Indebted To The Sheikh (You Can't Turn Down a Sheikh Book 5) Page 6

  “I don’t see how I could ever miss someone I hardly knew.”

  I didn’t tell her about how I had cried at the funeral, or how I had lain awake that night, staring up at the frescoed ceiling and wondering where mediocre men went when they died.

  Nor did I mention the fact that the creditor who had denied me the book was a man with whom I had hooked up on the previous night. I saved that revelation for Aisha when she came over for breakfast the following morning.

  Wanting to make up for the fact that I had gone to Paris without her, I cooked an elaborate breakfast of crepes with crème fraîche and apricots lightly powdered with sugar, served with sparkling grape juice. I felt that champagne was too fancy—and too alcoholic—for eight a.m.

  “You’re joking,” she said when I told her. “I can’t even…how?”

  “Because the universe hates me and wants me to be unhappy,” I said with a shrug.

  Aisha clucked her tongue. “Of all the joints in all the towns in the world, he walks into yours. It almost feels like fate.”

  “Or the world’s most horrible coincidence,” I said as I stacked my plate with crepes. “I had hoped that maybe I could use our connection to my advantage, but no such luck. He refused to give up the book. Even though I had just made out with him. Even though we were planning on getting a room that night. I really hope he’s regretting that decision now,” I added viciously.

  “So, you decided to take my advice?” asked Aisha, who was seated at the table wearing a white beret and a feather boa and looking nothing like any of the women I had seen in France.

  “Yes, not that it did any good. Once the meeting was over, I took the first flight out. I spent half the trip home in the bathroom trying not to cry too loudly.”

  “Oh, you poor dear.”

  “Pity me not; I’ve survived worse than this,” I said in a lofty tone as I took the seat opposite her. “It was just a whirlwind trip, in retrospect. There was a funeral and tears and smooching and the world’s most humiliating rejection. All in one twenty-four-hour span.”

  “A curse upon his house!” said Aisha with a look of savage glee. “I hope that every time he takes a woman out for dinner, she turns out to be someone who owes him money.”

  “On the one hand,” I said, stifling a laugh, “I’m really glad you don’t have witch powers, because you would totally abuse them. On the other hand, I sort of wish you did right now.”

  “Make me a list of men who have wronged you, and they will taste my wrath,” Aisha said lightly as she reached for the jam.

  “If you could just curse his business advisor, that would be great. I really think he might’ve relented if Mr. Khan hadn’t been sitting there whispering in his ear like a totally cliché evil advisor.”

  I told her about the argument that had broken out in the boardroom and how Salman had been reluctantly forced to side with Khan. Aisha cocked one brow skeptically as she slathered her crepes with jam.

  “You know they were just playing ‘good cop, bad cop,’ right? Salman wanted you to think he was the good guy, but in reality, he had no more intention of giving up the book than his advisor did. It’s like in The Walrus and the Carpenter, how we sympathize with the carpenter, because even though he ate as many of the oysters as the walrus, at least he was nice about it.”

  “Now, I’m really wishing I had read those books as a kid.” The Alice books were to Aisha what the Oz books were to me.

  “Point is, Salman doesn’t deserve your sympathy. He’s just as scummy as this other dude. He put on that show of reluctance because he hoped you would feel bad for him and sleep with him when the meeting was over. But now, he will never, ever sleep with you.”

  “Maybe not.”

  Aisha paused with her fork in the air, instantly suspicious. “What do you mean, maybe?”

  Reluctantly, I told her about the suggestive remark Khan had made as he and Salman were leaving the room.

  “I felt absolutely disgusted when I heard that. But the more I got to thinking about it—hear me out—”

  “Cassie, no.”

  “I would give just about anything to get that book back. And what would be the harm in sleeping with him if it meant I could have it? Three days ago, we were planning on having sex, anyway. The only thing that’s changed in the meantime is that, now, I hate his face.”

  Aisha glared at me as if worried I had taken complete leave of my senses. “Cassie, do you really want this book enough to trade your integrity for it?”

  “Are you really going to lecture me about integrity?” I asked loudly. “You were the one who wanted me to sleep with him in the first place.”

  “That was different!” Aisha set her fork down, her crepe untouched. “That was before he insulted you and harassed you and refused to give you a stupid book that belongs to you by right. You don’t reward someone like that by offering them sex.”

  “I wouldn’t be rewarding him,” I said angrily. “I would be getting something that I wanted. I don’t want to sleep with him, believe me, but I’d do it if he’d reconsider. That doesn’t make me a bad person, it just—”

  “Makes you seem more than a little desperate.” Pushing her plate away, Aisha poured herself a second glass of sparkling juice, sipping it with the air of a woman in her forties contemplating a divorce. “I love children’s literature as much as you do, but not enough to offer my body in exchange for a book I wanted. You wouldn’t see me trading sex for a copy of Through the Looking-Glass, even if it was signed by the author.”

  “It’s not about that.” I stabbed ferociously at a crepe. “We could be talking about a dog-eared eighties paperback, and I would still want it, because it belonged to me. They haven’t just stolen a book, they’ve stolen a part of me. Both my parents are dead, now, and that book is really all I have left.”

