Rainwater Kisses: A Billionaire Love Story (9 page)

Rachel grinned at me as we headed
back out to the waiting car. I could see why Emma loved Rachel. The two of
them, despite their age difference, got along famously.

"You lovely ladies have a
wonderful time and spend all of Mr. Saunders' money?" Dean asked as we
piled back into the SUV.

"Every dime. But Kaylee is
going to look fab-u-lous!" Emma said, rocking her shoulders and giving her
hand a single wave. Rachel snorted, and Dean just rolled his eyes as he pulled
out into traffic.

I gave her a playful shove, but I
couldn't wait to show Owen what we had bought.

I
stood, anxiously waiting for Owen
in the lobby of the hotel where we were staying. Since he traveled on such a
regular basis, he didn't bother keeping a house in the city and instead just
rented the penthouse suite whenever he needed it. He had told me to meet him in
the lobby, and he would pick me up when he finished a meeting with Jack to go
over the details for his upcoming business trip. He had told me he was taking
me to a fancy French restaurant and to get dolled up.

I fussed with the straps on my
dress, as much making sure that it was in place as giving my hands something to
do. Rachel and Emma had found me the perfect dress while we were out shopping,
and then Rachel arranged for someone to come to the hotel to do my hair and
makeup for my date. I chewed my lip, knowing that I was probably smearing my
lipstick. Owen was only a few minutes late, but because of my dress, everyone
who walked through the lobby stopped to look at me.

I looked like something off the red
carpet at the Oscars. I wore a long, flowing gown of soft white fabric that
fluttered when I walked. It was cut in a Grecian style, with a form fitting top
and a skirt that cascaded beautifully to pool on the floor. The dress was long
enough that I was able to wear simple white ballet slippers, the skirt's hem
long enough that my feet were completely hidden. My hair was slightly pulled
back out of my face, but left loose down my back in soft waves. Emma lent me a
simple diamond necklace and sparkling chandelier earrings to complete the look.

Owen finally walked in through the
front door, moving the crowd aside like he owned the place. Our eyes met across
the lobby, and he moved toward me, slicing through the room as though it were
empty. His dark gray suit somehow made his eyes even bluer as he smiled at only
me.

"You look better every time
you put on a dress," he said as soon as he reached me. I kissed him
gently, not wanting to leave a lipstick mark. He took my hand and held me out
as though we had just finished dancing, his eyes going up and down, appraising
the dress. He held my hand up over my head, coaxing me into a spin. The fabric
floated gracefully before settling again. "I think this is my favorite
dress I've seen you in."

"Thank you," I said, blushing
to the roots of my hair. "You look pretty good yourself."

He grinned and did a model spin for
me, finishing with a flamboyant hand on his hip. Even with his goofy antics, he
looked hot. The dark gray of the suit stood out against the white of a dress
shirt, and a tie the exact color of his eyes pulled everything together. The
suit accented his broad shoulders and tapered waist, even showing off his
perfect ass.

A camera flashed and I remembered
that we weren't in our private hotel suite, but instead in the lobby of a very
stylish and popular hotel. A woman in a wide brimmed hat and oversized
sunglasses looked at us with wide eyes.

"Are you two celebrities? I
hear celebrities stay here," the woman babbled, her eyes excited as she
held up her camera to take another picture.

"No, we're just normal
people." Owen said as he smiled politely at the tourist. She looked
disappointed, and she turned to walk away. I giggled, the idea of being
mistaken for a celebrity amusing me. No one at home would ever mistake me for a
movie star. Owen carefully folded my hand into the crook of his arm, and
escorted me out to a waiting car.

I had given up on trying to figure
out what expensive model of car we were driving. Owen seemed to enjoy having a
new fancy car at every opportunity. He had told me he didn't actually own any
of them, he just rented whatever he felt like when he needed one. I had laughed
at the idea that I actually owned more cars than a billionaire, since I
actually did own a car, but then he pointed out that he owned a plane. I told
him planes didn't count as cars, so I still had more.

This one was a silver convertible.
It was early afternoon, and sunshine peeked through the clouds, casting a warm,
dappled light across the city. The weather was finally nice enough that a
convertible sounded wonderful. Owen opened the door to the passenger side, his
face going pale as I sat down.

