“I don’t want you to pick a man for me, Papa.” She wasn’t sure she wanted to get married, period.
“I came to the U.S. young and poor. I met your mother here and fell in love with her before I knew she was an heiress to a great fortune. Together, she and I built this company, but it would have been better for her if she’d married someone with an iota of business sense. That is what I wish for you. To fall in love with someone who is deserving and accomplished. Someone I think can be the best match for you.”
He gestured to the room at large. “Though this era is more modern, it doesn’t mean love in an arranged marriage can’t happen for you.”
Disbelief struck her like a brick to the head. She never thought her father would do this to her. She wanted to fill Robert’s position, not marry someone who would take that position from her. She had her own plans, her own ideas, and she certainly didn’t need a man to hold her hand in the process.
There was no use arguing. Her father was old-fashioned, and he always had been. The resort line was evidence of his tendency to cling to his heritage, and that was one reason it was so appealing, in Aaliyah’s opinion. No other hotel line she knew of had such impeccable, Middle-Eastern touches in a handful of its locations. She wanted that to be the company’s brand across the board.
“Zayn is familiar with the workings of a billion-dollar business. He knows how to handle that much money and he can help you keep the lifestyle you’ve been accustomed to.”
Lifestyle? She wanted to scream. This wasn’t about money. It was about maintaining her father’s legacy, about making sure an Elir was at the helm of the business he and her mother had started together. She would rather live on the streets than marry someone she didn’t know.
Didn’t her father have a clue what this would mean for her? What if Zayn Hassan was controlling? A drunk? A womanizer?
What if he didn’t love her? How could he? He didn’t know her!
“Please give me a chance to prove myself,” she said. “Give me a year to show you I can handle your empire on my own.”
Her father’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m afraid I don’t have a year. My cancer is back.”
“What?”
He fiddled with his coffee cup. He’d barely touched it since Lisa set it down. “The doctors recently confirmed it. I want to make sure everything in my life is properly situated so that when my time comes, I know you’ll be in good hands.”
Aaliyah couldn’t allow herself to accept the news. They’d had several close scrapes in the past. The cancer eating his pancreas had all but vanished. But if his claim was true, and it had resurfaced, how could she deny her father’s wishes now?
She pushed away from the desk. Simultaneously, Papa rose and made his way to her.
Aaliyah tumbled into her father’s embrace. Here she’d tried so hard to keep it together, to be professional about this. Was there any way to be professional when her father—and only remaining family—was dying?
“I’m sorry you received such awful news, Papa,” she said, listening to his heart beat. She fought away tears.
He petted her hair. “You know me, my princess. You know I won’t go down without a fight.”
She pulled away and wiped at her eyes. Papa’s smile returned. A sympathetic, understanding smile. She did her best to reflect it. He’d been so optimistic through his chemotherapy and radiation treatments in the past. How could he keep such a positive outlook through something she knew caused him so much misery?
“You don’t have to agree right away,” he said, pinching her chin between his finger and thumb. “Meet Zayn. Get to know him. See if you two might be a good match.”
A tear trickled down her cheek. Her father was dying, and his last wish was for her to marry a stranger. She straightened her back, keeping her head high.
“Okay. I’ll meet him, but I can’t promise anything, Papa.”
He stroked her cheek. “Thank you. Who knows? You might thank me for this one day.”
Aaliyah doubted that. She gritted her teeth to keep from trembling. “When will I meet him?”
Though Papa’s suit fit him perfectly, he tugged at it as though it needed an adjustment and blinked away the moisture in his own eyes. “Now that you’ve agreed, I’ll contact his assistant. Depending on his schedule, I can have him come this afternoon or first thing tomorrow.”
Her hand flew to her chest. “That soon?”
Papa stroked her cheek. “It’s for the best, my angel.”
Aaliyah retreated. This was not how their meeting was supposed to go. She’d envisioned strolling from this room one step closer to CEO. Instead, this afternoon she would meet the man her father wanted her to marry.
Her thoughts turned fuzzy. A flush of adrenaline tingled through her body. Yet, she heard herself mutter exactly what she knew her father wanted to hear.
“All right then.”
Cell phone in hand, River Yevin sauntered along Madison Avenue, weaving in and out of the bustling crowds on the New York City street. Traffic jostled along, horns honked, and a pair of women called to one another from one end of the sidewalk to the other. He barely noticed, caught up as he was in the day’s emails.
His feet tread the path as if they knew exactly where to go. Veering through a break in the crowded sidewalk, he headed for the rotating glass door of Hassan and Stillman.
Air conditioning instantly cooled the summer’s heat that had settled into his skin. The chic lobby quieted the heady bustle outside. He made his way past the reception desk, stopping for a stack of memos, and pinched them in his free hand.
The elevator dinged almost the instant River pushed the button, and he stepped in, casting smiles at the exiting passengers before returning his attention to his phone. No new messages from Zayn yet. That was a good sign, at least.
In the elevator’s privacy, he pulled up his own schedule. Taking a minute to rub the lamp in his pocket, he said a silent prayer it would give him the luck he needed for the numbers he was hoping for and checked the day’s stocks.
