Sheikh's Revenge (13 page)

“Well, I do admit that Sheikha Bahan may have called earlier this week lamenting how the throne still has no heirs, and how long it’s been since she had a grandbaby in the palace.”

“Then I suggest that Naseef and Jasmine have a third child. They’re surely up for toddlers running around and smashing things all over again,” Amir replied, folding up his files and sitting back in his chair. This was obviously a setup. His mother and the assistant she’d corrupted had been waiting a while to confront him about his playboy ways.

However, he was thirty-five and busy expanding the Bahan building empire. He was preparing to unveil the first in a cadre of successful casinos. He didn’t need romance. Sure, he occasionally loved having the attentions of one lucky lady for the night (or sometimes more if he were feeling adventurous). What he didn’t need was to be dragged down into anything else. He didn’t need commitment, didn’t need his prying parents getting involved, and he certainly didn’t want whiny brats who destroyed everything they touched. As much as he cared for his nieces and nephews, he appreciated them a lot more as six-year-olds than he had when they were toddlers.

He just wasn’t paternal, and he wasn’t sure how to get Mother and Father to understand that.

Of course, since he was the oldest of his brothers and the legitimate heir to the throne, it wasn’t just his family that was interested in him having children. There was a whole country waiting with bated breath for the next sheikh in line.

“Mother doesn’t need to deputize you to do her dirty work, Mafir.”

He shrugged and suppressed a smile. “My sheikh, between you and Sheikha Bahan, I’m going to listen to her. She’s far scarier than you’ll ever be.”

“That’s seriously undercutting my mystique.”

“No, it’s not. I know the sheikha is a hair puller and fights dirty. You would engage me in a duel with honor. She’s definitely the person to be more wary of,” Mafir continued. “I only suggest from her, ahem, ‘advice’ that you think less of one-night stands and jewelry as signs of insincere gratitude.”

“Even if they’re not the best or most enthusiastic partners, I appreciate every woman who shares my bed,” Amir objected, folding his hands behind his head and leaning even further back. “I just have a tier system.”

“And the sheikha thinks that you should, perhaps, engage in that final top tier and, as the Americans say, put a ring on it.”

“Well, I can’t wait to speak more to Mother when she’s here for the opening gala this week. I’m sure she’ll talk my ear off about how I’m ruining the family, breaking her heart, and being an utter cad about town.”

“Oh she used a far more colorful word for you, my sheikh,” Mafir said with a smirk.

“Quite. Just get Svetlana up and thank her kindly. Also, what’s the next thing on my schedule? I’ve been slammed going over the final plans and financials for the art gallery opening—”

“Let it never be said that your luxury resort doesn’t have a bit of everything,” Mafir conceded.

“Exactly, but what’s next on the docket? I know that the sous chef at Sayonara has been clashing with Yoshi. Also, I’m still not sure I’m happy with the Gucci display in our retail venue. I think it could do better, be more eye catching.”

“Sir, you can exercise your micromanaging tendencies soon enough. Right now there’s a reporter from the Style section of, I believe, the
Washington Sentinel
here to interview you.”

“Can’t Kantaya do another one? That’s what the press secretary is for.”

Mafir shook his head. “Market research indicated that at least twenty percent of interviews should be done with you directly. Since this is an American outlet, and we’re trying to make sure the whale gamblers from the United States feel safe and secure here, you know that speaking with Miss Sinclair will be best.”

“You say that now, but I find those interviews mind-numbingly boring.”

“Yes, but unfortunately, the property won’t sell itself,” he said, bowing low again. “I’ll take care of, uh, Svetlana and see Miss Sinclair in. Be nice, my sheikh.”

“I’m always nice. I’m practically a teddy bear,” he replied gruffly.

“Quite, how could I have ever been mistaken?” Mafir said before disappearing out the door.

