by Krista Lakes
"No, we're just normal people." Owen said as he smiled politely at the tourist. She looked disappointed, and she turned to walk away. I giggled, the idea of being mistaken for a celebrity amusing me. No one at home would ever mistake me for a movie star. Owen carefully folded my hand into the crook of his arm, and escorted me out to a waiting car.
I had given up on trying to figure out what expensive model of car we were driving. Owen seemed to enjoy having a new fancy car at every opportunity. He had told me he didn't actually own any of them, he just rented whatever he felt like when he needed one. I had laughed at the idea that I actually owned more cars than a billionaire, since I actually did own a car, but then he pointed out that he owned a plane. I told him planes didn't count as cars, so I still had more.
This one was a silver convertible. It was early afternoon, and sunshine peeked through the clouds, casting a warm, dappled light across the city. The weather was finally nice enough that a convertible sounded wonderful. Owen opened the door to the passenger side, his face going pale as I sat down.
"I just realized your hair, and the car..."
I laughed. "Don't worry. There is enough hair spray on this to hold it through a hurricane. Besides, I think the windswept look is in right now. I'd rather drive with the top down and enjoy this weather than have the roof up."
His face brightened again, and he jumped into the driver's seat. With a roar of the engine, he pulled out onto the busy street, the wind blowing gently in my hair. He drove through the city, pointing out different landmarks and places that he thought I might enjoy. It wasn't long before we reached a stylish white brick building with ivy crawling up toward the windows.
Owen tossed the keys to a valet and hurried over to help me out. I smoothed my hair from the drive, a little surprised at just how well it had held up. It was surprisingly easy to maneuver out of the fancy sports car in my flowing dress, but I gladly accepted Owen's hand to help me stand. Any excuse to touch him was a good excuse.
Inside the white building, we walked through the main room to a private dining area. Everything had a golden glow, as though the entire place was candlelit. A string quartet played softly in the corner, their music soothing and the perfect volume for dinner conversation.
Owen pulled an ornate chair out for me to get my legs situated under the heavy wooden table, and then helped to push me under once I was seated. I glanced nervously at the array of utensils displayed before me. I was used to a salad fork and regular fork at restaurants, but there were tiny forks, an extra spoon, and more glasses than I knew what to do with. I was out of my league here.
The waiter placed my napkin on my lap and handed me a large leather-bound menu as Owen ordered a bottle of wine. I opened it up, wondering what culinary delights I would find inside. Instead, I stared at the pages, feeling foolish. I couldn't understand a word on the menu. It was all in French, and despite my French last name, I couldn't read a word.
Owen peeked over his menu at me and caught my blank look. He whispered softly, "Chicken, fish, or beef?"
"Fish."
"Do you mind if I order for you?"
I shook my head, grateful that I wouldn't have to choose between butchering the beautiful language or pointing to the menu in silent shame.
"Is there anything you don't want to eat? Are you all right trying escargot? It's amazing here," Owen asked. I smiled, glad he was making sure I would enjoy what he ordered for me.
"I'll try anything. Escargot is snails, right? I'll try it, but I have no idea how to actually eat it." I gave him a brave smile, a touch of nerves hitting me. This place was far fancier than anything I had ever even imagined possible. Back home, even the nicest places let people walk in and order wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Here, everyone was elegantly dressed in designer gowns and suits, and I had a feeling that jeans and a T-shirt would never even get to look at a menu.
When the waiter returned to fill up our wine glasses, Owen ordered in perfect, or at least what sounded perfect to me, French. The waiter nodded and took our menus, disappearing once again.
"You speak French?" I asked Owen, impressed at learning of his talent. He blushed a little.
"Only enough to sound like I know what I'm doing when I order in a restaurant. Pierre, my chef, taught me a little. I can swear decently in French, though, also thanks to Pierre." He gave me a little boy's naughty grin and I couldn't help but smile back.
