The Sheikh's Triplet Baby Surprise (The Sheikh's Baby Surprise Book 3) (5 page)

She flashed him a professional smile, her mind racing. “Do you think we could speak in private for a moment?” Her voice was hesitant, strained. “I’m always in work mode, I apologize.” Her heart was bumping so fast, she thought it would churn out of her throat.

“Of course,” Aziz said, giving the tiger one last pat. “I think this one’s sleepy, anyway. Don’t want to mess around with her when she’s grumpy.”

Amity spun on her heels and took rapid steps toward the exit, where she waited impatiently for Aziz’s arrival. She bounced from left to right foot, feeling the panic rile through her. Finally, she heard the screech of the gate as the animal tamer closed it; she heard Aziz’s steps as he approached her. She couldn’t allow him to see her fear.

“Shall we head to the garden, then?” Aziz asked, frowning slightly. “It’s just on the other side of the enclosure.”

“Absolutely,” Amity grinned. If Aziz couldn’t see how controversial it was to own a lion and tiger den in the back of his extravagant home, then he might be more work than she initially thought.

Oh well, she remembered. She was a professional, through and through. And she’d seen much, much worse. She straightened her shoulders and followed Aziz to the back garden. Any attraction to him she would fight; she was there for the greater good.

SIX

Aziz sat at the garden table, situated between a golden birdbath and another mighty collection of plants, which spun into a colorful overhead canopy. It was a cozy garden, one that made Amity feel as if they were hidden away, shadowed from the ever-penetrating sun.

She cleared her throat, then, leafing through her purse to find her notebook. She turned the page, beyond the initial notes she’d taken during their meeting that morning. When she raised her head, she found Aziz looking at her expectantly.

“What do you think of my home?” he asked, his voice like honey.

“Hmm,” she began, searching for the words. “Well. I think—beyond anything—it is gorgeous.” She couldn’t help but attempt to please him. She felt anxiety pummeling through her. “But I have to admit, that although I’m impressed with your collection of lions and tigers, others won’t be so inclined to promote you. In my experience, these ostentatious shows of wealth rarely change people’s minds for the better.”

Aziz’s smile faltered. He tipped his head to the left, his eyes inquisitive. “I see,” he said. His voice was gruff. “Well. This is quite interesting to hear, I must say. Exotic pets are more common than you might think, but I suppose, looking at it from another point of view…”

Amity couldn’t believe he hadn’t put these pieces of the puzzle together before, but she cleared her throat—brightening. This was why she was here. “Don’t worry,” she said, her face growing kind. “This is why I’m here. I’ve been doing this for years, and trust me—you’re not the worst I’ve seen. I worked with Britney Paige briefly. Every move she made gave me nightmares. I couldn’t sleep for weeks.”

Aziz laughed appreciatively, and the air surrounding them loosened. “Well, it’s good to hear that I’m not as bad as her.”

Amity chuckled, shrugging. She moved to write something in her notebook, but her strategic mind was faltering.

“So. Tell me more about yourself,” Aziz said then.

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 beneath her hand. “I just wonder how many shots will put her under.”

“Now, now,” Amity began, her voice haughty. “Let’s not get carried away.”

The limousine swept from the apartment block, then. Flora began jabbering about the afternoon she’d had, the shopping she had already completed. She eyed Amity sharply. “You’ll have to go out with me tomorrow. I know a store you would absolutely love. And, let’s face it, you need to restock your wardrobe.”

Amity rolled her eyes. “Let’s see if we have time. You know we’re here to work, right?”

“Nonsense,” Aziz said, clapping his hands.

Suddenly, a small liquor cabinet opened before them. Aziz leafed through it, eventually choosing a bottle of tequila. “We’re not here to work, at least not right now.”

He poured them each a small shot. The glass was chilled, cool against Amity’s hands. She studied the alcohol. She enjoyed wine, but she hadn’t had tequila in years. She watched the other two pulse the shot back before taking it herself, hoping her inhibitions didn’t fly from her in the night.

Soon, the limousine pulled up before a nightclub. Stunning twenty and thirty-somethings were hovering around the entrance, looking at each other with hazy, loving eyes.

Aziz cranked the door opened and landed smoothly on the sidewalk, sending that iconic smile across the sea of people like a wave.

“Aziz!” someone called out. “Aziz, over here!”

