
Aziz whirled toward her. His face broke into a wide smile. “Oh hello there. Yes, yes. I was curious. I was hoping you might join me this evening at a nightclub. This way, you can see more of the city; you can meet some of my friends. Perhaps it will give you a sense of how you can ‘PR’ my life.” He flashed that grin again.
Amity tilted her head, unsure. In the back of her mind, she felt that the last place Aziz belonged right now was a nightclub. She imagined the headlines: “AZIZ: Out with his PR rep. Is it something more?”
She shuddered inwardly and felt her mouth widen into an accidental yawn. Despite her nap, she was still jet-lagged and quivering with exhaustion. She bit her lip. “I’m not sure—”
“Come on,” Aziz interrupted. He began buttoning his shirt, and Amity couldn’t help but watch the way his chest muscles rippled. “You don’t have to stay out long. And I’ve already invited your intern. She’s wild with anticipation.”
Amity’s stomach flipped. “I’m sure she is.” She tapped her nail against the doorway, reasoning. She imagined Flora flipping her hair at the nightclub, creating a scene with the rich young men of Al-Mabbar—especially in the wake of her breakup with Mark from the office. She needed to watch over her. She’d dragged her here, after all.
Plus, there was the issue of those rippling muscles, of how good Aziz looked in his extravagant suit. She found herself nodding, albeit slowly. “I suppose I could go out for a bit, then. To watch over Flora, of course.”
“Maybe you’ll even find time to have some fun yourself,” he said, gesturing loosely.
Amity found herself giggling. She spun on her heel, giving him a brief sassy look, and heard him call: “I have a limo coming in ten! Meet you downstairs.”
Amity headed directly downstairs, feeling her stomach groan. She punched her skin lightly, waiting in the foyer for her client to join her. It was true she hadn’t been to a nightclub in years. She could hardly imagine what her arms and legs would do, given the chance to dance. Would she flail? Would Aziz look at her coldly? Would he laugh at her, even though she’d already told him so much about herself and her past? Perhaps they’d moved too quickly. She should have held back a bit, waited to see if she could trust him.
Swiftly, she forced these thoughts from her mind. She didn’t have time to linger.
Finally, Aziz appeared on the steps, smoothing his shirt down with his long fingers. “I see you’re perfectly on time, as was to be expected,” he teased.
Amity grimaced. “Let’s just get this over with, shall we?”
Aziz laughed appreciatively. He brought his arm out for her, and she grasped it. He led her outside, where a limo was waiting, its engine humming. The bright sun had drifted below the horizon, and the city was manic before them: a sea of flashing lights and beautiful people, all kicking into party-mode.
They sat in the back, and Aziz put up a hand, waiting. “She should be out in a second.”
Flora suddenly appeared on the other side of the window, curly blond hair wavering over her face. She popped open the door and slid into the seats facing Amity and Aziz. Her bright pink lipstick made her look like a bubblegum pop star. She shot out her hand to Aziz, shaking his.
“So good to meet you, finally. I’m Flora, Amity’s intern.”
“Flora, it’s a real pleasure you’re joining us this evening,” Aziz said. He looked at her brightly. “We’re dragging Amity out on the town, can you believe it?”
“Frankly?” Flora began. “Not at all. Not for a second.” She giggled beneath her hand. “I just wonder how many shots will put her under.”
“Now, now,” Amity began, her voice haughty. “Let’s not ge
t carried away.”
The limousine swept from the apartment block, then. Flora began jabbering about the afternoon she’d had, the shopping she had already completed. She eyed Amity sharply. “You’ll have to go out with me tomorrow. I know a store you would absolutely love. And, let’s face it, you need to restock your wardrobe.”
Amity rolled her eyes. “Let’s see if we have time. You know we’re here to work, right?”
“Nonsense,” Aziz said, clapping his hands.
Suddenly, a small liquor cabinet opened before them. Aziz leafed through it, eventually choosing a bottle of tequila. “We’re not here to work, at least not right now.”
He poured them each a small shot. The glass was chilled, cool against Amity’s hands. She studied the alcohol. She enjoyed wine, but she hadn’t had tequila in years. She watched the other two pulse the shot back before taking it herself, hoping her inhibitions didn’t fly from her in the night.
