Servant To The Sheikh

by Holly Rayner

  His mother looked toward Audrey, noticing that she hadn’t spoken yet. “And Jibril, who on earth is this beautiful girl?” she asked.

  Jibril reached for Audrey. With a single motion, he wrapped his firm, muscled arm around her shoulder, tucking her close. Incredulous, Audrey allowed it to happen, feeling like a rag doll. “Mom, Dad, and Ali, this is Audrey, my girlfriend.”

  His mother’s jaw dropped. “Your girlfriend?” she asked, her voice a whisper. “You’ve never brought one of your girlfriends home!”

  She brought her arms to Audrey, ripping her from Jibril’s embrace and hugging her close. Her arms were chubby, bear-like, and huggable, something Audrey enjoyed falling into. She shuddered, hating that she was taking advantage of such a deep lie.

  “Since when?” Ali asked.

  Audrey parted from the hug, sensing that Jibril wanted her to take the lead. “We’ve been seeing each other for about four months,” she said, hardly able to believe that she was playing along. “We met in San Francisco. I was actually working for him for a brief time…”

  She trailed off, watching as his family’s eyes glowed with sincere pleasure.

  “How long were you going to hide this from us?!” his mother blurted, slapping her palm against Jibril’s bicep. “We always want to know about your life, Jibril! We don’t want you to keep it a secret!”

  “Mother, I was going to tell you in time…” Jibril said, his voice tentative rather than its ordinary boom.

  “Well, this calls for even more of a celebration,” his father said. “For your 30th birthday, we must have some kind of party, and now with Audrey here, we can show her a little piece of Ash-Kahlbi hospitality. All the eating, drinking, and partying we can possibly muster. And boy, can we muster,” his father said, winking at Ali and then Audrey.

  Audrey shifted uncomfortably, beginning to sweat in the penetrating heat of the evening sun.

  “No, no, no,” Jibril said, slashing his hand through the air. “We aren’t going to have one of those crazy Rahal parties. Not for me. If I had it my way, I would skip over this birthday completely.”

  “Oh, but Audrey would never allow that,” his mother said, her voice sugary sweet now. “You had some tricks up your sleeve, didn’t you, Audrey?”

  “Of course,” Audrey said. “I wasn’t going to let him get away with not celebrating.” She turned to him, speaking in a coaxing tone. “Come on, baby, let us treat you to a party. You’ve been working so hard, especially since we arrived in Ash-Kahlbi. You’ve hardly shown me a good time.”

  “Oh, that just won’t do,” Jibril’s father said sadly, hanging his head.

  “Come on, bro, it’ll be the last time. Nobody wants to celebrate birthdays after age 30. It’s all downhill from there.”

  “Let’s have that talk when you turn 30 then,” Jibril said to his brother, his eyes flashing.

  “Just say yes, Jibril,” his mother said, her bottom lip poking out. “It would mean the world to all of us.”

  Jibril let out a huge, rushing sigh. He clapped his arm across Audrey’s shoulder, bringing her into his chest. He gave her a dramatic kiss on the forehead, sending a shock up and down her spine. “If this lovely girl here really wants me to have a party, then I suppose I’ll have to do it,” he said.

  “Yes!” his mother exclaimed, wrapping her pillowy arms around the two of them. “I knew you’d agree. I just knew it.”

  “She didn’t. She cried the whole way here,” Jibril’s father said, shaking his head. “But you’ve made a good decision, son. Thank you.”

  “Oh, darlings, I say we meet for lunch tomorrow to discuss the final details,” Jibril’s mother said, rubbing Audrey’s back and demonstrating the love of a mother—something Audrey had missed since her own mother had fled to Alaska. She reached up and pecked a kiss on Jibril’s nose before spinning around toward the parking lot, Jibril’s father and brother in tow. “We’ll meet at the hotel restaurant tomorrow at one,” his mother called back. “And not a second later.”

  Audrey, still wrapped in Jibril’s embrace, tucked her head against his chest. “Hey,” she said softly. “Jibril?”