River had never done much investing before, but he didn’t want to be Zayn’s go-to forever. He’d heard from Zayn himself that investing was the way to go to build a strong retirement, and while River was decades away from facing that, he wanted to be prepared. Like his grandfather had been.
His maternal grandfather, Quinn Alejos, had done some investing as well. He’d been able to help River’s mom when his dad’s bad money management skills ended up forcing her into bankruptcy after their divorce.
His family had survived thanks to food stamps and government assistance. But River wanted to be self-reliant, to not depend on anyone else to support him. Working with Zayn, seeing the way he lived, had given him that much more of an incentive.
He’d been researching low-risk investments with high returns. Without a college education, River couldn’t see any other way to get his feet on the ground and stay that way, to support himself and his mom, and most of all, to avoid being like his Russian father, who had no money sense—or any other sense—at all.
The percentages were lower today than the day before. Not good. He was doing what he could to learn the ropes, but clearly, his lucky charm wasn’t up to its usual snuff. He’d relied on that lamp more than he could count. During tests at school, working on cars to make a living, securing the job he currently had as Zayn Hassan’s personal assistant.
He pulled the lamp from his pocket. Its brassy finish was scuffed in a few places. “Don’t want to work today?” he asked the rock-sized charm. The elevator dinged, and he stuffed it back into his pocket with an exhale. “You’re not the only one.”
His Mustang had been sitting in his garage too long. He’d been restoring the 1964 model piece by piece as he could afford to do so. Still, work was work, and for the most part, he enjoyed it. Zayn paid remarkably well, and the job definitely had its perks. Fine suits, a nice office, the occasional last-minute trip to Zayn’s house in southern France or his beach ho
use in Fiji. It also gave him extra for investments.
River greeted the pretty receptionist on the seventeenth floor and went to his office. Zayn hadn’t yet arrived. His first meeting with a client wasn’t until ten, so River took the opportunity to check a few other things Zayn had asked of him.
He set Zayn’s messages on the desk and opened the blinds, spilling light onto the posh desk and black leather couch. It provided the same, cold view of another tall building’s windows as always. River sighed. He knew he had no right to complain, but a view of the sky instead of harsh steel might be nice.
His cell phone rang, cutting into his thoughts.
“Hello, this is River,” he answered.
An elderly, male voice with a slight accent responded. “Good morning, River. This is Ahmed Elir.”
The resort owner? While Zayn had been Mr. Elir’s attorney for several years, River had been arranging phone calls and the occasional visit recently between Ahmed and Zayn. It wasn’t always his business to know the nature of Zayn’s associations with businessmen and women, but River had to admit he was curious, considering how much communication had taken place between the two lately.
“Good to hear from you, Mr. Elir. What can I do for you today?” River said.
“I’ve been speaking with Zayn and would like him to come to my resort in Florida for a visit today or tomorrow for a few days. Can that be arranged?”
To the ordinary person, dropping everything and flying hundreds of miles away on the spur of the moment seemed crazy, not to mention expensive. For someone like Zayn, it was more normal than sliced bread.
River pulled up Zayn’s schedule. The jet was available, and a flight could be arranged without any snags. “It is, sir. I’m happy to put that into motion for you after I’ve spoken with Mr. Hassan.”
“Wonderful. I look forward to seeing him again and would like to meet you as well.”
A rock cracked the window of River’s mind. “Me, sir?”
“You have been invaluable these past months as I’ve been in contact with your boss. I would love to offer you a complimentary stay at our resort while Zayn and I discuss things.”
River loved this part of his job, but usually, Zayn offered these kinds of perks, either when he wanted to discuss business on the flight or when he needed River’s hands-on assistance in organizing dinners or events. He wasn’t sure about accepting from someone else. Someone who wasn’t paying his salary.
“Thank you for the offer, sir, but I couldn’t possibly accept.”
“You have other plans?”
“Not exactly,” River hedged, as the idea of an afternoon spent in his garage began to slip away.
“I insist you come, River. Zayn won’t mind. We have a room already available to you, and the beaches and pools here in Clearwater are worth the trip alone.”
River laughed, allowing his defenses to settle. His Mustang had waited this long. It could wait a little longer. He could do with some beaches and pools. “Very well, then, sir. I would love to meet you as well. Thank you for thinking of me.”
“Of course. Let me know if Zayn can make it.”
“I will. Have a good day, sir.”
River ended the call, puzzled but pleased. He’d somehow made an impression with the resort owner without realizing. A complimentary stay at one of the Elir resorts in Clearwater Beach? He gripped the lamp in his pocket once more. Maybe this thing had more luck for today than he’d thought.
CHAPTER THREE
Aaliyah stared at the contents of her closet. She waited for the right outfit to jump out at her, to proclaim pick me, pick me! There was no jumping. No proclamations. No insight whatsoever about what a woman with a business degree who should be out job hunting but was instead meeting her affianced should wear.
She considered going as she was. Yoga pants, periwinkle blue hoodie bearing a hibiscus flower, and the words Clearwater Beach in a thick, beachy font, with her hair tied on top of her head.