Soon, the limousine pulled up before a nightclub. Stunning twenty and thirty-somethings were hovering around the entrance, looking at each other with hazy, loving eyes.
Aziz cranked the door opened and landed smoothly on the sidewalk, sending that iconic smile across the sea of people like a wave.
“Aziz!” someone called out. “Aziz, over here!”
In a moment, Aziz disappeared into the crowd, leaving Amity and Flora standing by themselves, on the outskirts. Amity shrugged toward Flora, who flipped her hair.
“I’m not sure about you,” Flora said tartly, “but I plan on having fun tonight.” She clattered into the crowd, in the path paved by Aziz, leaving Amity by herself.
Amity sighed and took a deep breath before entering the nightclub herself. She felt her heartbeat in every digit of her hand. Around her, gorgeous people were dancing like sirens, tilting their hips back and forth, their dark skin illuminated by the lights. The music was electronic, similar to techno, in that it made Amity grow cold. Nothing about it was warm or welcoming. Rather, it evoked feelings of loneliness, despite being in a crowd.
God, where was Aziz, she thought then. He could well be making her job much more difficult, right then—creating a negative image in some room, somewhere, with some pop star. She could imagine the headlines. And she could imagine the month-long headache she would have as a result.
“I’m sorry, Amity,” Aziz would say in this all-too-certain future. “I just wasn’t thinking.”
Amity rolled her eyes at the thought. She strolled toward the bar and ordered a gin and tonic—what Flora would call a “grandma drink”—and sipped it languidly, her head bobbing to the music.
In the corner, an older, perhaps close to 40-year-old Arab man, sat watching her. He beckoned for her to join him, to sit with him, but she shook her head wildly, panicked. She didn’t want to meet people. She longed for the silk pillows of her new chambers.
Abruptly, Aziz appeared beside her. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw him, followed by another, as she noticed he had a woman latched on each of his elbows. They could have been twins, each with silver eye shadow and long, straight black hair.
“Amity!” Aziz said over the noise. “Are you having a good time?”
“Sure!” Amity lied. “Who are your friends?”
Aziz passed his eyes over first one girl, then the next. He gave Amity a stumped look, but the girls didn’t seem to notice. “Do you want to join us in the VIP lounge? It’s easier to talk up there.”
“Um, yeah, okay,” Amity said shyly. “Have you seen Flora?”
“I think she was making out with one of my buddies—Rama—but I can’t be sure,” Aziz laughed. “She’s a wild one, isn’t she?”
Amity blushed. She couldn’t imagine being so wild. The thought of it made her anxious, but she sensed that Aziz appreciated the madness. She left her empty glass on the bar and followed Aziz and his two leeches through the crowd and up the back stairs.
Beyond the hubbub, as if by magic, she felt she could breathe again. She pressed her hand against her chest and willed herself to calm down. “Only an hour more,” she murmured to herself. “Then you can escape. One more hour. Don’t be lame.”
The VIP lounge was far more extravagant than the nightclub below, revealing massive windows with a stunning view of Al-Mabbar City, a minimalistic feel with long, red sofas and black walls. A large fish tank bubbled with exotic fish, each of which looked at the gorgeous partiers with bright eyes.
Aziz entered the room before the women and lifted his hands. At that moment, the crowd halted their conversation, their eyes zipping toward the billionaire playboy.
“Greetings, countrymen!” Aziz joked, taking on that royal persona for a laugh. “I decree one thing and one thing only for this evening. We will drink this champagne—aged in the caves outside of Paris—and be merry. My gift to you!”
With that, the bartenders popped a dozen bottles of champagne in a circle around them, sending a cloud of bubbles into the air. People howled with glee, offering their glasses to the overflowing, fountain-like bottles.
Aziz passed Amity a glass, and she splayed it beneath a champagne bottle. The glittering liquid doled into it, fizzing. She sipped it slowly, thinking of the many years it had resided in a Parisian cave, waiting for this day to come.
