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The next morning, Mila closed her eyes and inhaled the rich aroma of her coffee as she leaned against the counter.
Sahaar was already elbow-deep in a bowl of batter. She studied Mila quietly but didn’t ask her what was wrong.
Mila wasn’t even sure what to say. She really hadn’t processed Rashid’s ridiculous offer. After leaving the conference center at the sport complex, she’d worked a shift at her soon-to-be former workplace, and the lounge had been so busy that she could barely breathe, let alone reflect. She’d been bone-tired when she went to bed, but now his offer was going around and around in her head.
She took a deep breath, held it a moment, then exhaled and sipped the hot liquid. Moving to the table, she sat down and frowned at the open folder there. “Sahaar, what’s this?”
“The Foreign Exchange Student agency contacted me a couple of weeks ago to see if I was interested in housing another young woman. I agreed to look over her profile.” Sahaar frowned at the bowl of batter and reached across the counter to grab a measuring cup before filling it part-way with water and pouring it in. “I looked it over this morning. This student wants to finish her art history studies here in Dubai. She seems like a bright and capable young woman.”
And downright gorgeous. She had dark, Middle-Eastern skin along with the most gorgeous locks of flaming-red hair and striking amber-colored eyes. “Is this her undergraduate degree? She’s a little old, isn’t she?” Twenty-five wasn’t exactly old, and these days, all kinds of people were finishing a degree. “A little old to join the foreign exchange student program, I mean?”
Sahaar shook her head. “I don’t know her background, but I know that she’s already been accepted to work here, as well. Someone has high hopes for her.”
At least someone had a job. Mila closed the folder and leaned back. In less than two weeks, she’d be out of a job, and there was no way she’d be able to work for the resort or the sports complex now, not after Rashid’s display. She could always ask the manager if she could stay on a little longer, but that would be humiliating, and she didn’t think she could stand to work with Fatima for another second past her two-weeks’ notice.
“Is there something on your mind? You haven’t said a word about your interview yesterday.” Sahaar pulled the dough from the bowl and slapped it on the board. Sprinkling some flour on it, she started to knead it.
“My interview was not for a waitressing position,” Mila said sourly. Now that she was talking about it, anger slowly rose in her. “Apparently, Rashid wants to follow in his older brother’s footsteps.”
Sahaar’s head jerked up from her kneading. “What do you mean by that?”
“He wants to buy me for his wife.” Mila narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. “I mean, the gall of it. I am not for sale. The fact that he would even see me as property means that he has no respect for women!”
“Easy, Mila,” Sahaar warned. “That might be true in Rashid’s case, but Asad did the same thing, and he and Liyah are now very happy.”
“True, but if I had known what was happening earlier in the relationship, I would have put a stop to it!”
“And denied her a happy ending?” Sahaar asked her softly.
Mila couldn’t deny that Liyah and Asad were very much in love and indeed living out their happily-ever-after. It was almost sickening to be around them. “Okay, but Asad is a whole different creature from Rashid. He’s mature and responsible. Rashid is a womanizer and thrives on competition. I would not consider him to be husband material. In fact, if I were to say how I really feel about Rashid, I would say that—“
Before she could finish speaking, there was a sharp knock on the door. Putting her coffee down, she lifted a restraining finger. “Hold that thought.”
Exiting the kitchen, she had shuffled across the carpet before she realized that she was still in her sweat pants and a t-shirt. She hadn’t even bothered to put a bra on yet. Grumbling about early guests, she raked her hands through her hair in an attempt to untangle it before she yanked the door open.
The warm greeting died in her throat as she beheld the smiling face on the other side of the screen door. “Leave,” she growled. “You are not welcome here!”
“Come, now,” Rashid coaxed. “I’ve come to apologize for my rude behavior yesterday.”
“I’ll tell you what you can do with your behavior. You can stick it right up your—“
“Mila!” Sahaar gasped as she came around the corner from the kitchen. “You will be polite to the guests in my home!”
Rashid’s smile only widened, and Mila bit the inside of her cheek. Her respect for Sahaar outweighed her disgust with the sheikh, so she stepped back and opened the door. “My apologies. Please, come in.”
“That’s very kind of you. Thank you.”
Ass. She glared at him behind his retreating back.
Sahaar just sighed and shook her head. “Mila. Do you think you could offer our guest some coffee?”
Mila really didn’t think she could. Anything that prolonged Rashid’s unexpected visit would be intolerable. Forcing a smile that probably came out as more of a grimace, she swept her arms out in a dramatic fashion. “Would it please you, Sheikh Sharif, for a cup of coffee?”
Delight danced in his eyes. “It would, thank you.”
Wonderful. She barely resisted rolling her eyes as she stomped into the kitchen.
Sahaar followed her. “Mila, I know you are unhappy, but you have to remember that this is not America. We respect the powerful families here, so even if you are upset with him, I plead with you to hold your tongue while he is in my home.”
