by Sierra Rose
He put his arms around her, unspeakably relieved.
“So what did you need me for at lunch?”
“I was hiding out. My new assistant wanted to have a sushi meeting.”
“And you’re afraid of raw fish?”
“No.”
“You’re afraid of your new assistant?”
“No,” he said.
“So what’s the problem?”
He came over and softly touched her face, then placed a gentle kiss on her lips.
“I wanted to be with you instead,” he said.
Her heart absolutely melted at his comment.
“Well, that’s not such a bad thing since we’re married,” she said. “Next time, announce it to the press. They can think we’re having a little afternoon delight.”
“Will you sublet the apartment? I understand not wanting to give up everything, Marj. Believe it or not, I do.”
“Yeah, I’ll sublet it. I won’t give it up entirely because, hell’s bells, Brandon, I’m quitting work for you and moving into your mansion. I mean, you’re a total slavedriver!” she teased.
He chuckled.
“One more thing…”
She placed her hands on her hips. “What? Do I have to get a tattoo of your name on my ass? Because I’m going to need extra money in the settlement for laser removal, if so,” she snarked.
“I’m going to Dubai on Sunday. I want you to come with me.”
“That’s easy. I’ll do that. I better email my boss and resign. Unless you want to reassign me to be your personal assistant, since the new one scares you,” she teased.
Brandon came near to confessing that wouldn’t be a bad idea. Still, he didn’t want to talk to Marj about Holly. He knew it would insult Marj’s work experience and credentials to suggest that she try being his gal Friday at the office. This business trip to the United Arab Emirates was the perfect getaway. They could make a sort of holiday of it, and he could show her a glamorous foreign city and have the fun of spoiling her a bit.
It would take his mind off the lawyers and the probate and the too-perfect assistant he might have to have reassigned to another division. Just thinking about Holly, her angelic face flushed from a run, her sleek blond hair in its bouncy ponytail. It was impossible to reconcile how she could be so energetic and positive, yet so obviously sad from the loss of her mother. He felt a kinship to her, a sort of sympathy that had teeth to it in the form of an attraction. It made him sick, revolted that he would even consider it. He was married. Holly was an employee. He was no better than his scoundrel father if he even let the thought cross his mind.
Relieved that Marj agreed to go with him to Dubai, he told her the arrangements and when to be ready. Then he went to his home office to Skype with Hong Kong about a possible acquisition. It was hard being in a room with Marj, knowing that he’d considered betraying her and betraying the arrangement they had agreed upon. The weight of her trust and his own expectations made him want a drink. He wouldn’t, though. He knew how lucky he was, how near he’d come to death and how he would never, not for one moment, consider risking it all again. It wasn’t worth it for temporary oblivion.
Chapter 8
Brandon worked most of the weekend, rejoining Marj in time to depart for the private airfield. She dragged a shiny new purple suitcase out to the hallway and muttered about how the spinner wheels were fighting her. Brandon picked up her suitcase and carried it downstairs, so she wouldn’t injure both of them in her attempt to move it. At the airfield, he noticed that Marj was wearing the same thing she’d worn on the last plane—her photo-ready, tasteful outfit.
“You have to buy more clothes. Seriously. It’s important for our image, particularly mine, that you do not seem to have to recycle the same clothes continually. It will make me look cheap and as if I don’t want to outfit my new bride.”
“I can wear the same pair of pants twice. I’m not a Kardashian, dude. I like this outfit. It reminds me of Vegas and how I flew coach out there, convinced I was going to be downsized in the merger, and I flew home on a private jet with my new rich husband. Anybody who says Las Vegas isn’t lucky…never went there with me!”
“It was the best jackpot I’ve ever hit in a casino, and I won fifteen grand at the craps table when I was twenty-one.”
“If I ever had fifteen grand at one time, I’d…I don’t even know what I would do, but it would damn sure be spectacular. Please tell me you didn’t go buy a Ford Focus for some stripper with the money?”