Amity passed through the crowd with her fizzing glass of champagne. She heard many people speaking about the Sheikh as she passed, and she listened closely, knowing she was invisible to them. She was nobody here.
“It’s like he has to make a scene wherever he goes,” one man was saying to the stunning girl on his arm. “I mean, it’s all about him, the second he enters.”
“You know how Aziz is,” the girl returned. “Always out to make the night as entertaining as possible. I mean, he’s so bored in that big mansion, all by himself.”
“Remember that last party? When he brought out the lions?”
“Ugh, I don’t want to talk about it.”
Amity leaned heavily against the wall, noting that people were now serving themselves another round of champagne. They were weaving, drunk, losing their footing. She bit her lip. She wondered about Aziz—if his loneliness had been a contributing factor in damaging his image so profoundly. Always searching for more people to surround himself with, and always coming up empty on friends.
In the corner, she spotted him, surrounded by several women, including the ones who had linked themselves to him. The girls were twirling his hair, touching his face, laughing with him. But Amity watched as the light began to fade from his eyes, as his smile faltered. He was still contributing to the conversation, but he no longer did so with such drive and pep. Flora approached him with a seeming joke, but he broke eye contact with her, and she soon meandered away like a lost puppy.
Amity frowned. This was the first time she’d seen him looking so thoughtful, so perturbed. Perhaps that was the loneliness, ebbing back into his brain.
Suddenly, Amity felt an arm swing over her shoulders. She blinked up and saw the older gentleman who had beckoned toward her earlier. He clinked his champagne glass with hers. She slipped out of his grasp, her face falling to horror.
“I’m sorry—can I help you?” she asked him. Her voice was harsh. The music was pounding in her ears, and she felt moments from a headache.
“You can help me by spending time with me,” he said, tilting his head. “What do you say to that?”
“I say absolutely not,” Amity snarled. She turned on her heel and marched toward the door. She stabbed her champagne glass on the top of the bar and meandered from the chaotic VIP area, suddenly sure she needed to get out of there. The party atmosphere was rollicking, panicked. And she had about a million things to do.
Just before she left, her eyes met with Aziz’s. His face was pained, his eyes faraway. She made no move toward him, and she soon swept away, without saying goodbye. A pang of guilt waved through her, but she brushed it away as she emerged into the Al-Mabbar streets.
After a wave into the universe, a cab halted
before her, and she jumped in. She breathed evenly, telling the man where to take her. She wanted to wash off the night; she wanted to lose the memory of that man’s eyes as he beckoned her. Finally, as the cab raced away, she was free.
Chapter 8
The door opened wordlessly as Amity approached it, aided by a maid who Amity would soon learn was awake for much of the night, ever ready to take care of Aziz and his fellow partiers. Amity thanked her and approached the steps. Her feet were heavy, like rocks. She slipped her heels off and felt the soft, expensive rug beneath her toes.
When she reached the first floor, she was surprised to hear the opening of the door downstairs. Perhaps another maid, another household worker? She arched her back and peered down, concealed behind a marble pillar. Curiosity at the happenings in the mansion at night had captured her.
But she was taken aback, in that moment, to see that it was the Sheikh himself who walked through the doors, his head high and his face calm, sincere, without that bright smile. He thanked the maid and adjusted his sleeves as he walked. Nothing about his movements was sloppy; he was all royalty, all perfect posture.
Amity toyed with rushing upstairs to her rooms, with pretending she wasn’t moments from seeing him. But an invisible force halted her. She waited until he appeared on the steps and she spun back, looking at him directly.
“Hi there,” she said softly.
“There you are,” Aziz said. “I left shortly after you did. Did you have a good night?”
Amity tilted her head back and forth, unsure of how to answer. “It was a nice club,” she chose. “And that champagne. To die for.”
Aziz dropped his chin. “Truthfully, I have an entire cellar full of that stuff downstairs. A bit greedy when it comes to French champagne, I’m afraid.”
“We all have our vices.”
“It doesn’t seem like you do,” Aziz countered. He looked at her curiously, climbing up the steps to join her. “But I was surprised when you didn’t say goodbye. Disheartened, in fact. Why did you leave?”
