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She just needed rest. Besides, the press conference was going to start in less than eight hours, and she still had to prep for a teaser piece to go out before tomorrow’s news conference roundup. Amanda still had to go over everything she needed with his secretary beforehand. She didn’t have time for fantasies brought on by far too much deprivation.
But maybe she did have time for some mindless white noise.
As she flipped the TV on, she grimaced when CNN came on first. Granted, as a newshound, she needed to stay on top of what was happening, but she’d also been on an international flight, exhausted from travel, and was just now trying to get her head in the game to write her next piece. As she looked up, though, her stomach scrunched up and bile rose in her throat. It was a flash of a headline from El Salvador, where two dozen people were killed in a cartel shootout.
It all leads back to Jackson, damn it.
So much for getting work done immediately. She needed to get to the scotch and blot out her guilt. None of this would be happening if she’d stuck to her guns, just like her mother would have done. As long as she stayed silent, those people and all the machinations in Central America were on her mind. Pouring the scotch into her first tumbler, she took a quick shot, letting the amber liquid burn its way down her throat.
God that felt good. Hopefully it could take an edge off her guilt and give her just enough liquid courage to get through tonight.
***
“And so,” he said, smiling as best he could for the assorted reporters, “that’s the basic presentation on our facilities. Do you have any questions?”
His eyes drifted over the crowd of assorted and somewhat sleepy faces. He caught sight of those piercing blue eyes and that shiny mane of golden hair in the back of the room. Amir wasn’t sure why he needed so badly for her to come back. It was more than obvious that she was going to be here. After all, her paper had sent her to cover the full unveiling of the resort. Still, she hadn’t been there at the start, and now that he was staring back at her, he could see something different in her eyes. Instead of the disdain mixed with mirth from before, he saw eyes that seemed red and less sharply focused.
Has she been drinking?
One of the reporters from a British paper started the Q&A with a simple question about what he hoped to add to the resort as time went on. But then it was Miss Sinclair who had her hand up. Actually, she was practically standing on her tiptoes and waving her arm all over, almost as if she were at a party. It wouldn’t have looked odd for her to have a lit lighter in her hand, like at the encore of a rock concert.
Still, he wanted to hear from her, so he called on her.
“Yes, the reporter from the Washington Sentinel. Ah, Miss Sinclair, I believe.”
“How can you justify the use of your resources to create yet another resort in the outer reaches of the city? There are already a fair share of casinos and luxury hotels around the Formula One racing track, and yet the city’s infrastructure and urban planning are a mess and undermaintained?” She grinned back at him, her expression sharp and feral like a wolf. “Or do I need to break this down into further constituent parts?”
He blinked, realizing that he’d walked right into a trap. She actually wasn’t the first reporter to criticize the creation of the Ali Babba for that reason. Usually, though, the bulk of them were journalists within Abu Dhabi, itself. The locals were angry at some of the ways the old heart of the city had been forgotten in the rush to expand the glittering, outer edge as a tourist attraction. Amir hadn’t expected such a piercing question as this press conference.
He should have based on her attitude earlier this morning.
“To be fair, I would say that creating jobs and helping to increase the tourism industry are a boon for the entire population of Abu Dhabi.”
“But you won’t take, say, a certain percentage of the profits from the casino and then put it back into the infrastructure of your own nation-state, will you? These will go back into your family coffers?”
Clenching his jaw, Amir tried not to pounce on her with any fury. He staunchly believed that building up the tourism in his nation, having it even supersede that of Dubai, would help all his people. It would make America care about the nation’s issues if tourists were using it as a playground. It would put wealth in everyone’s pockets, and most of all, it would give him a way to keep hiring a mostly Abu Dhabian staff.
“We currently employ over two thousand citizens of Abu Dhabi, and as we expand—”
“If you expand,” she countered.
“When,” he chimed out, projecting strength and assurance for everyone else. “When we grow, we’ll bring even more to this city-state and its people. Now, moving on…”
***
After the press conference there was a cocktail party for both investors and members of the press. It was exactly what he’d been waiting for. His intriguing reporter had gone from an alluring curiosity straight to an annoying thorn in his side. While he didn’t mind some spirit in a reporter or a woman, Amir loathed being made into a fool. Miss Sinclair had worked her hardest to essentially call him on the carpet and to catch the attention of the other reporters, to make them also gear their questions towards his plans as sheikh for the rest of his country. He had those plans, but he and his family could only do so much at a time, damn it.
He found her out on the balcony alone, nursing a glass of sparkling water or club soda. Perhaps she really was hungover or drunk already. As he slid next to her, he noticed her eyes seemed less red, but the determination was brimming in them just as steadily as it was at the press conference.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, his tone as commanding as it ever was for his staff.
She glared up at him. He was so shocked at the way she held herself with such confidence and poise. The woman was barely five feet tall, and he should have no trouble making her kowtow to him, and yet she was eyeing him as if he were nothing more than just smoke and mirrors. Damn it, he had far more authority than that, and it was time that Miss Sinclair respected him.
“Were you now? Do you have any more specifics on how your wonder resort is going to save your country?”
“I maintain what I say. There’s more than just money involved.”
“Isn’t there always?” she asked, her tone resigned.
