“Ah, Kabeer, yes,” Yasmeena’s voice rang out as he heard her brisk footsteps in the hallway behind him. “Let us get started.”
“No apology?” Kabeer said, remaining seated with one leg crossed over the other knee as Yasmeena walked around the desk and looked at him with surprise.
“For what?” she said.
“You are late. I do not tolerate late.”
Yasmeena blinked as she looked at her brother. Her mouth opened like she was about to reply, but then she raised her right hand, shook her head as if to clear it, placed both hands on the table, and looked Kabeer right in the eye. “I am sorry, brother. There. OK now?”
“What do you want, Yasmeena? I have things to do,” Kabeer growled, looking at his phone again as he scrolled for new messages. There were scores of new messages—like there always were—but nothing from Jenny.
“It is not what I want, Kabeer. This meeting is about what you want.”
Kabeer looked up from his phone now. “And what is that?”
“Jenny Jones,” said Yasmeena, sitting down and leaning back.
Kabeer glowered and almost crushed his phone as he clenched. “What about her?”
“You have slept with her.”
“It is none of your damned business, Yasmeena.”
Yasmeena shook her head, thought for a moment, and then shrugged. “Fine. Whatever may or may not have happened between you and her on the boat is indeed your business. But she has signed our offer sheet, and Bukhaara Capital has allocated her funds. We are in business with Jenny Jones now, and so from now on it IS my business. And yours too, dear brother. It is ALL business now.” She snorted, shaking her head. “Especially now that you have committed to this ridiculous idea of being head chef. Ay, Khodai! Do you ever think before doing things anymore? If you want to just back off and drop this idea, it would be good. Think about it.”
Kabeer stayed quiet. Although all his intelligence and common sense told him he should back off, for some reason he felt more determined than ever. “It is not going to be a problem,” he said after a moment.
“Kabeer, listen, if you are serious about this head chef position—”
“You know I am serious about it, Yasmeena. I do not make a lot of commitments, but when I do, I damned well follow through. You know that, Yasmeena. You KNOW that!”
Yasmeena looked up in surprise at Kabeer’s outburst. She searched his face for a moment, her gray eyes examining her brother’s expression like she was trying to read something in it. Or perhaps she was considering her next words—Kabeer could not tell.
Now Yasmeena abruptly blinked and looked away and nodded. “Yes. OK. Then Kabeer, you must understand that you CANNOT be romantically linked with Jenny once we get started. Do you understand why?”
Kabeer was silent once again as he realized where his sister was going with this. Ordinarily he would have figured it out too—he was as sharp a business mind as she was. But his judgment was clouded, he knew. Clouded by what he could only describe as FEELINGS for this woman, this woman who had invaded his mind in just one goddamn day!
Yasmeena continued. “Yes, Kabeer? You understand that once we begin the public relations campaigns, if the press picks up that there is ANYTHING going on between you and Jenny, they will immediately spin it as—”
“As if my family company is funding her restaurant because I am sleeping with her,” Kabeer said with an uncharacteristic waver in his voice. “It would kill her credibility immediately. Make her look like she didn’t get funded on the merits of her idea and her talent. Make her look like a . . . like a . . .” He clenched his fist when he realized how right Yasmeena was. He had known it, of course. But he did not want to think about it. This was not like him. He was not thinking clearly. Not thinking far enough ahead. The unprotected sex. Committing to being this woman’s business partner. Her chef! Was he insane? Was he seriously losing his mind? There was a limit to jumping into things without considering the consequences, was there not? And had he finally crossed that limit? Goddamn it. GODDAMN IT!
“So you understand,” Yasmeena said.
Kabeer smiled, his lips so tight they looked white with constriction. “Yes.”
“And so you also understand that you will need to be publicly linked with another woman so that the press cannot even speculate that you are involved with Jenny. I do not care who the other woman is, but it would be useful if it were someone photogenic and famous. That shouldn’t be a problem, should it?”
Kabeer looked at her as a chill ran up his spine. But he held his poker face. He could not let Yasmeena know what he was feeling. Allah, he couldn’t let HIMSELF admit what he was feeling!