  “Hmm?” he murmured, still obviously lost in thought.

  “You can let go of me now,” she said, sounding hesitant. “You can let go of me, and then explain why the hell you just lied to your parents about our relationship, because I have about a million questions for you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Jibril didn’t respond. He walked further into the hotel, stripping off his business jacket and marching quickly toward the elevator, not bothering to answer any of his employees’ hellos.

  Audrey followed him, her heart hammering in her chest, recognizing that—perhaps finally—he was showing a bit of his humanness with this mistake. The boundary between them had been pulled down.

  In the elevator, Jibril muttered to himself, yanking at his collar. “Didn’t expect they’d find out… Can’t a man just do his business and then get out of town?”

  “Apparently not,” Audrey said, responding to his mutterings. “Apparently he has to lie about it, saying he has a girlfriend, as if I’m the bandage that will help repair whatever’s going on with your family.”

  Jibril’s eyelids closed with sudden exhaustion. When the elevator doors opened, he spoke clearly, softly. “Join me in my room,” he said. “I can explain everything.”

  Audrey turned away from her own penthouse suite and followed him, watching as his posture slumped forward, no longer that of the billionaire businessman who’d slept with half of San Francisco.

  Don’t get your hopes up, Audrey told herself mid-stride. He hadn’t lied to his family because he necessarily wanted to date her. There’d been something else, something darker, behind his words.

  Once inside the penthouse, the Sheikh poured them each a hefty glass of dark red wine, his cheeks looking hollow as he grimaced and sipped longingly at the drink.

  “So, the girlfriend thing?” Audrey said, her eyebrows high. “Are you going to explain?”

  Jibril’s nostrils flared. “Of course. It’s really quite simple,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see them, and they caught me off guard. When they asked me who you were, it just came slipping out. It was a silly mistake. Plus, I thought it would be simpler to say you were my girlfriend than to tell them the complicated situation between us. The fact that you’re kind of my PR rep but also kind of my personal assistant…it’s far too confusing for my parents to comprehend, let me tell you.”

  “Doesn’t seem that complicated to me,” Audrey said, squinting her eyes. “You could have said I’m your employee. It’s as simple as that.”

  “I don’t think you understand these people as well as I do,” Jibril said. “You’ve hardly been outside California. How can you expect to understand the consciousness of a family from the Middle East? I mean, you’re kidding yourself.”

  “I’m not. That’s not how people work. People don’t like to be lied to,” Audrey said firmly.

  “It was just the best way. Trust me on this,” Jibril said, tossing himself onto the bed and loosening the buttons at the top of his shirt, looking shaken.

  “I just can’t wrap my head around that,” Audrey said, not willing to back down. What kind of answer was she hunting for? Did she want him to say his words were wishful thinking? Because she doubted he would offer that up.

  “Well, regardless of whether or not you believe it, I’m going to need you to keep up the ruse,” Jibril said, his voice stern. “At the lunch with my mother tomorrow, I need you to be there, and I need you to act just as you did today—as my girlfriend.”

  Audrey’s mouth hung ajar. After over a week of doing continuous, demeaning work for this man—walking his dog, dealing with his ex-girlfriends, taking out his trash, and on and on—he was now asking her to take on the worst position of all: that of his “pretend girlfriend.” Why on earth should she do it?

  The Sheikh peered at her with dark, brooding eyes that seemed to
hold countless secrets and insecurities and hopes—elements she hadn’t seen before, or perhaps that he hadn’t allowed her to see. His good looks were actor-worthy even in his distress, with his high cheekbones, deep, caramel skin, and perpetual five o’clock shadow, which made him look gruff and desirable.

  “What do you say?” he asked her, his voice softer.

  Her heart leaped. She was unaccustomed to being at the mercy of her emotions. Almost immediately, she found the words: “Of course. But only for one more day.”

  Jibril smacked his palms together, obviously confident in their scheme. “Great,” he said. “You’re really saving my life here.”

  “Happy to be of service,” Audrey said, her skin buzzing with electricity.