In a moment, Aziz disappeared into the crowd, leaving Amity and Flora standing by themselves, on the outskirts. Amity shrugged toward Flora, who flipped her hair.

“I’m not sure about you,” Flora said tartly, “but I plan on having fun tonight.” She clattered into the crowd, in the path paved by Aziz, leaving Amity by herself.

Amity sighed and took a deep breath before entering the nightclub herself. She felt her heartbeat in every digit of her hand. Around her, gorgeous people were dancing like sirens, tilting their hips back and forth, their dark skin illuminated by the lights. The music was electronic, similar to techno, in that it made Amity grow cold. Nothing about it was warm or welcoming. Rather, it evoked feelings of loneliness, despite being in a crowd.

God, where was Aziz, she thought then. He could well be making her job much more difficult, right then—creating a negative image in some room, somewhere, with some pop star. She could imagine the headlines. And she could imagine the month-long headache she would have as a result.

“I’m sorry, Amity,” Aziz would say in this all-too-certain future. “I just wasn’t thinking.”

Amity rolled her eyes at the thought. She strolled toward the bar and ordered a gin and tonic—what Flora would call a “grandma drink”—and sipped it languidly, her head bobbing to the music.

In the corner, an older, perhaps close to 40-year-old Arab man, sat watching her. He beckoned for her to join him, to sit with him, but she shook her head wildly, panicked. She didn’t want to meet people. She longed for the silk pillows of her new chambers.

Abruptly, Aziz appeared beside her. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw him, followed by another, as she noticed he had a woman latched on each of his elbows. They could have been twins, each with silver eye shadow and long, straight black hair.

“Amity!” Aziz said over the noise. “Are you having a good time?”

“Sure!” Amity lied. “Who are your friends?”

Aziz passed his eyes over first one girl, then the next. He gave Amity a stumped look, but the girls didn’t seem to notice. “Do you want to join us in the VIP lounge? It’s easier to talk up there.”

“Um, yeah, okay,” Amity said shyly. “Have you seen Flora?”
 

“I think she was making out with one of my buddies—Rama—but I can’t be sure,” Aziz laughed. “She’s a wild one, isn’t she?”

Amity blushed. She couldn’t imagine being so wild. The thought of it made her anxious, but she sensed that Aziz appreciated the madness. She left her empty glass on the bar and followed Aziz and his two leeches through the crowd and up the back stairs.

Beyond the hubbub, as if by magic, she felt she could breathe again. She pressed her hand against her chest and willed herself to calm down. “Only an hour more,” she murmured to herself. “Then you can escape. One more hour. Don’t be lame.”

The VIP lounge was far more extravagant than the nightclub below, revealing massive windows with a stunning view of Al-Mabbar City, a minimalistic feel with long, red sofas and black walls. A large fish tank bubbled with exotic fish, each of which looked at the gorgeous partiers with bright eyes.

Aziz entered the room before the women and lifted his hands. At that moment, the crowd halted their conversation, their eyes zipping toward the billionaire playboy.

“Greetings, countrymen!” Aziz joked, taking on that royal persona for a laugh. “I decree one thing and one thing only for this evening. We will drink this champagne—aged in the caves outside of Paris—and be merry. My gift to you!”

With that, the bartenders popped a dozen bottles of champagne in a circle around them, sending a cloud of bubbles into the air. People howled with glee, offering their glasses to the overflowing, fountain-like bottles.

Aziz passed Amity a glass, and she splayed it beneath a champagne bottle. The glittering liquid doled into it, fizzing. She sipped it slowly, thinking of the many years it had resided in a Parisian cave, waiting for this day to come.

Amity passed through the crowd with her fizzing glass of champagne. She heard many people speaking about the Sheikh as she passed, and she listened closely, knowing she was invisible to them. She was nobody here.

“It’s like he has to make a scene wherever he goes,” one man was saying to the stunning girl on his arm. “I mean, it’s all about him, the second he enters.”

“You know how Aziz is,” the girl returned. “Always out to make the night as entertaining as possible. I mean, he’s so bored in that big mansion, all by himself.”

“Remember that last party? When he brought out the lions?”

“Ugh, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Amity leaned heavily against the wall, noting that people were now serving themselves another round of champagne. They were weaving, drunk, losing their footing. She bit her lip. She wondered about Aziz—if his loneliness had been a contributing factor in damaging his image so profoundly. Always searching for more people to surround himself with, and always coming up empty on friends.