  “Cassie, sweetie, I’m as sentimental as the next person,” said Aisha softly, “but I think you’re investing too much worth in that book. Maybe Patricia was right. Maybe you really do need to let it go and move on.”

  I shook my head in annoyance. I knew she meant well, but I wasn’t going to give up when there was still a chance that I could get the book back.

  Maybe sex with Salman wouldn’t be the delightful time I had envisioned a few days ago, but I could lie back and take it. Within an hour at most, the ordeal would be over, and the book would be mine—assuming, of course, that he was willing to make the exchange. He had been desperate to sleep with me not too long ago. Would he still feel the hunger if he knew it would cost him two hundred thousand dollars?

  I took our now-empty plates and rinsed them off in the sink.

  “You are making me glad I’ve only kissed one man in my life,” said Aisha as she gathered her purse from the kitchen table. “Between the arguments and the betrayal and the theft of your childhood classics, I’m not sure that being in a relationship is even worth it.”

  Chapter 8

  Salman

  Asar and I had spent the last couple days poring over the paperwork detailing the Renault estate, arguing over which items ought to be sold and which could be safely discarded. The memory of that one evening with Cassie and the acrimonious morning that had followed lingered like the smell of strong coffee. I felt increasingly bad for the way things had ended between us. More than once, I had contemplated texting or calling her just to apologize, but Asar repeatedly talked me out of it.

  “You can’t back out, now,” he said sternly, methodically eating a sandwich as we sat in our office. “We’re committed to this.”

  “Committed to what, exactly?”

  “You already won the victory. You got the estate, and the book, which is what you wanted. I don’t want to see you throwing that away because some woman made doe eyes at you.”

  “I have no intention of giving up the book,” I said, annoyed by his condescension, “but I wish there was something I could do to make it up to her.”

  I kept thinking of the look she had given me as we’d wa
lked out of the room that morning—a look of contempt mixed with heartache. Of course, there was no guarantee that if I called her she would even be willing to answer. Not now.

  “Don’t go all soft-hearted on me,” said Asar, waving the half-eaten sandwich in my direction. “I know where that leads.”

  “And where do you think that leads?” I asked skeptically.

  “First, you text her just to say you’re sorry. Then, she’s calling you to patch things up and wanting to know if you’d like to go out for dinner, and the next thing you know, you’re offering her the book free of charge in the hopes of making up for your earlier bad behavior. That’s almost a quarter of a million dollars lost, all because a woman batted her eyes at you and your heart melted a little.”

  I didn’t appreciate Asar’s contemptuous tone or his uncanny evocation of my father. “You need balls of steel if you’re going to make it as a creditor,” my father had warned me, “and I don’t think you have them.”

  I’d spent years hoping to prove him wrong, but even now, there were moments when I worried that I wasn’t ruthless enough, wasn’t cold enough, wasn’t man enough to make it in this business.

  I stayed late in the office that evening, trying to finalize the transfer of funds from Mr. Renault’s estate to our accounts. Asar left at dusk, leaving me alone with my young nephew, Salim, who sat at the head of the long table quietly completing a math assignment. My sister had gone out for the night and asked if I could watch him.

  The afternoon had given way to a pale purple twilight that pressed against the windows as if wanting to be let in. I had become so absorbed in the work in front of me that I’d missed the sound of evening bells, and I was only drawn out of my reverie when Salim asked me a question.

  “Do you think I’ll ever have a girlfriend?”

  Startled by the sound of his voice, as well as the nature of the question, it took me a moment to answer.

  “Yes, if you want one. Where did that come from?”

  Salim frowned. “It’s just—this morning, a couple girls at school got into an argument. Renée said most people end up getting married, and we’d all probably get married when we were older. Elise said some people are more likely to get married than others, and she pointed at me. She said, ‘Who would marry him? He’s way less likely to get married than someone handsome.’”

  Surprised by the girl’s cruelty, I asked, “What did you say in response?”

  “Not much.” He shrugged. “I just asked her if she’d ever read the story of the ugly duckling who became a swan.”

  “Excellent,” I said, beaming. “And just for the record, I don’t think you’re ugly now. What’s truly ugly is the heart of the person who can’t see past appearances to the person underneath.”

  “Thanks.” Salim smiled down at the table for a moment before adding, “Do you think you’ll ever get married?”

  “You are just full of questions tonight, aren’t you?”

  “Sorry, it’s just something I’ve been thinking a lot about.”

  Drumming my pen along the edge of the table, I said, “I guess if I ever met the right person. I’m not in a hurry to get married, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “See, that’s what I don’t understand,” said Salim. I could sense he had been agonizing over the question but hadn’t known whom to ask. “How do I know when I’ve found the right person? What if I pick the wrong one?”

  “Well, no two people are perfect for each other,” I said slowly, “so it’s just a matter of making it work the best you can. Anyway, I wouldn’t worry about it, now—you’re only fourteen, Salim.”

  “Fifteen in a month,” he shot back.