  She hadn’t been someone’s girlfriend in years, and becoming someone’s fake girlfriend felt surprisingly remarkable. It came with all the first jitters of a normal relationship. She’d have to please the family; she’d have to say all the right things. And she’d have to look good for Jibril at nearly every turn if he was going to be seeing her in this light. Never a hair out of place. Never a piece of spinach in her teeth. Their relationship was changing, and she hated to admit how much she liked it.

  “Wonderful. I’m exhausted,” Jibril said, knocking the rest of his wine back with gusto. “What do you say we call up some room service and go over our lines for tomorrow?”

  “What lines?” Audrey asked, amazed that he wanted to spend more time with her after having been by her side all day.

  “We’re going to have to fabricate the story of how we met each other, and how we fell in love. And I’m probably going to have to find out a little bit more about you. As it stands, all I really know about you is that you hate flying.”

  “I like flying now,” Audrey said. “I’d just never done it before.”

  “Right. So you’re inexperienced. You’ve been married to your work for years, so we’re going to have to make up some extra stories for you, maybe. My mom doesn’t trust a woman who’s married to her career. Doesn’t care if it’s modern or not.”

  “I’m sure I can come up with something to tell her,” Audrey said, rolling her eyes. “I have a bit more up my sleeve than you’re giving me credit for. For one, did you know that I’ve read a book a week since I graduated from college? Except for the past few weeks, of course, when I’ve been your slave.”

  “Ha,” Jibril said. “Is that so? I didn’t anticipate that you were such a big reader. Not that I thought much about what you do in your own home…” He trailed off. “What kinds of books?”

  “A lot of action. Some spy novels,” she said. “And of course, whatever new fiction is getting good reviews. I like to stay on top of it. Most recently, the book Take No Stranger by Margaret Boomer really changed my life—”

  “You’re joking,” Jibril said, refilling his wine glass. “I read that book a few weeks ago.”

  “Seriously?” Audrey said, incredulous. “I don’t know anyone who’s read it.”

  “Yeah. I became obsessed with it, always reading it while I was on the treadmill or between meetings,” he said. “That main character, Dominic, was such a fascinating psychopath. For a little while, I was concerned that I might be like him…”

  “I was always checking myself as well, trying to figure out if I was a psychopath based on my interactions with people,” Audrey said, giggling. “Isn’t it funny how these books get in your head?”

  “I don’t know many people who read,” Jibril admitted. “Most of my last girlfriends thought it was quite a nerdy hobby.”

  “Last girlfriends? Remember, I’m not one of them,” Audrey teased. “Don’t group me in with them, anyway. They’re frightening.”

  “Fair point,” Jibril said, laughing. “What else are you into? Movies? Foods? Jesus, I want to order some dinner as soon as possible. I think I’m going to starve.”

  They looked through the long menu, picking out two different burgers—one lamb and one chicken—and a variety of traditional sides with modern twists, giggling as they ordered like children.

  “Didn’t you always want to order everything on the menu when you were little, just to taste it all?” Audrey said, slightly tipsy now from the wine. “Because I did. And I would find ways to order several different things a la carte so that I could feel like I was having that experience. But in the end, my plate was just filled with cottage cheese and breadsticks and steamed broccoli or something while everyone else got full meals. It was rather silly.”

  “Well, at least you knew what you wanted and you fought for it,” Jibril said, teasing her. “Sometimes I wonder how I ever got to where I am right now, with this large business and the billions of dollars. Did I ever really want this?”

  “Well, at least you’re rich enough to order everything from the menu,” Audrey said, tapping him on the back playfully.

  “Good point,” he said, grinning.

  The large tray arrived a half hour later, after Jibril and Audrey had drank their way through an entire bottle of wine. They began to orchestrate their “past” together, with Audrey saying that she’d first met Jibril when she’d been young—22 years old—“and it had been love at first sight,” she said, cooing playfully.

  “At first sight? My parents will love that,” Jibril said, laughing. “But it took me a while to fall for you in this story?”