"I just realized your hair,
and the car..."

I laughed. "Don't worry. There
is enough hair spray on this to hold it through a hurricane. Besides, I think
the windswept look is in right now. I'd rather drive with the top down and
enjoy this weather than have the roof up."

His face brightened again, and he
jumped into the driver's seat. With a roar of the engine, he pulled out onto
the busy street, the wind blowing gently in my hair. He drove through the city,
pointing out different landmarks and places that he thought I might enjoy. It
wasn't long before we reached a stylish white brick building with ivy crawling
up toward the windows.

Owen tossed the keys to a valet and
hurried over to help me out. I smoothed my hair from the drive, a little
surprised at just how well it had held up. It was surprisingly easy to maneuver
out of the fancy sports car in my flowing dress, but I gladly accepted Owen's
hand to help me stand. Any excuse to touch him was a good excuse.

Inside the white building, we
walked through the main room to a private dining area. Everything had a golden
glow, as though the entire place was candlelit. A string quartet played softly
in the corner, their music soothing and the perfect volume for dinner
conversation.

Owen pulled an ornate chair out for
me to get my legs situated under the heavy wooden table, and then helped to
push me under once I was seated. I glanced nervously at the array of utensils
displayed before me. I was used to a salad fork and regular fork at
restaurants, but there were tiny forks, an extra spoon, and more glasses than I
knew what to do with. I was out of my league here.

The waiter placed my napkin on my
lap and handed me a large leather-bound menu as Owen ordered a bottle of wine.
I opened it up, wondering what culinary delights I would find inside. Instead,
I stared at the pages, feeling foolish. I couldn't understand a word on the
menu. It was all in French, and despite my French last name, I couldn't read a
word.

Owen peeked over his menu at me and
caught my blank look. He whispered softly, "Chicken, fish, or beef?"

"Fish."

"Do you mind if I order for
you?"

I shook my head, grateful that I
wouldn't have to choose between butchering the beautiful language or pointing
to the menu in silent shame.

"Is there anything you don't
want to eat? Are you all right trying escargot? It's amazing here," Owen
asked. I smiled, glad he was making sure I would enjoy what he ordered for me.

"I'll try anything. Escargot
is snails, right? I'll try it, but I have no idea how to actually eat it."
I gave him a brave smile, a touch of nerves hitting me. This place was far
fancier than anything I had ever even imagined possible. Back home, even the
nicest places let people walk in and order wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Here,
everyone was elegantly dressed in designer gowns and suits, and I had a feeling
that jeans and a T-shirt would never even get to look at a menu.

When the waiter returned to fill up
our wine glasses, Owen ordered in perfect, or at least what sounded perfect to
me, French. The waiter nodded and took our menus, disappearing once again.

"You speak French?" I
asked Owen, impressed at learning of his talent. He blushed a little.

"Only enough to sound like I
know what I'm doing when I order in a restaurant. Pierre, my chef, taught me a
little. I can swear decently in French, though, also thanks to Pierre." He
gave me a little boy's naughty grin and I couldn't help but smile back.

"What other languages do you
speak?" I sipped on my wine, wondering if I should raise my pinky in the
air. No, that was for tea; it just didn't seem fancy enough to just drink the
normal way in a place like this.

"I am getting pretty good at
Arabic, and I can order cervezas like a pro in Spanish. But other than that, I
just know key phrases. You?"

"I know some medical Spanish,
but I wouldn't say I'm even close to fluent. Will I need to know Arabic for our
trip?"

Owen smiled and shook his head.
"No. All these business dealings will be done in English."

I was about to ask more, but the
waiter returned with two small round plates that he set in front of each of us.
Six tan and white shells were presented like artwork, each in its own little hollow
of the special plate and dressed in butter. It smelled fantastic.

Owen picked up a pair of tongs and
a slender two pronged fork from the assortment of utensils before us. I
mimicked his motions as he grasped the shell with the tongs and used the fork to
pull the meat out of the shell. I hesitantly put the food in my mouth, unsure
of what to expect.

It was delicious. The snail
reminded me slightly of an oyster, but with an earthy taste instead of salty.
The butter sauce was creamy and divine, giving the little piece of meat more
flavor than I had been expecting for something so small.

