Secret: The Maid And The Sheikh

by Lara Hunter

  "He's not married," Tracey said, pushing her hair away from her face tiredly.

  Detta scoffed. "That you know of. He's probably got a harem full of women back in the Middle-East."

  "Detta!" Tracey was offended on the Sheikh's behalf. "First of all, the whole harem thing is an invention of Hollywood. The harem is just the parts of the house strange men aren't allowed into, not a hookah bar for concubines. Secondly, he's not Saudi. There are a dozen countries along the Persian Gulf besides Saudi Arabia. Bahrain, Iran, the United Arab Emirates—"

  "All right, all right, I get it." Detta held up her hands to stop the tide of information. "No insulting your boyfriend."

  "Detta!"

  "More importantly," Detta went on, "he's rich. And more important than that, he's royalty. If he isn't betrothed to some cloistered princess somewhere, I'd be damn surprised."

  "He isn't," Tracey insisted. "It came up last night. He would have told me. Not to mention I've been working in his house for a year. If there was someone in his life, I'd have heard of it."

  "Well, then he's probably a playboy who just sees you as another conquest,” she said. “He's probably tried every maid who's been through there. I know your service only sends him the pretty ones."

  "He's not like that," Tracey said, getting more worked up by the moment. "He's incredibly respectful. He's thoughtful and gentle. He's just busy because he works so hard."

  Detta kept pushing. "Is he working, though? Or just flying off to exotic locations to lie around on the beach with beautiful women?"

  "He's working," Tracey said firmly. "Lorraine keeps track of his schedule so we can organize cleaning around it. He hardly takes a day off. There's an article about his projects in the Financial Times every other day."

  Detta leaned forward, folding her hands on the table. "So what you're telling me is he's gorgeous, kind, generous, rich, hardworking, trustworthy, and available?"

  Tracey floundered, realizing she had more or less said all those things.

  "And he's interested in you," Detta said.

  Tracey started to protest, but Detta held up a hand to stop her.

  "He personally babysat your son while you worked all day," Detta said. "A man that rich doesn't just do something like that for kicks. He's after something, and I'm going to take a wild guess and say it's you. So what's stopping you from going after him?"

  "I'm his maid," Tracey said, exasperated.

  "You're a human being," Detta said, her voice as firm as her posture. "So is he. Money doesn't change that. Where you're born doesn't change that. Nothing does. What happens when two human beings find each other and connect is the same no matter who they are or where they came from. I don't know what there is between the two of you, if there's anything at all, but don't deny yourself the chance because you think you don't deserve it just because your paycheck is smaller than his. You didn't earn the circumstances you were born into any more than he did."

  Tracey was silent, stunned by the directness of Detta's words and forced to stop and wonder why she was resisting. It was only a crush. It might go nowhere at all. Or, it might bloom into something incredible. Wasn't it better to take the chance that could lead to something beautiful instead of the one where nothing changed at all?

  "Now, that's settled," Detta said, pushing a handful of photos toward Tracey. "Look at these pictures of my grandbaby and tell me she doesn't have my nose."

  Tracey went to bed that night still contemplating what the Sheikh's actions meant, and whether she should allow herself to continue indulging in this crush. It was probably a terrible idea, but she couldn't resist. Even if was only ever a little crush, it made her happy in a way few things had in a while.

  The next week she returned to work, thankfully sans Charlie, whom she'd left with Detta as usual. She threw herself into her work with every intention of focusing on it to the exclusion of all else. She couldn't let this crush interfere with what she needed to get done. If she ran into Adil while she was working, she might stop and say hi like he'd asked her to, but she wouldn't go looking for him. She certainly wouldn't languish around in the foyer hoping for him to come home.

  "Tracey!"

  She'd been dusting in the foyer, definitely not lurking, when Sheikh Adil burst through the doors shouting her name, startling her so much she nearly dropped her duster. It was still very early, but he'd been out all morning.

  "Sheikh!" Tracey said, her eyes wide.

  "Tracey, I need your help," he said, taking her by the arm. "Are you busy? What size are you? How are you at acting?"

  "Uh…" Tracey stared at him, confused. "Not very, dress size ten, and I took a drama class in high school for an art credit. Why?"

  "My personal assistant quit out of the blue last night," Adil said, letting her go to pull his phone from a hidden pocket of his formal white dishdasha. "I have an incredibly important meeting this afternoon, and I need you to stand in for her. Can you do it?"

  "I-I've never done any PA work," Tracey said, more confused than worried. "I wouldn't want to make you look bad."

  "You won't, trust me," Adil said, looking up from his phone to smile at her. "Fifty percent of the job is just standing there looking beautiful, and you already have that mastered."

  Tracey turned scarlet from her collar to her ears. She was speechless. He winked and went back to his phone for a moment, busily tapping out a message. Then he put it away and pulled a thick binder from under his arm, which he offered to her.