“No, it was a Nissan.”
“Really?” she asked.
“No, but you should see your face right now. Here’s the deal, we’re going to Dubai. You’ll have to keep your shoulders covered, but other than that, we’re staying in a cosmopolitan hotel that caters to international travelers so the restrictions are minimal, and you’ll be able to see a great deal of the city itself while we’re there. I have a few destinations booked, but we can also take a bit of time to explore the surrounding area.”
“Sounds fabulous. I don’t have much experience with vacations, except that one summer Britt and I went to the Jersey shore. I got a sunburn, and we both ate too much sugar because there was this killer donut shop on the boardwalk. I still hate myself for that.”
“For some sugary treat you ate years ago?”
“Yes. I had five donuts that day. It’s sickening. I’m proud to say I haven’t eaten a single donut since that time,” she declared.
“If you love them that much then you should have one once in a while.”
“Are you kidding? Do you know what a woman’s metabolism does when she hits thir—twenty-six?” she demanded.
“No, but there’s no sense depriving yourself is all I’m saying.”
“I’m not eating donuts in Dubai,” Marj warned him.
“I doubt you can even get donuts there. They have some spectacular citrus though,” he said, “I do think you’ll like it there.”
“I don’t know why I wouldn’t. Top hotel, private jet, hot husband wanting to take me sightseeing.”
Marj slept on the plane for most of the flight, so Brandon was able to get some work emails sent and review the prospectus for his potential investment in Dubai. He had a few concerns about it, but they were minor, and it was certainly worth the trip to have a closer look. Not to mention the benefit of having Marj with him. Even though she was feisty and blunt, and could potentially set off an international incident with her cleavage or her brash way of speaking, it was better to have her with him. He knew that he was in many ways more at ease when she was near.
Once they landed in Dubai, he woke her and when her eyes fluttered open, and she reached for him, he did not hesitate to kiss her. She was his wife, after all, and he liked kissing her. He was thankful for the strict no-media policy at the airport that allowed them to deplane and get in their waiting car without interference. He intended to show her off to the press later, in a planned way, to announce their romantic getaway and set the rumor mills humming about their great love story instead of the suspicions Lena’s camp seemed intent on planting in the news.
He would pose somewhere with Marj, he decided, his arm around her, their heads together conspiratorially. Nothing obviously that would offend the local mores about public displays of affection, but a clearly fond and close posture, something that would set speculation on its ear. They would be photographed doing all manner of romantic honeymoon style tourism. He h ad even made reservations—or Holly had—for dinner at Burj al-Arab where they could toast each other at the highest point, sitting far above the rest of civilization.
The hotel was first class, the service white-glove. They were whisked up a private elevator to the penthouse suite with its phenomenal view. A sumptuous platter of fresh fruits and bottles of chilled sparkling water awaited them. Marj immediately seized a slice of juicy pineapple and began nibbling it while she roamed the expansive suite, murmuring about how impressed she was and how perfect it was in every small detail. The
dried apricots and almonds in a silver dish beside the sunken bathtub, the sandalwood toiletries in chic black bottles, the bank of thick white pillar candles in the bedroom fireplace, the lush fur throw across the foot of the massive bed. Everything about the place exuded luxury and sensuality. Her sultry gaze told him that the ambience was very effective for her.
Marj kicked off her pumps and beckoned to him as he listened to the litany of available services their personal butler could provide. The man was, in flawless English, explaining the pillow menu to him while Marj removed her earrings, her bracelet, and scarf. He was staring at Marj like he was smitten, especially when Marj started to take off her shirt. Brandon could feel the jealousy rising up inside him.
“Ahem, thank you, I believe that will be all!” he said with a hint of desperation, ushering the butler to the door and handing him a ridiculously large tip as he rushed the man into the elevator, promising to ring if they needed anything.
“I know you had a tank top on underneath, but were you going to strip with him standing there?” Brandon asked.
