Susanna Carr - Midnight in the Harem

Accompanied by his personal bodyguard and security detail and dressed in his best Armani and over robes of his office, Zahir carried a bouquet of yellow jasmine into Angele’s office building. The receptionist looked up, her eyes going wide as he approached the large half-moon shaped desk in the center of the large lobby.

Giving one of his practiced political smiles, he asked, “Can you direct me to Angele bin Cemal al Jawhar’s office?”

The young woman’s eyes went even wider as she scrambled for some papers she nearly knocked from her desk, without looking away from Zahir and his security men. “Urn … I don’t … let me just make a call.”

She scrabbled for her phone, her cheeks going a rosy-pink. She dialed and then started speaking rapidly almost immediately.

“Yes, there’s a … I mean I think he’s a sheikh, or something. I don’t think he’s dangerous, but he’s got these scary-looking men with him. He’s looked for Angele. I think it’s Angele anyway. He called her Bin-something, but we’ve only got one Angele, right? I mean, there’s an Angie in accounting, but no one else called Angele …”

He could hear the sound of someone speaking on the other end of the line, the deep tones indicated a male, but Zahir could not be sure.

“Yes. Oh, probably. He’s carrying a bouquet of those exotic flowers Angele’s been passing out to whoever would take them over the past few weeks.”

Zahir’s brows drew together as the implications of the receptionists words sank in. Angele had been disposing of the flowers he sent her by giving them away to all and sundry? What had she done with the jewelry, then? Pawned it?

His annoyance must have shown on his face because the receptionist flinched and the papers she’d managed to save went sweeping to the floor. It was probably a good thing she wore an earpiece for the phone, or the receiver probably would have gotten dropped as well.

Zahir took a step back from the desk as he schooled his features into impassivity.

The receptionist was nodding at whatever she was hearing over the phone, though she hadn’t said anything for several seconds.

She jumped. “Um … yes, of course I was listening. I’ll call her extension. Right now, sir.”

The flustered woman pressed a button and then three more. “Um … Angele? Well, yes, I did mean to dial your extension. It’s just there’s a man down here that looks like, well he could be dangerous, or something, but he’s got flowers.” The woman turned away, making some effort to whisper, though her words were still clear. “You’re sure he’s not dangerous?”

Zahir managed to keep the scowl he felt off his features, but it was a close thing.

“All right. I’ll tell him you’ll be down shortly. It will be shortly, won’t it?”

Apparently even Angele’s patience had worn thin with the young woman because there was clearly no reply. The receptionist looked up and then flinched, her face blanching as she must have realized he could hear every word she’d spoken.

“Uh … Angele said she’ll be down soon. You can … you should probably wait for her over there.” The young woman waved toward some chairs by the window on the far side of the large lobby. Zahir nodded stiffly and led his security detail to the other side of the lobby.

“Hello, Zahir.”

He turned at the sound of Angele’s voice, his smile of greeting sliding right into a concerned frown.

Her usually honey-gold skin was wan and she had circles under her eyes not hidden by her makeup. She also looked like she’d lost weight; her pale cheeks were hollow.

“Are you well?” he asked and then could have bitten his own tongue. He knew better than to make queries of this type in a public place.

“I’m fine.” She smoothed her hand down the front of her sheath dress.

The color of eggplant, the dark purple was usually a complimentary color for her, but today it only served to enhance the washed-out tone of her skin. Nevertheless, she wore it with stylish élan, her accessories and hair as well put together as any of the models her magazine photographed.

Regardless, she really had no business being at work if she was not feeling well. She needed to be home in bed, being pampered and coddled. His plans for the evening took a sudden shift.

“It is good to see you.” Bowing slightly, he offered her the bouquet of yellow jasmine.

She simply shook her head, making no effort to take the flowers. “I’m cleared to leave. Did you have a destination in mind for this conversation?”

There was something off about Angele’s attitude, but he had no time to ponder it as she turned and began walking toward the front doors. He handed the flowers off to one of the security guards to deal with. And then, he caught up to Angele with his longer strides and they exited the building together.

His limousine waited by the curb. She headed toward it without hesitation. Bemused by her assertive and frankly, unexpectedly cooperative behavior, he followed.

They were in the limo when she turned to him and asked, “Where are we going?”

“We have reservations at Chez Alene.” But he did not think they should keep them.

“My favorite restaurant.”

“I am aware.”

“My mother?” she asked.

“Ultimately, yes.”

“Ultimately?”

“Uncle Malik believed I needed assistance in my plan to woo you.”

“Let me guess, he had the queen compile a dossier.” There was nothing in Angele’s tone to indicate how she felt about that, one way or the other.

“Yes.”

She nodded, making no comment on the fact they had known each other their whole lives and a dossier of that type should not be necessary.

“You gave away the flowers I sent you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Might I inquire why?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what she had done with the jewelry, or the designer bags and shoes he’d had her mother pick out for her.

“Why did you send them?”

“You deserved a proper wooing after my years of neglect.” “Duty then.”

He opened his mouth to deny it, but could he without dishonesty? Not completely. “Perhaps, to an extent. However, they were also a reminder that you were in my thoughts even separated by the miles.”

“Poetic.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? I am a man of my culture.”

“You’re a pragmatist with a terrifying ability to gauge human nature and use your observations to best effect.”

“You do not believe me sincere?”

“I believe you were thinking of me, but we both know the reason for that, and it didn’t have a thing to do with some romantic longing to see me.”

“Define romance. Our last night together was not so forgettable.”

Her hand settled against her stomach and she frowned. “No, it really wasn’t.” “That bothers you.”

She sighed, looking out the tinted windows at the traffic surrounding them. “It doesn’t matter.” “I assure you, it does.” “No, it really doesn’t.” “I know you think—”

“Look, let’s just stop this politically motivated seduction, all right?” Despite her confident words—if possible, she looked even more fragile and out of sorts than before. “It’s a waste of both our time and your efforts.”

“You are so certain I cannot sway your mind?” “You don’t need to. If you agree to certain conditions, I will marry you.”

ZAHIR waited for Angele to take the words back, or at the very least, enumerate these said conditions. But she simply stared off into space, breathing shallowly.

“This is unexpected,” he said finally when it became apparent she had nothing else to add.

In fact, he was so stunned his usually facile brain had the speed of cold honey in processing her immediate capitulation.