  "Familiarize yourself with the names of these files," he said. "Don't worry too much about the content. I just need you to be able to hand me what I'm after when I ask for it. Other than that, you'll just be fetching coffee and other small errands to keep things running smoothly. I promise you can handle it."

  "I don't know," Tracey said, biting her lip as she looked at the heavy binder full of files. "I'm really not that good at acting. And I still have work to finish here."

  "I will pay you triple what you would have made today," Adil said without hesitation, his gaze intense. Tracey's eyes widened, imagining the dent she could put in her student loan debt.

  "I'll call my babysitter," she said, and Adil's shoulders relaxed with relief.

  "Thank you, Tracey," he said warmly. "I promise you won't regret this. I have to go prepare. I'll see you in an hour!"

  He hurried off, and Tracey, feeling a bit weak in the knees given the speed at which this was happening, stumbled off to the nearest quiet seat where she could start speed-reading through the binder.

  Tracey had a naturally studious mind. She'd considered regular medicine before deciding veterinary medicine was more her calling. Memorizing the titles of the files wasn't difficult, and with her little extra time, she scanned the content, familiarizing herself with the project.

  She’d known the Sheikh had been investing in a public development project for the city for several years, attempting to reduce crime and improve conditions in low-end neighborhoods while avoiding gentrification. She'd only begun to pay attention to it recently as her interest in the Sheikh grew. The articles in the Financial Times about it had mentioned little more than his funding of the project, but she could see from these files just how incredibly involved he really was, and how passionate he was about not driving residents out of their neighborhoods with his building projects.

  This meeting would be a review of franchises looking to join the project. The Sheikh insisted on strict control of this, knowing how easily big franchises outside the price range of the residents could drive out more accessible local businesses and kill a community. Tracey was frankly shocked by the amount of care and consideration that seemed to have gone into the project. It was no wonder the Sheikh was so busy.

  She was still reading an hour later when she heard Adil calling for her. She gathered up her file and hurried to meet him.

  "Oh good!" he said when he saw her. "Here! I had it rush delivered. I hope it fits you all right."

  He handed her a dry cleaning
bag, in which sat a beautiful skirt suit set that could easily have cost the same as a car payment. She felt a little dizzy.

  "Change quickly," Adil urged her, nudging her toward a bathroom. "Do you have makeup? I can have some brought for you."

  "No, that's fine!" Tracey assured him quickly, worried he would buy her more things. "I have some with me."

  "You're going to look fantastic," he said as he urged her toward the bathroom again. Tracey obeyed, glad she really did have makeup with her. She generally kept a few basics and a hairbrush in her purse just in case. Part of her job was looking presentable, after all.

  The suit fit like a dream and was nicer than most anything she'd ever worn before. She was fairly certain it would have put her wedding dress to shame with its price tag alone. It was a beautiful deep navy blue pencil skirt and matching jacket with a soft scoop neckline over a bright white collared shirt. It was simple, but striking and stylish. Understated and professional. Tracey twisted her blond hair into a quick updo, glad she'd brought bobby pins, and fixed her makeup, keeping it as subtle as the suit. Looking at herself in the mirror, she could almost imagine she'd never left that internship, derailing her career to cope with Derek's gambling debts. Might she have ever owned a suit like this if she'd made different choices then? Back then, it hadn't felt like she'd had much of a choice at all.

  When she left the bathroom, Adil was waiting for her, looking elegant and exotic in his white robe and red keffiyeh. He looked almost surprised for a moment, and then he smiled.

  "I was only half right," he said, offering her a hand. "You look more than fantastic."

  Tracey looked away, tempted to contradict him, but the truth was she felt good. She thought she looked great. Instead, she said thank you as she took his arm and he led her to the sleek black car waiting out front. Andre, the bodyguard, huge and silent as ever, took the front passenger seat next to the driver. In the back, Tracey's heart raced as she sat next to the Sheikh, her senses filled with the scent of the rich leather seats and the smooth, ghostlike hum of the engine as it pulled away with nary a bump.

  SEVEN

  It wasn't a terribly long drive from the wealthy suburb where the Sheikh kept his estate to the city—only a little longer than an hour. They crawled downtown through the late morning traffic, to the financial district. The firm handling the Sheikh's project had a massive high-rise in the crowded business sector, and it towered regally above the buildings around it, the glass and steel glittering in the sunlight.

  "You're really sure this is a good idea, right?" Tracey asked as they left the car. Staring up at the imposing building, she felt some of her confidence evaporate.

  "Everything will be fine," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder to urge her forward. "The worst that will happen is you will spend a few hours being very bored; I promise. I believe in you."

  Tracey smiled, encouraged, and took a deep breath before moving forward, following him into the building. The silent vast bulk of Andre followed behind them, nearly unnoticed as always.

  The meeting was set to run for about two hours, and then there’d be a break for lunch followed by another two hours, during which the Sheikh and other investors would hear presentations from each of the franchise representatives and eventually reach a consensus on which to include and which to refuse. Four hours, Tracey told herself. Five with lunch. She could do that. She could handle that.

