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“I didn’t know you had a sister. The briefing materials didn’t list anything on that, and neither did my online research.”
“Well,” he said. “I suppose you don’t know everything then, Miss Sinclair. I was a twin, but she died of a fever when we were seven. As for the name, I went with what I thought would sell because the old axiom isn’t wrong. Everyone has a price.”
She frowned, and for the first time, something besides hardened skepticism glinted in those blue eyes of hers. Maybe it was understanding; he just hoped it wasn’t pity. He never should have said as much, but he’d always loathed himself for letting go on that one point. He shouldn’t have budged on the name.
“You shouldn’t have sold out on that one thing. It’s a sweet gesture, and frankly, it would have made a great story.”
“I wanted to honor Farana, but maybe it’s for the best. I don’t know if I have the strength to explain about her to everyone. Perhaps I should, though. It’s a shame how easy it is for family to grow forgotten.”
She nodded and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “I get that. I love my dad, and my stepmom has always tried so hard. God knows I gave her so much crap as a teenager. Still, there’s something about my dad remarrying at all that burns me up. I know it’s selfish, and still childish in some small part of my mind, but I sometimes feel like even that much moving on makes it seem like Mom’s been buried a second time.”
She surprised him then by reaching out and touching his hand. “Don’t ever hide the truth about someone you care about. Trust me, I know that way too well.”
“But I am led to believe,” he continued, “that you find the kitsch of the ‘Ali Babba’ name as ridiculous as I do?”
“I think it’s a bit degrading. I suppose it’s better that you didn’t call it ‘Aladdin’s’ or make a ‘1,001 Arabian Nights’ pun,” she replied, smirking.
So the intrigue continues, does it not?
“Do you have other questions for me?” he asked. “I can tell you about the specs for the restaurants and our chefs. I can talk about the amazing magicians and stage shows we’ve hired for the night entertainment. I can even tell you about the literal, arduous process of creating this skyscraper girder by girder.”
He couldn’t keep the pride from creeping into his voice. No matter how risky this maneuver was or how much his father had frowned at the idea of going big with their next building venture, the resort and casino had been a complete labor of love for Amir. It was almost like his child, something he’d fought for in order to bring lovingly into existence. Considering he enjoyed his bachelor lifestyle, he figured this would be the closest thing to a legacy he’d leave on the world…assuming the casino survived and flourished the way he sincerely hoped it would.
“I suppose you’ll have to tell me.”
He frowned back at her, still intrigued by her utter lack of care. He’d dealt with reporters for years. It went hand in hand with being a royal and with his family’s vast financial holdings. He’d rarely met one who couldn’t fake enthusiasm or even politeness. Whatever else were true about Miss Sinclair, she had a serious stick up her bum, and he wasn’t sure where it had come from. Yet, her acerbic nature was refreshing, something that toyed with him.
“We can keep talking about you. I have a feeling this isn’t the assignment you actually wanted at the Sentinel.”
“I’m trying to be polite. I just…and don’t take this the wrong way,” she said.
“Oh, I won’t.”
“But this is a puff piece. I could be easily asking the same questions for Us Weekly or People. This is not at all my type of journalism. To be perfectly frank…” she started, biting her lower lip a little.
“Why stop now?” he asked, chuckling.
“Look, usually I’d be covering political news in America’s capital. This is a side diversion, so I really just have to type whatever gets the inches filled and record the right quotes tonight at the press conference. If you can just go through the spiel for my recorder, then we can both be closer to freedom.”
He leaned lower and traced a finger over her shoulder, smoothing back her golden hair. “Of course, if that’s what you actually want, Miss Sinclair. We can go by the book…but perhaps one day you should learn to hide your disdain for the assignment you’re currently on. It’ll get your subjects to open up more,” he said, leaning so close that his lips were hovering over her left ear. “I’d open up so much for you.”
She stood up fast and swallowed hard. “I think I’ll just get what I need from your press secretary. I….until tonight at the press conference, Sheikh Bahan.”
“Yes, we meet again, Miss Sinclair,” he finished, enjoying the view as she walked out of the office.
Chapter Three
It took almost fifteen minutes before Amanda felt her heart rate return to normal back in her hotel room. Surely what she thought had just happened hadn’t. It wasn’t unusual to be hit on while covering her beat. She sometimes spoke with mayors or even older senators and congressman on the Hill. Often it was just a wink in her direction. One eighty-year-old senator had even said he had a room permanently downtown at one of the premiere hotels. Still, this was different. His lips had been practically on her ear, even as he teased her about “opening up.”
But the thing that made this encounter so distinct, what had her heart hammering like crazy, was that he wasn’t some crusty old senator or some lecherous mayor. Sheikh Amir Bahan was seductive—at close to six-foot-five, with eyes the color of amber and a neatly trimmed dark beard that highlighted his sharp cheekbones, he was pure sex incarnate. He had her thinking thoughts that she’d been too busy to even think about in the last six months. Her poor battery-operated boyfriend had long ago been shoved into a drawer and forgotten about. Her six-month-long investigation of Senator Jackson’s corruption had consumed her. She’d been all business, all the time.
But now, maybe Margery’s and Harris’s words were influencing her. She’d have to wait out the next six months or so in journalistic purgatory. Currently, she was still reaching out to gather more sources, and as soon as she was back in DC (whenever that would be), Amanda would be finding every extra witness she could wrangle into helping her build an even bigger, more solid case against the senator. However, right now, she’d be in Abu Dhabi for the next two weeks or more, covering the ins and outs of the casino’s opening. Maybe it would be okay to let herself relax for just a few days, to let herself give in to her own urges and needs. Who knew if she’d even interpreted the Sheikh’s overtures correctly?
God, what did she know?
Maybe Sheikh Bahan was like that with every woman. His reputation certainly preceded him. It was quite possible that Amanda was reading things that weren’t there, seeing hints of attraction that were only in her addled and exhausted mind. So he’d swept her hair over her shoulder—so what? He’d whispered in her ear and smirked down at her with that delicio
us, crooked smile of his. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. It could be no more than his default temperament. And then there was the fact that it would be nuts. He was a sheikh—royalty and a man worth billions—and she was just the reporter with two big hips who was covering him for a fortnight.