“If he kept on about the pillows, it’s possible. I mean, who cares where the goose down came from? It’s all been yanked out of some goose anyway. I don’t think that Turkish geese have superior feathers and…”
“You were listening to all that? Granted, you didn’t have a woman about to get naked in front of you, but I was a little too distracted to be able to pass a test on the principal types of geese myself,” he said.
“I’m going to go get changed and do some sightseeing,” she said, “Do you have meetings?”
“Not until tomorrow. I have a conference call in half an hour. For tomorrow night’s gala reception you’ll need a dress. Something along the lines of a ball gown.”
“A gala? A ball gown? This is not what I’m used to, Brandon. I could definitely go for it, though. Any recommendations on where to shop?”
“The concierge will know. I’ll call and talk to them.”
“Please do not call the pillow butler to come back here. I’ll end up having a nap,” she said.
“Because he’s so boring or because the pillows are too fantastic?” he challenged.
“Both, I think. I’m off to find a ball gown. I’ll talk to the concierge myself. Need anything?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, hon. Just name it.”
“Me inside you.”
He came over and wrapped his arms around her, then expertly glided his tongue down her neck.
“You have work,” she said. “And you’re trying to make a name for yourself with these new companies.”
His fingers trailed over her curves. “I may not go down in history, but I’ll go down on you.”
“Damn,” Marj said. “I think I just wet my panties.”
Shopping could wait. Making love to her husband was far more important. Pulling him close, she slammed her lips against his.
Chapter 9
Marj followed the concierge’s very specific advice and traveled across town by chauffeured car to the studio of a local designer who had recently put on his first runway show in Milan. The concierge assured Marj that there would be pret-a-porter in studio that would amaze her.
Truly, the building itself wasn’t much from the outside. A discreet bronze plaque declared it the Atelier Sambiq. She was admitted to a room all done in icy blue and seated on a blue velvet wingback chair to view an impromptu fashion show. Model after model sashayed across the room before her, modeling formalwear that was both elegant and bold. When the long gold dress gave way to the rose colored silk taffeta with its ball skirt and corseted strapless top, Marj applauded, unable to keep from clapping. A large blossom in matching rose fabric bloomed at one side of the top, as if a many-petaled chrysanthemum emerged from the bodice.
She gestured emphatically until the shop manager stopped the show and beckoned for that model to approach Marj. Marj fingered the light tissuey fabric with approval and soon they’d settled on a dress. A clerk took her measurement and recommended undergarments and accessories, specifically a pair of long white gloves. Marj seized them, limp in their cellophane package, with exultation. They were a statement piece, full of drama and old-world charm. She couldn’t wait to wear them to a gala. Gala was, she decided, a fantastic word.
In truth, she was thrilled to be there in Dubai with her husband. It was a glamorous and bustling city, both exotic and comfortable, as everyone she’d encountered so far spoke English perfectly. She wasn’t sure if Dubai was just a city of much more genteel people than New York or if they were only nice to her because her husband had money. Either way, every person she encountered seemed determined to make her life easier and better. She stood in the Atelier and had a moment of disbelief that this was her real life. That the same woman who had bought ten-for-five-dollars low sodium ramen a few weeks ago was now living it up in the UAE with her rich husband and going to a party so fancy that it was called a gala without irony.
She and Britt used to call their movie nights galas. As in, I’ll bring the popcorn, you bring the three buck Chuck to the gala. Their galas involved yoga pants and some very sexist comments about Channing Tatum and Scott Eastwood. This, however, was a real gala with higher quality alcoholic beverages and a much stricter code of conduct, no doubt. Marj booked an appointment with a stylist who could come tot eh suite to coif her updo. She wasn’t taking chances with bobby pins in the dry heat that seemed to anger her already bouncy curls.