"What other languages do you speak?" I sipped on my wine, wondering if I should raise my pinky in the air. No, that was for tea; it just didn't seem fancy enough to just drink the normal way in a place like this.
"I am getting pretty good at Arabic, and I can order cervezas like a pro in Spanish. But other than that, I just know key phrases. You?"
"I know some medical Spanish, but I wouldn't say I'm even close to fluent. Will I need to know Arabic for our trip?"
Owen smiled and shook his head. "No. All these business dealings will be done in English."
I was about to ask more, but the waiter returned with two small round plates that he set in front of each of us. Six tan and white shells were presented like artwork, each in its own little hollow of the special plate and dressed in butter. It smelled fantastic.
Owen picked up a pair of tongs and a slender two pronged fork from the assortment of utensils before us. I mimicked his motions as he grasped the shell with the tongs and used the fork to pull the meat out of the shell. I hesitantly put the food in my mouth, unsure of what to expect.
It was delicious. The snail reminded me slightly of an oyster, but with an earthy taste instead of salty. The butter sauce was creamy and divine, giving the little piece of meat more flavor than I had been expecting for something so small.
"You like it?" Owen asked, dipping a piece of bread into the butter sauce.
I nodded, going for a second shell. The tongs slipped and the shell threatened to fly off the table, like the scene from Pretty Woman, but I caught it before it got too far.
"Slippery little suckers," I said, glancing around to make sure no one else had seen my scramble with the shell. Owen chuckled.
"You'll get better at it the more you eat them."
"I know we are going to Dubai, but what are we doing there? Are you sure it will be okay for me to come?" I half hoped he would tell me that I actually wasn't coming and that I didn't have to get on another plane. I half hoped that I could just rent a car and drive home, but that would mean I wouldn't be with Owen.
"Yes, I'm sure that it's fine. I wouldn't have asked you otherwise. I know you had to take time off work for this, which I appreciate, so I'm going to make sure you have a good time. As far as what we are doing there, we will be wooing a sheik."
"A sheik? Like a prince?" I sat up straighter at the table. I never thought I would meet royalty. The waiter came and whisked the empty escargot dishes away, placing a small bowl of sorbet in front of me. I looked up at Owen, confused as to why dessert was being served.
"It's a palate cleanser before the main course," he explained.
I nodded and took a taste. Sweet orange sorbet.
"So a sheik, huh?" The sorbet was gone in two bites. I hoped dinner was coming soon, because despite the escargot and now the sorbet, I was still hungry.
"Yes. Sheik al-Saffar owns a large portion of the oil fields in production currently. He is thinking of partnering with Jack's company, due in part to Jack's marketing success. My job is to convince him that, since I am the head of marketing, my team will sell his oil better than he can himself." Owen folded his hands neatly on the table in front of him as though he had just finished a business proposal. I leaned back thoughtfully in my seat.
"I have a feeling it's more complicated than that, isn't it?"
"You might have a future in this business, Kaylee," he said, a grin breaking across his face.
"Nah, I'm better suited to scrubs than suits."
The waiter returned, refilling our wine glasses and placing the main course on the table. I almost di
dn't want to eat it because it was so pretty. A small fillet of white fish sat perched on a bed of onion, fennel, and tomatoes with a sauce that I could only describe as heavenly. Small clams and shrimp dotted the plate, adding to the amazing sauce. I had heard the word bouillabaisse when Owen had ordered and was sure that was what the sauce was called. I could die happy if I only ate that for the rest of my life.
Owen smiled at my look of rapture as I tasted the food before he continued. "We are meeting with the sheik and his son to forge a personal relationship with them. A lot of these business deals are built more on whom you like than what you can do. Most companies can offer similar services, but what they can't do is the relationship. The sheik actually had an arrangement with one of our competitors, but he wasn't getting what he wanted, so he has come to us. We offer almost the exact same core services, but we are willing to give him that something extra he is looking for."
"So, you are the sales pitch, then. The relationship that he is looking for. He wants someone he likes to sell his oil for him."
