To their left, a maid entered the garden, carrying a tray of tea and coffee. She placed it on the table before them, along with a small bowl of cookies, before sauntering back into the house.
Amity called out a brief thank you before reaching for a cookie. She shrugged her shoulders. “About me. Well. As I’ve said, I lived in Minnesota prior to moving out to L.A. and diving headfirst into the PR industry. From an early age, I knew I wanted this life, this professional world. And because I busted my butt for the first few years, I got a very early promotion.”
“That’s impressive,” Aziz murmured. He ignored the tea and coffee, choosing instead to focus upon her.
“Provided everything goes well with this encounter, I’ll be able to work my way up on the East Coast. I’m always looking for my next big endeavor.” She gave him a false grin, knowing she sounded a bit plastic, a bit strange. She hated discussing herself, although she did have immense pride in her accomplishments.
“Well,” Aziz said, bowing his head slightly. “I have the highest respect for your professional success, Amity. However—I’d like to reiterate. I wanted to hear about you. Not about your accomplishments. I want to know about you.” His voice was warm, soothing.
Amity blinked wildly, realizing that she hadn’t been asked that question in years. She swallowed, unsure. Why was he so curious about her personal life? As seconds passed, she realized she needed to say something—anything. Her tongue played against her teeth.
“Well. I suppose you could say that I’ve had trouble separating myself from my work. Especially in the last few years.” Her words were tentative. They hung in the air.
Aziz nodded, understanding. Urging her to go on.
“I mean, working late at the office for the likes of Britney and Christina—plus a stint with Lindsay Lohan.” Amity gave him a broad smile. “It certainly doesn’t leave you a lot of time for yourself, to think about what you might want. To imagine any kind of personal life.”
Aziz leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You weren’t much of a partier in your early twenties, then?” His eyes gleamed.
“I could probably count on one hand how many ‘big nights’ I’ve had since I turned 21,” Amity admitted. “I haven’t been committed to making friends, let alone any kind of romantic life.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I’m only 27. Maybe there’s still time.”
“Of course there is,” Aziz replied, giving her a grin. “Hey. Before we really get going on this, do you mind if we order lunch from my chefs? I’m not really feeling cookies, and breakfast feels like it was light-years ago.”
“Not at all.”
Aziz swept his phone from his pocket and quickly dialed a number. Speaking in rapid Arabic, he ordered what sounded like a long list of dishes, before adding in English, “Oh and a bottle of red wine. I have a guest today; make it a good one,” he teased the man on the phone.
Amity felt lightheaded. Was this what traveling was meant to feel like?
“Anyway,” Aziz said, ending the call. “It’s strange how committed you were to your career during these years, while I was whiling away here—trying to live from party to party.” He shook his head, his dark pupils meeting hers. “But it always seemed like I was missing out on something.”
“That’s how I felt every single day,” Amity laughed. “Like I was working for something that almost didn’t matter anymore, after I’d lost so much time out of my life.”
“After each party, I’d look around at my near-destroyed mansion, and I’d wonder what it was all for,” Aziz murmured. “Maybe it’s just an inescapable element of your 20s—that you always feel you’re missing out on something.”
“Maybe,” Amity admitted, looking at her hands.
“Anyway. You grew up in Minnesota. What was that like? Your parents—what about them?” Aziz asked. A basket of pita bread had been placed between them, and he tore a piece from one delicately, bringing it into the hummus and then biting it. Everything he did was so comfortable, without making Amity feel jarred.
“Well. My father was a lawyer, my mother a teacher,” she began. “I was always living under the shadow of my older sister, Elizabeth. She was a sporty type. Won all these awards in high school. And on top of it all, she was absolutely gorgeous. Tall and blonde.” She blushed. She hadn’t spoken to anyone about her sister in a long time.
“And I suppose you came out thinking you were less than her?” Aziz asked. He nodded, understanding. “I mean, that’s how I always felt in my father’s shadow. It was wonderful as a kid, at least at first. I was recognized with him constantly. We would visit the oil rigs, and we were greeted like royalty. We’re related to the King—and if, maybe six or seven people die before I do, I’ll be king myself.” He grinned sheepishly. “But anyway. Living in that kind of shadow, it gets to you, I think. In my life, I just tried to party as hard as I could. This was how I got out of his shadow. Everyone could see how different I was, compared to him. But you—you just worked until you were far enough above her—”
“Actually,” Amity began, her voice gruff. “Elizabeth died when I was 22. I was working really hard, like you said. Struggling to get out of her shadow. Living day and night at the L.A. office. One night, I was working late when I got the call. She’d died in an auto accident.”
She paused. Why was she confiding so much in this man—why did she think she could trust him? She just felt so comfortable talking to him, and now she’d opened up, she didn’t want to stop.
“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.
SEVEN
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 jetlagged 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