"You like it?" Owen
asked, dipping a piece of bread into the butter sauce.

I nodded, going for a second shell.
The tongs slipped and the shell threatened to fly off the table, like the scene
from
Pretty Woman
, but I caught it before it got too far.

"Slippery little
suckers," I said, glancing around to make sure no one else had seen my
scramble with the shell. Owen chuckled.

"You'll get better at it the
more you eat them."

"I know we are going to Dubai,
but what are we doing there? Are you sure it will be okay for me to come?"
I half hoped he would tell me that I actually wasn't coming and that I didn't
have to get on another plane. I half hoped that I could just rent a car and
drive home, but that would mean I wouldn't be with Owen.

"Yes, I'm sure that it's fine.
I wouldn't have asked you otherwise. I know you had to take time off work for
this, which I appreciate, so I'm going to make sure you have a good time. As
far as what we are doing there, we will be wooing a sheik."

"A sheik? Like a prince?"
I sat up straighter at the table. I never thought I would meet royalty. The
waiter came and whisked the empty escargot dishes away, placing a small bowl of
sorbet in front of me. I looked up at Owen, confused as to why dessert was
being served.

"It's a palate cleanser before
the main course," he explained.

I nodded and took a taste. Sweet
orange sorbet.

"So a sheik, huh?" The
sorbet was gone in two bites. I hoped dinner was coming soon, because despite
the escargot and now the sorbet, I was still hungry.

"Yes. Sheik al-Saffar owns a
large portion of the oil fields in production currently. He is thinking of
partnering with Jack's company, due in part to Jack's marketing success. My job
is to convince him that, since I am the head of marketing, my team will sell
his oil better than he can himself." Owen folded his hands neatly on the
table in front of him as though he had just finished a business proposal. I
leaned back thoughtfully in my seat.

"I have a feeling it's more
complicated than that, isn't it?"

"You might have a future in
this business, Kaylee," he said, a grin breaking across his face.

"Nah, I'm better suited to
scrubs than suits."

The waiter returned, refilling our
wine glasses and placing the main course on the table. I almost didn't want to
eat it because it was so pretty. A small fillet of white fish sat perched on a
bed of onion, fennel, and tomatoes with a sauce that I could only describe as
heavenly. Small clams and shrimp dotted the plate, adding to the amazing sauce.
I had heard the word
bouillabaisse
when Owen had ordered and was sure
that was what the sauce was called. I could die happy if I only ate that for
the rest of my life.

Owen smiled at my look of rapture
as I tasted the food before he continued. "We are meeting with the sheik
and his son to forge a personal relationship with them. A lot of these business
deals are built more on whom you like than what you can do. Most companies can
offer similar services, but what they can't do is the relationship. The sheik
actually had an arrangement with one of our competitors, but he wasn't getting
what he wanted, so he has come to us. We offer almost the exact same core
services, but we are willing to give him that something extra he is looking
for."

"So,
you
are the sales
pitch, then. The relationship that he is looking for. He wants someone he likes
to sell his oil for him."

Owen nodded, a smile spreading
across his face. "You're getting it."

We sat quietly for a moment, each
of us enjoying our food. Owen gave me a bite of his beef bourguignon, and I
shared my fish with him. I was hungrier than I thought, because despite my best
efforts, the fish was gone long before I was full.

"Earlier, you said, 'We are
wooing'. Do you mean me, or the company?"

"You, actually. You will be
able to help me quite a bit with this."

My forehead crinkled as I tried to
figure out how I would be able to help. I was a medical professional, not a
salesperson. Especially not an oil markets salesperson. Unless the sheik needed
help controlling his cholesterol or fixing a broken leg, I couldn't see what
use I was going to be.

Owen smiled at me, waiting for the
waiter to serve the next part of our meal before answering. A small plate of
different kinds of cheese sat between us, waiting to be shared. I tried them
cautiously, but found their flavors were actually quite good.

"I have been invited to dinner
with the sheik and his son, and was told to bring a guest. It is very common to
discuss business matters over dinner, and as I am trying to forge a more
personal relationship with him, this is the perfect opportunity to bring you
along. If it goes well, there will be more dinners. More dinners means more
opportunities to impress him." Owen watched my face carefully, gauging my
reaction to his words.