  “You didn’t even notice me,” Audrey said, still making it up as she went along, although she recognized that the story was a bit too close to the truth. “I tried so hard to get you to notice me, wearing sexy clothes to work and trying to get thinner, as thin as the models you always dated. But still, you thought I was just a little girl.”

  “What happened to make me finally notice you then?” Jibril asked, taking a large bite of burger. “You make it sound like my life was already pretty good without you.”

  “Ha,” Audrey said, munching on a pita chip slathered in fresh red pepper hummus. “That was the thing. You weren’t actually happy. At a benefit, I saw you looking miserable in the corner, and I made a joke about a book we’d both been reading—A Clock’s Paradise.”

  Jibril laughed. “I’ve actually read that.”

  “I knew it,” she said. “Anyway, I cracked a joke, and you finally saw me as the beautiful, intelligent, witty individual you’d never noticed before. And from there, a romance was born.”

  “You should write romance novels,” Jibril said, joking with her. “I’m already tearing up at this fake story, almost wishing it were real.”

  Audrey’s heart lurched. She knew he didn’t actually mean it. Allowing silence to fall, she focused on her meal, feeling herself grow progressively drunker and less inhibited. How she wished she could share something this intimate with someone who actually wanted to date her! How alone she was.

  “My parents wish I would find someone,” Audrey said, her voice soft. “They think I’m going to die alone, married to my job.”

  “Where are your parents now?” he asked. “Are they still in California?”

  “No,” Audrey said. “They actually moved to a cabin in Alaska of all places. They hike and knit and play cards. Their lives are very simple now. And I’m sure they have plenty of time to think about the fact that I’m going to be single forever.”

  “Well, my parents would be terrified to learn of my actual reputation,” Jibril said, finally revealing the truth. “The tabloids and the newspapers and the lifestyle blogs write about that stuff non-stop, making me out to be some kind of Casanova.”

  “I’d say you live up to your reputation,” Audrey said, teasing him. “Not to be mean.”

  “I know what I’ve done,” Jibril said. “And I’m not always proud of it. The reputation I have is a nuisance in the States. I hate that the moment I walk into a party, I can feel the whispering about me from all corners. But honestly, that’s something I can overcome—especially with your help, miss PR girl,” he teased.

  “That said, I would never be able to fix the relat
ionship with my family if they found out about my Playboy and party reputation. They’re incredibly conservative. My father’s marriage to my mother was arranged, even after my grandfather married for love. This country is always two steps forward, three steps back. And the fact that I’m nearly 20 steps ahead doesn’t mean I necessarily want them to know that.”

  Audrey nodded, her head humming with wine. “I see,” she said. “You’re trying to protect them from your true self.”

  “That’s exactly right,” Jibril said. “I don’t want to live like them, but I love my parents and I respect their views. I always want to be close to them, which means I have to put up barriers—and make up fake girlfriends, as you’ve seen today.”

  Audrey’s eyes danced in the soft light of the moon that was rising outside the high tower of the hotel. Jibril’s words brought tears to her eyes, making her appreciate the man he’d hidden away from the American consciousness. He didn’t care if the world knew how kind-hearted and considerate he was. He did whatever he pleased as long as he didn’t hurt his parents.

  That was endlessly attractive.

  Audrey crept toward him on the mattress, drawing her body toward his warmth. Could he sense the intimacy growing between them? Her lips were mere inches from his, crying out for him. Her chest moved up and down with her rapid breathing, showing her uncontrollable lust.

  But no. She stopped herself, leaning back. Jibril was calculated, a businessman. He’d probably practiced this speech with hundreds of women as a way to get them into bed with him. His reputation preceded him, and he wasn’t to be trusted. Moving to her feet, she watched as he poured several more inches of red wine into her glass—almost setting her up for failure.

  “I have to go get some air,” she whispered.

  Jibril looked up, surprised. The cozy air around them was warm, inviting, assuring. “Are you sure? Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No, no,” Audrey said, feeling woozy. “I’ll just run out really quick and be back in a second. There’s no reason you should come, too.”