  The conference room was near the top of the building, the decor stark and minimalist in the way of the modern and wealthy. The right-hand wall was entirely glass, affording a striking view of the city skyline and filling the room with clear morning light that shone on the crystal ashtrays and steel accents. Tracey felt at once out of place and outclassed. She pushed the feeling away as she looked out at the sprawling city. She'd scrubbed toilets for years to keep herself and her son fed. She could stand in a boardroom serving coffee for a few hours.

  They'd arrived just in time, ten minutes before the meeting was due to start. Most of the other investors and representatives were already there, and they greeted the Sheikh enthusiastically

  "As-Salaam-Alaikum," he said, shaking their hands warmly. A few shook Tracey's hand as well, but most ignored her, allowing her to watch Adil. As soon as they'd entered the building, he'd seemed to subtly change. His posture was straighter, less relaxed, his smile more fixed and remote. Even the way he held himself was different. He’d become the picture of the Saudi prince stereotypes said he must be. It was strange to see him change so easily and so convincingly.

  The Sheikh took a seat near the head of the table, and for a moment Tracey was unsure whether she should stand behind him or sit next to him, or sit farther down the table out of the way. But he cast a small, sideways smile at her and nodded to the chair next to him discreetly. She sat down with relief. At least she wouldn't have to spend the entire meeting on her feet.

  The meeting started and Tracey watched as the franchise representatives began giving their presentations. At the beginning of each one, she would hand Adil the brief on the business and any other relevant documents as they came up. There were other personal assistants at the table doing similarly for their own employers. She watched them for reference, quickly picking up on how they kept their papers neat and organized.

  During the breaks between presentations, the investors shuffled papers and conferred briefly while the next representative prepared, some taking from the small plate of pastries on the table or the pitcher of ice water melting near the end. Tracey, out of habit more than conscious thought, cleared away wrappers and used paper water cups as soon as they appeared.

  A few presentations in, the Sheikh handed Tracey money and coffee orders from himself and the men near him, and Tracey hurried downstairs, following a few other PAs on similar errands, to find a coffee place. Most headed for the expensive coffee bar down the street, but Tracey hesitated, knowing how long the line there would be.

  She stood on the sun-warmed sidewalk outside the building, wondering if it was a good idea. But she'd lived and worked in this city all her life; she knew it like the back of her hand. And she knew the hotel a block down had far better coffee in their lobby than the franchise coffee house, and it would be faster. Realizing she was probably making a mistake but deciding to risk it anyway, she hurried across the street in the opposite direction of the other PAs.

  She hurried into the lobby of the hotel, the air conditioning refreshing after even the quick walk on the warm day, and headed straight for the breakfast cafe, which was almost empty given how close it was to lunch. She smiled with relief when she recognized the barista on duty at the expresso bar.

  "Marta!" she called, hurrying closer. The tall, dark-skinned woman looked up in surprise at the sound of her name. For a moment she looked confused, but then her eyes widened with recognition.

  "Tracey? Is that you?" she asked. "You look great! Did you finally go back to school?"

  "No. Just a temporary personal assistant thing," Tracey said. "I need a favor. Do you mind filling a coffee order for me? You still make the best coffee in the city."

  Tracey had, before being assigned to the Sheikh's manor, cleaned at this hotel for a few months. Marta had been the angel of all the maids working in the hotel, bringing them free coffee on their breaks.

  "I could never say no to you," Marta said with a laugh. "Let me see it."

  Tracey handed over the list of orders and Marta got to work in a haze of grounds and espresso foam, handing over the tray full of drinks just a few minutes later.

  "You're a lifesaver, Marta," Tracey said, handing over the money.

  "Just come back and visit me again soon," Marta said, smiling. "And whatever this temporary job is, keep it! I haven't seen you this happy in ages."

  Tracey rushed back to the meeting and wasn't surprised to find she was back before any of the other PAs. This close to lunch, they were probably still in line and would be for a while. Adil looked briefly, earnestly impressed as she handed out the coffe
es, careful to remember who had ordered what.

  "Good job," he whispered as she sat down next to him, and her heart glowed with pride, a feeling that only grew as the other investors remarked on how good the coffee was.

  The meeting continued and Tracey resumed her work with renewed vigor, tidying up when she wasn't searching out the right documents for Adil. She was glad she'd taken the time to actually read through them, as it made it much easier to find the information relevant to what the presenters were talking about.

  One of the presenters, a representative of a high-end grocery chain, had run well over his allotted time and was still going. He was spending more time heaping praise on his brand than presenting an actual plan. He seemed determined to filibuster the meeting. Was his plan to exhaust them all until they agreed to accept his offer? Several of the investors were openly leaning on the table, their attention wandering in disinterest. It was past time for lunch, and everyone was waiting for this presentation to finish so they could leave.