He really had to find a way to get his assistant squarely on his team. He’d be damned if he’d be getting the responsibility spiel forever from every corner—even from his freaking manservant! Shaking his head, Amir rose and came to stand at the huge bank of windows that were the main focal feature of his office. The casino was a massive structure, standing as the tallest high-rise in Abu Dhabi. It wasn’t just a casino; it was an entire compound of fine dining, shopping, and entertainment. Ali Babba Casino’s boasted three separate concert and entertainment halls, as well as a gallery featuring a collection showcasing the most beautiful art from the ancient world and his own personal favorites. It was a huge gamble—something bigger than any of his father’s or grandfather’s holdings—but if it all worked, it would put the Bahan family on the map in the same way that the American casinos were so closely tied to the Maloofs.

Of course, if it failed, he’d be the laughingstock of Middle Eastern business.

He wasn’t about to let that happen.

“Ahem, are you going to stand there all day?” a clipped voice rang out.

He turned and was about to send the reporter away for being so rude when his breath caught in his throat. The woman before him was not traditionally beautiful. While she did have long, blond hair that was the color of spun gold and blue eyes that reminded him of cut sapphires, she was barely five feet tall and curvier than he usually liked. Yet, there was something about her that stirred him deeply. Perhaps it was those soul-searching eyes or the amused quirk of her lips, but he was pretty sure the thing that drew him most was the defiant jut of her chin, the way she seemed to be daring him to cross her. It didn’t seem to make her pause in the least that she was standing before both a billionaire and royalty.

And that was a damn sexy turn-on.

“Excuse my manners then, Miss Sinclair.”

“Just call me Amanda,” she said, sitting down in a chair and pulling out her recorder. “I’ve given up on any pretense of formality.”

He arched his eyebrow back at her, intrigued again by her flippancy. After all, it was so rare for him to feel amused by anything. Women could be alluring…for a time. It was just that so few ever held his attention. Even if she were just here on business, Miss Sinclair was off to a promising start.

“Would the
Sentinel
be happy with that, Miss Sinclair?”

“I told you we could be informal.”

“Then if we’re being informal, I have to confess that I love the way your last name rolls off my tongue, Miss
Sinclair
,” he said, enunciating each syllable slowly to help convey his point. “Still, I’ve rarely had a reporter come and question where I was even standing in the interview. What’s your story?”

“That’s not part of the interview,” she said, her tone clipped. “I think the only thing that
is
would be a plethora of airhead questions about what the best sushi dish will be and how you were able to get Lagerfeld to set up a store for you. I have that all prepped. You give me the pat answers, and I can be out of here in five.”

“Where would the fun in that be?” he purred, as he circled her chair. She sat up straighter, and the way he was clearly getting under her skin only encouraged him. “Let’s do a bit more quid pro quo.”

“Well, I’m not Clarice Starling, and you’re not Hannibal Lecter, so I’m not sure that’s what I want to do,” she said.

“You know some actual honesty would be more interesting than ‘puff-piece bullshit,’ as you put it.”

“I didn’t say that,” she said, a faint flush coloring her cheeks. That hint of pink only served to make his heart race and push blood to places farther south.

“But you were thinking it,” he added as he passed behind her again. Reaching out, he swept her hair back from off her shoulder. Dear Allah, it felt like silk against his skin. “I’m thinking it too. I’ve done at least two dozen of these this month, and we both know I’m not going to tell you anything you can’t get from the press release or that hasn’t already been said by my press agent.”

“Exactly, so if you would just give me whatever spiel you need out there, then I’ll be happily back to my room.”

“Oh, so you’re staying here?”

“I’m sure I’m not the only reporter here who’s being spoiled,” she said, tilting that chin of hers back up at him. “You’re sparing no expense to wine and dine potential critics and naysayers. Are you nervous about the speculation? The thoughts that tourism to Abu Dhabi doesn’t merit a spectacle like you’ve created?”

He stopped sauntering and leaned back against his desk. “That’s not the usual question someone from this beat would ask.”

“Maybe they want to, but all of them are too scared and keep kissing your ring,” she said, her chin jutting up sharply.

Her blue eyes sparkled with intensity, and he wanted nothing more than to sweep everything off of his desk and have his way with her. At least she’d be more rewarding for him, help him ease off more tension that Svetlana had. He was on edge; that was all. If Svetlana had been up to her reputation, then he wouldn’t be taking a second look at this plump reporter.

“Then tell me more. What do you actually think about the casino and resort?”

