Secret Triplets

by Holly Rayner

  “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 flourish, 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 gl
asses. 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 and 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.”

  As she spoke, she realized she was going to stick out the personal assistant routine for the next week, as she’d promised. She felt a connection with Jibril, something she couldn’t refute (yet knew, naturally, she couldn’t pursue). That said, she couldn’t just give up on him, not now that their friendship was blossoming. She was losing the dark, achingly lonely feeling in her heart.

  But when she returned to her bed, alone, that night, she felt the loneliness creep back in, a reminder that one fun night out with a handsome man wouldn’t cure everything. She needed more. She needed companionship, friendship—love.

  Chapter Seven

  Just as she expected, life returned to normal the following day. After a crack-of-dawn wake-up call, Audrey awoke, rushed across the city to walk the dog, and then found herself in the Sheikh’s apartment, organizing his groceries. At one point he meandered from his room, giving her a firm, professional wave before entering his gym and starting to run on the treadmill, watching his show. Audrey’s face burned with annoyance. She felt as though she’d been tricked into continuing this silly routine.

  “I was meant for more than this,” she muttered, stuffing a large head of lettuce into the back of his gleaming refrigerator. “I graduated at the top of my class! At Berkeley, no less! I didn’t need to eat in a luxury San Franciscan restaurant. I can survive on burritos just fine.”

  Pressing her lips tightly together, she completed the menial tasks at his apartment before rushing across town to the garage that held his other cars—the sports vehicles he “just didn’t have time for right now”—and ensured that each got its oil changed and was waxed, even if that meant she had to do it herself. Huffing and sweating after swiping wax to-and-fro across the hoods of five cars in her sweatpants, she collapsed into a chair, cursing the day she’d agreed to this.

  The next few days crept on in that manner, making her feel resolutely unhappy and even causing her to type up not one, but three additional resignation letters. On Tuesday, just four days before her two-week completion date, she prepared to dart from the office for the day, hopeful to get at least eight hours of sleep that night.

  When she poked her head into the Sheikh’s office to say good-bye, she found his eyes peering at her, almost penetrating right into her soul. Taken aback, her eyes widened, her soft, pillow-like lips parting, searching for answers.

  “I have something I need you to do,” he said, breaking the silence.

  Audrey held back her sigh. With her heart receding in her chest, she held her breath, awaiting the fall of the sword.


  “I need you to come on a business trip with me to Ash-Kahlbi,” he stated firmly. “We’ll be leaving in the morning. I’ll need you to be ready at four.”

  “Four a.m.?” Audrey asked, incredulous.

  Jibril didn’t answer. He turned his head back toward his computer, focusing on the slides Audrey had edited for him earlier that day.

  “I don’t know if I—” Audrey halted her words. How could traveling halfway across the world be a part of her job? Her stomach quaked, reminding her that she’d never boarded a plane. Perhaps she’d only avoided it—her lust for adventure—because she felt anxious about going up in the air.

  “You’ll need to pack a suitcase,” Jibril said, cutting through her hesitant words. “We’ll be there till the weekend. You’ll head home the day your personal assistant status is complete. I haven’t forgotten.”

  Audrey bowed her head, conscious that arguing wouldn’t get her anywhere. It hadn’t before. “I’ll see you at four in the morning then,” she said. “Have you arranged for someone else to walk the dog?”

  “She can handle it for the week,” Jibril said. “And my secretary will be interviewing potential personal assistants for your replacement while we’re gone. Do you have any certain qualifications you believe this new candidate should have?”

  “To be your personal assistant?” Audrey asked, surprised he was asking her opinion.

  “Yes. I’d assume you’d know more than most,” Jibril said.

  “Okay. Yes. Tell your secretary to look for the most patient person on the planet. That’s the only person who’s qualified.”

  Not waiting for his answer, Audrey scurried back to her desk, grabbed her raincoat, and fled onto the slippery streets, shivering with travel nerves.