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His lip twitches and a dimple appears on his cheek.
“I might have a little bit of practice.”
“How so?” I hold my breath as he encircles the material around my shoulders.
His touch is gentle as he fastens the ends, the way Arab women wear it. “I was born here,” he utters, kindling my curiosity.
But I refrain from barraging him with questions since it didn’t go well last time I tried. He clearly wants to keep his personal life separate from work.
“Ready?” he intimately asks me, gently tucking away my hair.
Crowded by his masculine form protectively against the nook, I try not to think how his closeness makes me feel. Or how his veiled possessiveness makes an army of butterflies dance in my tummy. Or his masculine scent, so damn addictive, I have to force down the instinct to press my nose against his neck.
“Yeah,” I rasp a reply, “let’s go.”
His palm envelops mine and tugs me gently after him to the reception room I haven’t seen yet. My breath catches in my chest as he opens the door, and I get a color and texture shock. The golden accents and dark blue and gray contrast together, creating this sense of opulence. Wow! Everything, from the furniture to the wall décor and picked decorative pieces, wraps your senses in luxury.
As Mark enters, he walks straight to Aaron, leaving me behind to greet him in fluent Arabic. Exchanging a few other niceties, they settle down on the plush seating. My eyes travel around the room, realizing Aaron also arrived with security. Before I take a seat, my eyes find Higgins’, standing on Mark’s right side, and I relax.
“It’s great to see you, Mark. I hope Robert is well too.” Aaron’s accent is almost nonexistent and sounds rather American. I study him. The way he holds himself, it’s clear Aaron Moudi feels in control. Even superior.
Strange.
Wouldn’t you be more contrite about what happened if you’re responsible for your biggest client’s representation in the Middle East?
“He is. We’re both concerned about failures to open the shops here in Medina. What happened? What went wrong?” Mark looks calm and relaxed, his arms resting against the golden ornaments etched in the wooden chair. He crosses one leg over his knee as he waits for an explanation.
“Like I mentioned before, the water leak destroyed the venue and all the materials. The pipe broke and flooded the floor. It needs to dry before we can start fixing the damage. We had to cancel the shipping and the opening event. I know it’s ill-timed, but it happened. We need to move on.”
“If it was an accident, why do you want to end our partnership? What’s going on, Aaron?” Mark rests his chin on his hand and a white gold Rolex shines on his wrist.
“I think our company isn’t able to accommodate Fading Ink’s needs. We’re still small and new. My father is old and doesn’t want to let go of the reins yet. Such companies require modernization and advanced thinking to push the business forward. Right now, it’s too much for him. Stress isn’t good for his health.”
“Aaron, I thought you respected me more than this.”
“I do. You’ve done a lot to help us.”
“So why are you lying to me?”
Irritation flickers across Aaron’s features, but he disguises it almost instantly. His hands ball at his sides when Mark challenges him. It makes me believe Aaron doesn’t like it when someone questions his authority. His glowing cheeks and tight features
tell me he might have a short fuse.
“Mark, we had seven similar sabotages during the last six months. It drained our business reserves because we needed to cover the losses. That’s why only one book shop out of four planned is running.”
“I understand your uneasiness, Aaron. But Fading Ink is your biggest client. Without us, you’ll lose a big chunk of your revenues every year. Can you maintain your father’s business without us?”
Aaron sits quietly as one of his men leans in to whisper something. He nods, says something in Arabic, and his men leave. So do Mark’s, except Higgins and me.
“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. All those accidents happened with your orders only, your events, and your venues.”
Mark’s leg drops to the ground.
“We covered every single one. It’s draining our funds and we aren’t earning enough. Someone sent us a message, and we got it loud and clear. They’ll destroy our business if we carry on with you.”
“We’ve paid safe transport fees. The police enforcers make sure our business is protected. Who’s doing this?” Mark ponders out loud.
Someone powerful enough to get away with it, I think.