Yasmeena smiled now. “A model, actress, heiress, . . . whatever,” she said, leaning back in her chair and looking right at Kabeer with a strange pointedness, like she was testing him, watching his reaction to this. “You can even do your thing of being seen with three different women in a week. But it will be crucial that you are ALWAYS with another woman—we cannot have you single and working closely with Jenny for even a DAY. The rumors would start instantly, and it would change the story in a way that could hurt us.”
Kabeer nodded slowly as he stood up. His legs felt weak even as every muscle in his body tensed up. He wanted to PUNCH something, SMASH something, DESTROY something. But he had learned how to control himself, and he turned away from his sister and headed for the door. This was fine. He could work through this. He was just turned around right now, knocked off balance by this woman Jenny, taken by surprise by the attraction he felt when he was close to her, the feeling he got when he looked into those brown eyes, the electricity that ripped through his body when he touched her curves.
It will pass, he told himself as he reached for the door. Yasmeena is just trying to get under my skin, trying to get me to back off from getting involved with this restaurant. That is all it is.
But is that all, he wondered as he stopped before walking out. There was certainly the feeling that Yasmeena had been testing him when she talked about him not getting romantically involved with Jenny, about publicly seeing other women so the press would pick it up. What was his sister up to? Was she trying to figure out if he actually felt something for this American woman? If it was more than sex, more than a physical dalliance, more than a frivolous romp? But why would Yasmeena care so much? So what if he wanted something more with Jenny, if he actually began to care about her? Yes, there would be complications with the public relations, but that could be worked out, couldn’t it? Yasmeena would know that.
So is there some other reason why Yasmeena does not want me and Jenny to get involved. There is something that concerns her about me and Jenny. What? And why?
“I am not finished, Kabeer,” Yasmeena said now.
Kabeer was startled, wondering how long he had been standing there by the door. But now it occurred to him that it had only been a couple of seconds, and he cleared his mind and sighed. “What now, Yasmeena? You want a chaperone with me and Jenny at all times?”
“No, Kabeer. No. There is something else.” Her voice was soft, almost sad.
Kabeer turned now, eyebrows raised. “Yes. Go on.”
“Come, sit, brother,” Yasmeena said as she folded her arms across her chest, the satin red tunic throwing off flashes of light as it crinkled under the pressure. She glanced down at herself, and then up at Kabeer, a deep, meaningful look in her eyes. “Please,” she said quietly.
Kabeer took a step towards his sister, frowning as an inexplicable sense of dread entered him from the expression on his sister’s face, the way her voice shook, that faraway look in her eyes as she glanced back at that old photo. “What in Allah’s name is going on? If this is about separating me from Jenny, that is ridiculous. I barely know the woman, and I could not care—”
“Father is dead, Kabeer,” Yasmeena said suddenly, trying to force a smile as the words caught in her throat. She held the plastic smile as a tear gathered at the corner of her left eye. She
blinked now, and the tear slowly rolled down her cheek. “He passed two hours ago, in comfort, on his own terms. In his home. Our home. I asked that no one inform you. I wanted to tell you myself. He asked me to tell you myself.”
Kabeer shivered involuntarily. It felt like all the blood had suddenly drained from his body. He looked at his sister. She was composed now, and instead of grief, he suddenly felt anger.
“You spoke to him? You knew this was happening? And I am not told of it? I am the goddamn LAST to know?! How dare you? How DARE you?!”
Kabeer pushed back in his seat, the heavy chair screeching back from the table. He staggered to his feet now, for once truly afraid of the energy that raged through his body. He stormed to the far end of the sprawling, wood-paneled office, stopping at a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf filled with leather-bound volumes. He clenched his fists, ground his teeth, shut his eyes so tight it made him dizzy. He resisted the urge to strike at the wood, and he took several deep breaths before finally resting his head against the rows of books. Now the grief rushed in, and Kabeer swallowed hard as he allowed himself one deep, private sob that he could not contain.