  “See, so you still have a few years to go before this even becomes an issue. And I think Renée is right. Most folks end up finding a partner at some point, even the sort of people you wouldn’t think anyone could ever love. I don’t think you’re one of those people. You’ll find yourself a sweet, pretty French girl who loves you.”

  Salim grinned appreciatively and seemed on the verge of asking me another question when my phone buzzed. My heart leaped in surprise at the name on the screen: Cassie Renault.

  Hey, she had written, sorry we haven’t talked in a few days.

  Salim and the room and the papers in front of me melted away as I picked up the phone and texted back:

  It’s no problem. I wasn’t really expecting to hear from you again. What’s going on?

  I was still wondering whether my phrasing had been ruder than I had intended when the phone buzzed again.

  This is probably going to seem a little weird, but I was wondering if I could call you? If you’re not too busy?

  I could feel my blood thundering in my ears as I hastened to tap out a reply:

  No, that wouldn’t be a problem at all. Honestly. Give me three minutes.

  To which Cassie said:

  Sure thing.

  Heart racing, I rose from the table and said to Salim, “I need to step out for a minute. Think you can take care of yourself while I’m gone?”

  “Yeah, if I finish with my math, I’ll just browse your law books.”

  “Perfect.” I took the phone and hurried into the hallway, safely out of earshot.

  When Cassie called two minutes later, I let it buzz twice before answering.

  “Hey, Cassie, what’s up?”

  “Not much. You still enjoying Paris?”

  “Maybe if I wasn’t so busy.” Was she really calling just to see how I was doing? That seemed unlikely. “How’s Phoenix?”

  “Ridiculously hot. We’ve had three days this week where the temperatures rose into the hundreds, and I wish I was still waltzing around Paris wandering in and out of fancy department stores.”

  I hesitated, wondering which of us was going to be the first to bring up our last meeting. Perhaps sensing my unease, Cassie spoke first.

  “So, I’ve been thinking about it,” she said slowly, “and I would like to make you an offer. That is, if you’re willing.”

  “An offer?” So, that was the reason she was calling: she hadn’t yet given up hope of getting the book back, and she was sure she could talk me out of it. Remembering Asar’s warning and trying my best to disguise my disappointment, I said, “Let’s hear it.”

  There was a note of hesitation in Cassie’s voice, as if she was having second thoughts. “I’ll meet up with you—in Paris or Qia or wherever you happen to be next week—and we’ll finish the rendezvous we never completed during my first trip. Do you catch my drift?”

  “Yes…?” This wasn’t the offer I had expected. Part of me worried that perhaps I had misunderstood; she had been so angry at the end of our last meeting that I had assumed our relationship was over. “Are you saying you still want to take me up on the offer I made you that first night?”

  I could almost hear Cassie thinking on the other end of the phone. “If it’s the offer I’m thinking of, then yes. Big hotel room and everything. A night to be remembered, hopefully with fun instead of embarrassment.”

  “That was the idea. As I recall, you said you were too tired that night and felt you needed to be getting to bed.”

  “Well, you’ll be glad to know that I’m all rested up,” she said coyly.

  So, I hadn’t imagined it. She really was still interested, even after I had broken her heart.

  “When you said you were sleepy, I just assumed you didn’t want to get a room that night and were looking for an excuse. Which is fine—I wasn’t going to pressure you if you weren’t interested. I’m just surprised, is all.”

  “No, I was very into it,” said Cassie. “It’s just, as you know, we both had to get up very early in the morning.”

  “I wish I had known we were both going to the same place,” I said. “We could’ve just spent the night together.”

  “I know, right?” Cassie laughed a coquettish laugh. “It was truly a freakish coincidence.”

  I leaned back pensively against the wood paneling, wo
ndering how best to phrase my concerns.

  “Cassie, are you sure about this? I’m not opposed to your offer—I want to make that clear—but I seem to remember us parting on…less than amicable terms.”

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about it,” said Cassie with growing assurance, “and I really want this. But there is one condition.”

  “Tell me,” I said, my confusion deepening.

  “I’ll spend a single night with you, and in exchange, you’ll give me the book that is rightfully mine. We’ll both go away having gotten what we wanted.” When I failed to respond, she added, “Salman? Are you still there?”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “What do you think of my offer?”

  I didn’t know what to tell her. I couldn’t help feeling offended that she was clearly only interested in obtaining the book. I felt diminished somehow, like I had become only the means to an end. I rather wished she had wanted to see me for my own sake.

  But I hesitated to say this because I didn’t want her to get second thoughts and back out. I wanted desperately to see her again, if nothing else.

  “I’ll be flying back to Qia on Friday. How would you get over there?” I asked her.

  “You didn’t answer the question,” said Cassie sharply.

  “I’m considering your offer.”

  “I would fly, of course.”

  “Would you be able to afford it?”

  Cassie fell silent. “Right now, I have about three hundred in savings. So, probably not, unless my cousin is willing to spot me. I’ll pay him back when I get paid next week.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’ll pay for your trip.”

  “You’re willing to go through with it, then?” She perked up in surprise.

  I could sense that her decision hinged on my answer to this question.