This is the real me, she thought. Casual daughter of a business tycoon.
“Up for the highest bidder,” she added aloud with reluctant acceptance. She knew she shouldn’t see it like that, but it was how she felt. Preparing for a bride auction where she was the only participant.
She considered calling Lisa for her opinion. Not only was the woman a fabulous assistant for Papa, but she’d become the closest thing to a friend Aaliyah had had in years.
No, she could handle this herself. She settled on a mustard yellow, three-quarter sleeve jacket over a striped shirt and jeans. Dressy enough to make an impression, but casual enough to not scream desperate. Petty as it seemed, Aaliyah worried about what kind of impression she would give off. What kind of grown woman needed her dad to arrange a marriage for her?
On that note, what did Zayn Hassan think of this whole scenario? He must be on board if he was willing to travel from New York to Florida. She’d looked up his law firm in the city, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to view his picture again. That would make this all too real.
Aaliyah’s blood sprinted in her veins. Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it hit her sternum with every thump. She would meet him. She would consider a proposal if that was what this meeting entailed. And she would do it for her father.
Her phone pinged with a text from Lisa. They’re ready for you. He asked me to let you know. In your dad’s business suite.
Aaliyah’s lungs pumped. They were ready for her? Did that mean Zayn was already here?
Thanks, she texted back, though her fingers shook so hard it took a few tries just to type the single word.
How are you feeling? Lisa asked.
Like cattle.
Aaliyah winced at being so blunt. Maybe she should have been a little vaguer. A little more positive. She couldn’t form any other response, though, not even a sarcastic one, and that was saying something.
You should tell your dad you don’t want this, Lisa said in that way she had. Her ability to unashamedly point out the obvious made Lisa invaluable. Usually, Aaliyah quipped back and forth with her, grateful for someone to talk to about her problems, but not today.
Aaliyah didn’t reply. Telling her father would be about as effective as using a Band-Aid to cure the flu. He was a loving father. He doted on her, as long as she did exactly as she was told.
Sharing her feelings hadn’t worked when she’d requested to find a job and gain experience for her MBA, or when she’d wanted to take her new car on a road trip across the country to see sites she’d studied about for years, or when she’d mentioned moving into her own place instead of living at the resort a door down from him.
“A dutiful daughter does as she’s asked,” Aaliyah recited, as ho-hum as she could, exhaling through a small part in her lips.
She knew her father adored her. He wanted to protect her, to provide for her. He just had no idea how akin it was to suffocation.
Aaliyah stood before the full-length mirror, put on her brave face, ignored her galloping pulse, and made her way to the door.
She traipsed down the hall, keeping her attention on her feet. The toes of her shoes appeared and disappeared, into view and out of it. She drew nearer to Papa’s door, and a sneaky thought crept in.
What if she didn’t stop? She didn’t have to, not really. She could keep going, take the elevator at the end of the hall down to the underground, private lot where her car was parked, and drive. Just drive. She could escape somewhere, to a place where what she wanted mattered. She could—
Before Aaliyah could finish the thought, she collided with another pair of shoes. Her glance lifted to take in broad shoulders, dark hair, and a mesmerizing but abashed grin. Oh wow, but his eyes were a gorgeous caramel shade. They melted whatever thoughts were trying to sift through her mind.
“Hey there,” he said.
“I’m so sorry.” She gaped at him and then chided herself. Stop being so obvious. So what if he’s completely gorgeous? “I’m totally distracted this morning. I
should have been watching where I was going.”
“It’s no problem,” the man said, quirking a grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth. She took in the thick watch on his wrist, his blue shirt, jeans, and dark shoes with light stitching. He had great style. She reminded herself to breathe.
“It’s easy to be distracted when there’s such an amazing view,” he added.
Her brows shot upward. He couldn’t possibly have made such a cheesy play at her, could he? Fortunately, his attention was directed to the window beside her. She turned toward it, feeling ten shades of foolish. The ocean played with the shore below, offset by lazy palm trees and fluffy clouds.
“It is breathtaking,” she said, hugging her arm to her side. “I wish it was the view distracting me.”
“Something on your mind, I take it.”
She couldn’t understand why he was still here, talking to her. Ordinarily, people bumped into one another by accident and then moved on. Yet, here he was, a six-foot dish of distraction with the inherent ability to scatter every single one of her nerves and send them flailing.
“Something big, actually.”
His attention pegged right on her. Her body temperature cranked higher, and she fiddled with her hair, fighting the urge to wipe her palms on her legs. What was going on? She’d never met a man who affected her so instantly before.
“Good luck with that,” he said, tucking a finger into his pocket. “I’d offer you some of my luck, but it turns out I need it, too.”
“Luck? You say that like you have a stash of it somewhere.”
He inclined his head. His eyes were filled with secrets. “Maybe I do. Have a good day.”
With a wink, he attempted to make his way past her. The only problem was, she shifted to avoid him as well, and they smash-boarded once more. Aaliyah giggled, and he released a nervous chuckle. His fingers brushed against the bare skin near her wrist. The impact sizzled all the way to her eyelids.
Aaliyah and the Billionaire's Lamp Page 2