When she returned to the hotel, the concierge caught up to her before she reached the elevator and informed Marj that she had a spa appointment on the thirtieth floor for a massage and facial. She lay perfectly still in a cool room with pan flute music playing as an aesthetician shaped her brows and extracted clogged pores and used some kind of oxygenating serum to rejuvenate her skin. Then a massage got the last semblance of stress to seep out of her body. She nearly fell asleep on the deep terrycloth covering of the table. When it was time to depart, she did so reluctantly, and only after lolling about in the lounge with a wedge of grapefruit and some spring water by the fountain.
Refreshed and hydrated and feeling very fresh-scrubbed and beautiful, Marj returned to the suite for her hair appointment. Again, she sat passively by as she was pampered and styled. She popped in her ear buds and listened to her favorite music while inch-wide locks of red hair were treated with serum and flat ironed and twisted and pinned up into place.
When the woman was finished, a delicate upsweep framed Marj’s pretty face, twisted tendrils pinned back with seeming unconcern, as if Marj were not a former marketing analyst but instead some tree nymph about to gambol through the forest of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Her hair seemed both elegant and whimsical as if she could draw out two pins and let it tumble down her back as she dove naked into a crystalline forest pool by moonlight.
The rose-colored dress arrived on time, and Marj put it on as reverentially as if it were ceremonial attire. She applied her makeup painstakingly to keep from mussing her hair or soiling her dress. When Brandon arrived back at the suite, he found her in full regalia.
“Hello, darling husband,” she said with a big grin.
“You have the most beautiful smile, darling wife.”
“Well, I have this thing for gorgeous men in black tuxedos,” she said.
His intense stare made her stomach flutter. He took her gloved hand and kissed it, all courtly manners.
“You are absolutely, astoundingly gorgeous,” he said.
“Thank you. And you’re looking ridiculously handsome. Not to mention, all that confidence you’re sporting looks extremely sexy on you.”
“Come on, Cinderella. We have a ball to attend.”
Marj couldn’t stop grinning. He placed her hand on his arm. He conducted her down in the elevator and to their private car.
At the venue, Marj and Brandon entered an elegant space, lit softly with gold and crystal chandeliers, sheer creamy draperies hung at intervals creating a dreamy, lavish ambien
ce. A soft, fragrant breeze, frangipani perhaps, lifted the edges of the tablecloths and ruffled the draperies ever so slightly.
“Okay, I realize pretty much all of Dubai has been wow but this is incredible. It’s so beautiful, and it’s like…the JC Penney White Sale gone high class,” she said with a nervous giggle.
“You’re nervous,” he teased.
“Am I like them?”
“Not at all.” He winked. “You’re way less boring.”
“Why am I so excited?”
“Perhaps you’re slightly more dazzled, but only because you’re new to all of this.”
She let out a long breath. “Okay, as long as I fit in.”
“You do. Now, would you like a drink?”
“Boy, would I ever.” She grabbed his arm. “But wait. I shouldn’t have too many. With my track record, I might marry another billionaire. And there’s lots here to choose from.”
He chuckled as he went to get her a glass of champagne.
***
What followed was a glittering evening of which Marj understood very little. It wasn’t an awards presentation or a charity benefit, and it didn’t seem to be in honor of anyone particular. It was nothing more or less than a lot of very wealthy fashionable people mingling in an extremely swank setting. The atmosphere was divine, the people lovely but distant. Brandon introduced her to distinguished guests of several nationalities, and she shook hands, even curtsied once, always with a smile that was equal parts disbelief and delight.
She tasted figs wrapped in prosciutto and some kind of rich, crumbly cheese. She ate walnuts drenched in honey. She vowed to go to the gym twice tomorrow to make up for all the honey and cheese. When the orchestra moved aside, and the lights dropped for another musician to play, she clutched Brandon’s sleeve.
“Is that who I think it is?” she murmured, awe making her quiet.
“Yes.”
Brandon sounded incredibly pleased with himself that he’d kept it from her. It was only one of the premier pop singers on the international scene, a woman whose rich, powerful voice had won her prestigious awards.