Owen nodded, a smile spreading across his face. "You're getting it."
We sat quietly for a moment, each of us enjoying our food. Owen gave me a bite of his beef bourguignon, and I shared my fish with him. I was hungrier than I thought, because despite my best efforts, the fish was gone long before I was full.
"Earlier, you said, 'We are wooing'. Do you mean me, or the company?"
"You, actually. You will be able to help me quite a bit with this."
My forehead crinkled as I tried to figure out how I would be able to help. I was a medical professional, not a salesperson. Especially not an oil markets salesperson. Unless the sheik needed help controlling his cholesterol or fixing a broken leg, I couldn't see what use I was going to be.
Owen smiled at me, waiting for the waiter to serve the next part of our meal before answering. A small plate of different kinds of cheese sat between us, waiting to be shared. I tried them cautiously, but found their flavors were actually quite good.
"I have been invited to dinner with the sheik and his son, and was told to bring a guest. It is very common to discuss business matters over dinner, and as I am trying to forge a more personal relationship with him, this is the perfect opportunity to bring you along. If it goes well, there will be more dinners. More dinners means more opportunities to impress him." Owen watched my face carefully, gauging my reaction to his words.
"I'm not sure I'm going to be very good at this, Owen. I'm not good at selling things," I said softly. "I was the kid in elementary school whose parents ended up buying subscriptions to ten magazines and paying for entire boxes of candy bars because I couldn't get anyone else to buy them."
"Kaylee, you are beautiful and smart. You're easy to talk to and you can carry a conversation. You're perfect for this." Owen reached out and touched my hand, his confidence in me surging through our skin. I felt my cheeks redden at the compliments.
"Thank you. I just don't want to embarrass you. Or Jack's company."
"You could never embarrass me," Owen said softly, his eyes intent on mine. I felt another blush sear through my cheeks.
The waiter returned and Owen released my hand. The empty cheese plate was taken away and replaced with dessert and cups of coffee. A dark chocolate torte with a raspberry glaze for me and a deceptively simple peach tart for Owen sat like presents before us. I'm pretty sure I died and went to heaven with the first bite, and then again with every bite after.
"I'll do my best with the sheik, but I can't make any promises," I told Owen once the dessert was gone. I seriously considered licking my plate but decided that I was in too nice of a place to do so.
"I just want you to be you, Kaylee. I know you are going to be amazing," Owen said, his voice full of trust. I smiled and sipped on my coffee, a little nervous. I didn't want to let him down.
"If this all goes well, it would be really good for Jack's company, wouldn't it?" I asked.
Owen nodded. "It would be huge. I mean, Jack's company is already successful, but this would increase our market share by another third."
I felt a pressure settle on my shoulders. I knew that this was not my responsibility, but I wanted to make sure I helped Owen as much as possible. I was going to be the perfect dinner guest, even if I had to fake every word. I wasn't going to let Owen down.
"Brandy or cognac, mademoiselle?"
I startled slightly at the waiter's question, lost deep in my thoughts of being a good dinner guest.
"Cognac, please." I glanced at Owen and he hid a smile at my startle.
"Thinking much?" he chided softly. I stuck my tongue out at him before I remembered that we were at a very fancy restaurant.
"Just trying to figure out some witty banter for the sheik."
"Don't think too hard." Owen sipped at his own cognac, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. I wanted to stick my tongue out at him again, but I refrained this time. Barely.
"I guess I just need someone to practice my witty banter with. Maybe I can get that waiter to come back," I teased, pretending to look around for the waiter.
Owen chuckled softly; I loved that noise. It was a masculine laughter that suited him so well. I could listen to him laugh like that all day.
Chapter 16
"You want to take a walk around the park?" Owen asked when we returned to the hotel. I glanced up at the darkening sky, then out toward the trees. Green sprouts were just starting to form on the bare branches, in wait of spring showers to nourish them. The sky was dark, but it still looked like we had some time before the rain would hit.