“Why?” he said. “Why did he not tell me? Why did he not speak to me? Why you and not me, Yasmeena? For him it has always been you and not me, has it not? Is that why?”
Yasmeena snorted, her eyes going wide, and for a moment she looked like that child again, that serious older sister that only Kabeer could make squeal with laughter in those happy days that seemed like another life. She smiled now, disbelief in her eyes as she looked up at her brother.
“Oh, Kabeer,” she whispered. “You do not see it, do you? Of course you do not. For Father, there was no you and me, no him and her. It was always about duty, responsibly, and service. Service to his nation, his people, his God. Our nation, our people, our God.”
Kabeer paced the room now, trying to control the cacophony of thoughts, the maze of emotions. He stopped and looked up now, almost quizzical. “But this is how you tell me, Yasmeena? This is how you tell me our father is dead? You call a business meeting? It is all business to you?”
Yasmeena sighed now, glancing at that old photograph one more time. “Perhaps. But this is how Father wanted it done. He said he wanted it to be unexpected. Shocking. He said it would rouse you from your sleep.”
Kabeer blinked and shook his head like a dog at the beach. “Are you mad, Yasmeena? Was my father mad as well? Rouse me? ROUSE me?! Well, I am awake now, by Allah! What does he want from me?”
Yasmeena looked at him without expression. “You know what he wants from you. And he knows that you are too stubborn to ever listen to reason, to listen to argument, even to obey his direct command.” Now she shrugged. “So Father did what he thought would shock you into action. He wanted to short-circuit your brain, forcing you to bypass your cold intelligence, leaving you with nothing but your instincts, your feelings, your gut, your HEART to follow. Father said that was the only way a man can get in touch with his deepest purpose in life, what he was born to do, the man he was born to be. Do you see, Kabeer?”
Kabeer stood there in the middle of the room as the walls closed in on him. The rug beneath his feet started to spin. The very ceiling cracked down the middle. He looked up and he could see into heaven, he thought, and there was his father, that mischief in his eyes, that smile on his lips. Kabeer’s mother was beside him, as were the spirits of his ancestors, and all of them were looking down at him, waiting for him to make his choice.
Now Yasmeena walked up to her brother, touching him on the arm, now touching his face as she looked into his eyes with a warmth Kabeer had not seen in her for a long time.
“He yearned to speak with you one last time, Kabeer,” she whispered.
“Why did he not?” Kabeer managed to say.
“Because he wanted you to remember the last thing he said to you.”
“What was that?” Kabeer said, frowning as he tried to replay that last meeting with his father.
“I do not know, Kabeer. I was not there. And Father did not tell me.”
Kabeer sighed and turned around, nodding and shaking his head all at once as he walked to the window and stared out across downtown Chicago. The bustling city suddenly looked cold and lifeless to him, and he felt a strange, wistful longing for the heat of the Bukhaara sun, the cool dry air of the desert evenings, the sweet smell of cinnamon tea, the distant sounds of Arabian drumbeats. And as those images flooded his mind, a clarity came along with it, calming his soul, stilling his thoughts, giving him the strangest of peace.
Ya Allah, he thought as he watched the yellow taxis on the street below transform into majestic camels, the paved city streets now looking like the packed sand of the roads through the deserts, the fountain on Webster Street turning into the great oasis of Bukhaara. What was it Father said to me?
Then it came back to him, the last words he heard from his Father:
Sometimes it is just when you think you are escaping your destiny that you are in fact running towards it.
And now it all came to Kabeer in a flash, and as he stormed out of that dark, wood-paneled office, he knew there was no escaping destiny. Not for him. And not for her.
Not for her.
15
“What do you mean you will not see me? By God, you are going to see me if I have to—”
“I didn’t say I won’t see you, Kabeer. I said I CAN’T see you. Not right now. I’ve got a million things to do. I’ve got a meeting to negotiate the lease for the space. Then I’m talking with the interior designers and architects. I haven’t even STARTED talking supplier contracts with the food vendors. And all of this happens before I can even begin to think about staffing and hiring. I’m going insane right now—good insane, but insane. Just give me some space, all right?”