“I just flew in yesterday. So far, I do find the pool the best spot. It’s hot as hell out here, and I don’t have any patience for it. I think there’s sand in every crevice of my body and definitely in my mouth. I don’t think I was ready for Abu Dhabi at all. I used to think that one family vacation I had once in Texas was too much. This is like trying to murder me in a sand sauna.”

“Alright, so the pool’s a hit. You don’t care for the rest?”

“I haven’t had time to window shop with designer labels or see shoes I can’t possibly afford. I also am not a huge sushi fan.”

“We have traditional Middle Eastern and French dishes as well. These are all Michelin chefs who are beyond amazing,” he countered.

“Yes, and yet you named it Ali Babba’s. That’s beyond cheesy,” she objected, wrinkling her nose up in a way that was equally annoying and adorable.

“To be fair,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, “my PR department decided that naming it something that could be a nod to tales that Americans and other Westerners would know would help with tourism. You’d be surprised how hard it is to get Westerners out here, even though we’re a completely safe area.”

“Well, most Westerners can’t tell Dubai from Abu Dhabi if you held a gun to their heads,” she admitted. “But this is completely off the record. You have to admit that it’s a terrible name.”

He nodded, rejoicing in her candor. It was so rare for even the press to be forthright with him. “I wasn’t in love with it. I wanted to name it after my little sister, but the focus groups were against it.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister. The briefing materials didn’t list anything on that, and neither did my online research.”

“Well,” he said. “I suppose you don’t know everything then, Miss Sinclair. I was a twin, but she died of a fever when we were seven. As for the name, I went with what I thought would sell because the old axiom isn’t wrong. Everyone has a price.”

She frowned, and for the first time, something besides hardened skepticism glinted in those blue eyes of hers. Maybe it was understanding; he just hoped it wasn’t pity. He never should have said as much, but he’d always loathed himself for letting go on that one point. He shouldn’t have budged on the name.

“You shouldn’t have sold out on that one thing. It’s a sweet gesture, and frankly, it would have made a great story.”

“I wanted to honor Farana, but maybe it’s for the best. I don’t know if I have the strength to explain about her to everyone. Perhaps I should, though. It’s a shame how easy it is for family to grow forgotten.”

She nodded and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “I get that. I love my dad, and my stepmom has always tried so hard. God knows I gave her so much crap as a teenager. Still, there’s something about my dad remarrying at all that burns me up. I know it’s selfish, and still childish in some small part of my mind, but I sometimes feel like even that much moving on makes it seem like Mom’s been buried a second time.”

She surprised him then by reaching out and touching his hand. “Don’t ever hide the truth about someone you care about. Trust me, I know that way too well.”

“But I am led to believe,” he continued, “that you find the kitsch of the ‘Ali Babba’ name as ridiculous as I do?”

“I think it’s a bit degrading. I suppose it’s better that you didn’t call it ‘Aladdin’s’ or make a ‘1,001 Arabian Nights’ pun,” she replied, smirking.

So the intrigue continues, does it not
?

“Do you have other questions for me?” he asked. “I can tell you about the specs for the restaurants and our chefs. I can talk about the amazing magicians and stage shows we’ve hired for the night entertainment. I can even tell you about the literal, arduous process of creating this skyscraper girder by girder.”

He couldn’t keep the pride from creeping into his voice. No matter how risky this maneuver was or how much his father had frowned at the idea of going big with their next building venture, the resort and casino had been a complete labor of love for Amir. It was almost like his child, something he’d fought for in order to bring lovingly into existence. Considering he enjoyed his bachelor lifestyle, he figured this would be the closest thing to a legacy he’d leave on the world…assuming the casino survived and flourished the way he sincerely hoped it would.

“I suppose you’ll have to tell me.”

He frowned back at her, still intrigued by her utter lack of care. He’d dealt with reporters for years. It went hand in hand with being a royal and with his family’s vast financial holdings. He’d rarely met one who couldn’t fake enthusiasm or even politeness. Whatever else were true about Miss Sinclair, she had a serious stick up her bum, and he wasn’t sure where it had come from. Yet, her acerbic nature was refreshing, something that toyed with him.