"Sure," I answered. Owen grinned, and grabbed my hand and the two of us practically skipped hand in hand into the park. We found a path that meandered through the trees, the two of us just quietly taking it all in. From the corner of my eye I could see his bodyguard shadowing us silently. I ignored him, instead just focusing on being with Owen. I loved the way his hand felt in mine--strong and warm, protective and secure. I loved the way he smelled like a clear spring in winter and the way he wrapped me up in his arms. Just thinking of being held in his arms made me squeeze his hand a little tighter, glad just to be with him.
A hot dog stand resided off the path, a bright yellow umbrella over a light brown cart. The smell of cooking meat wafted through the air, and even though we had just finished a satisfying gourmet meal, my stomach rumbled. Owen gave me a surprised look at how loudly my stomach had growled.
"You hungry?" he asked.
"Maybe a little. I didn't eat much today, so even though the food was amazing, the serving size was a little small," I said sheepishly. Owen squeezed my hand.
"I can go for a snack myself. I've never eaten there, but it is supposed to be the fanciest place in town, so I thought I should take you. You deserve the best."
A flood of warm fuzzies flowed through me at his words. No only did he love me, he really liked me too.
"Can I buy you a hot dog?" I asked as Owen's stomach growled in response to mine.
"You don't have to buy me a hot dog. I'll get it. I don't know if you know this, but I'm kind of rich," he whispered theatrically in my ear as we approached the small stand. I gave him a playful push, pulling out some money from inside my dress. Owen raised his eyebrow as he looked down the top of my dress to where I had stashed my ID and a little money.
"I know, but you bought dinner. Let me get the hot dogs."
"Like I can say no to you anyway," he said, shaking his head with a good-natured laugh.
I paid the man for two hot dogs, and together we ate them as we walked through the park. Owen pretended to bump into me as we walked, and I bumped back into him, both of us laughing under our breath as we tried to maintain the illusion that it was always an accident.
Thunder rumbled, and Owen turned us back toward the hotel. The clouds overhead were starting to get darker and more angry looking by the minute. I wasn't sure just how much longer they were going to hold back before letting loose.
We had just passed by the hot dog stand again when a crack of thunder made me jump. Owen laughed and pulled me close to him, draping his arm around my shoulder. I smiled up at him and felt something wet land on my cheek. I touched it with my fingertips, confused for a moment until a second heavy drop landed square on my nose. Owen and I looked right at one another with realization that it was raining just as the down pour started.
It was as if someone had turned on the shower faucet, the rain starting quicker than either of us could have expected. We ran for the nearest trees, but their bare branches offered no protection from the sudden deluge. I shivered, the two of us already completely soaked by the sudden microburst. Owen quickly shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders, the satin inside still warm from his body.
I reached up, wrapping my hand around the back of his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. Our lips met, the taste of the rain on his lips. I parted my lips and slipped my tongue inside of his mouth, which was so warm and inviting. His hand tangled itself in my wet hair and pulling me closer to him. Our bodies pressed together, the heat of his chest defying the cold of the rain.
We stood there, kissing in the rain as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Raindrops pounded against the pavement, splattering against windows and shaking the baby leaves on the trees. I was enjoying the taste of rainwater kisses too much to stop.
"We need to get you inside," Owen whispered, pulling himself away. I realized I was shaking like a leaf, my teeth chattering with the cold. He rubbed his hands up and down on my arms, trying to get some warmth back into them before grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the hotel.
It was only a short walk, and we reached the lobby right as another boom of thunder shook the city. I caught my reflection in the elevator door as Owen whisked me up to our room. My lips were blue and my hair was wet, but thankfully my waterproof mascara was holding. My dress was quickly becoming transparent, the water soaking through the white fabric and making it stick to my legs. Luckily, Owen's jacket kept most of me covered, but the dress made me look like I was turning into something that belonged in the water. I gave my reflection a smile, pleased to find I looked more like a sea-soaked mermaid than a drowned rat.