“SPACE? Jenny, it has been ONE MONTH and this is the first time you’ve even answered my call! I would have stormed into your apartment weeks ago, but I have been in Bukhaara attending to a personal family matter. Besides, I do not storm into the apartments of my women without—”
“Your WOMEN, Kabeer? Plural?” Jenny almost spat the words out, and the moment she said it she knew she had screwed up. She had shown her hand. Shown him that she gave a shit. That it mattered. That maybe HE mattered.
She moved the phone away from her ear and mouthed out an expletive and almost stomped her foot, she was so damned angry with herself. This could NOT be happening to her right now. She could NOT be falling for someone at the exact time she needed her wits about her.
Calm down, she told herself, just like she had been telling herself for three weeks now. One out-of-character escapade doesn’t mean you’re falling for him. Lust is not the same as love, even though it’s easily confused in the moment. You’re smarter than this, Jenny. Wiser, more experienced, STRONGER. You’re staring at the chance of a lifetime with this financing. Don’t screw it up for some billionaire playboy just because he made you come a few times.
Oh, but how I came, she remembered—not like she had ever forgotten! You don’t forget passion like that. If anything, the wonderful chaos of the past few weeks—signing the offer sheet, seeing the money come through, walking through that beautiful space off Michigan Avenue with the knowledge that it would soon be hers . . . yes, the madness of the past three weeks had only HEIGHTENED the memory of that intense hour with Kabeer, in the open air on that yacht, beneath the cloudless sky, the burning sun . . . oh, God, that WAS real, wasn’t it?
“Jenny?” came his voice over the phone. “Are you still there, little Jenny?”
Jenny shook herself out of it and cleared her throat, thinking of what Yasmeena had told her. This was business now. All business. “Kabeer, don’t call me that. We’re going to be working together, and so—”
“What, so you are Ms. Jones to me now?” He paused now, his voice low when he spoke again. “And was that Ms. Jones’s lips I kissed three weeks ago? Was it Ms. Jones who shivered and moaned in my arms as I pulled down her wet p
anties and—”
“STOP IT!” Jenny screamed. “That was ONE time! The ONLY time. You said so yourself—once I signed the contract, it’s all business.”
“Actually I never said that,” Kabeer replied. “I said that it was one-hundred percent personal until you signed the contract. I did not say anything else.”
“Well, I told you what Yasmeena said, Kabeer. And she’s right—”
“What did Yasmeena say? When? Has she spoken to you recently?”
Jenny hesitated. Then she took a deep breath and answered. “Yasmeena and I have spoken several times over the past three weeks. She’s been very involved in putting me in touch with the right people as I get things organized. She really knows how to—”
“Not that, Jenny,” Kabeer snapped, his anger coming through clearly, as if he had lost control for a second. He went quiet immediately, and Jenny heard him breathe like he was trying to control himself. “I am sorry,” he said finally. “But you know what I meant, Jenny. Did my sister say anything about me? About us? Do not lie to me, Jenny.”
She almost snapped back at him, almost reminded him that there was no “us!” But she couldn’t help feel a tingling warmth that threatened to melt her as she listened to Kabeer talk, listened to him speak about them like there could be something there, like there already WAS something there! Still, she held back as she considered what to say next, and of course there was nothing to think about. She didn’t do bullshit. Lying or skirting around the truth was too much overhead. So she sighed and just told him.
“Yes, Kabeer. Yasmeena told me everything. She made it clear that I could not be romantically involved with you if I wanted this restaurant to succeed.” She paused, her breath catching as she spoke her next words carefully, dispassionately, like she had practiced ever since Yasmeena had explained in no uncertain terms what it would mean if she and Kabeer even looked like they were together. “Yasmeena explained everything, and she’s absolutely right. I agree with her. What happened on the boat—that was . . . fun. Yes, it was fun. But that’s all it was. Fun. So let’s just stick with the story—which is a TRUE story, by the way.”
Flames for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 2) Page 11
