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Ignoring Michelle Reynolds, Bashira turned to speak directly with Adilan—the deference due not just a man but a member of the Adjalane family. “Have you seen the latest revision of the blueprints? They are marvelous, if I say so myself. Quite stunning.”
Michelle Reynolds dropped her arms to her sides and stepped forward. “Mr. Bashira, perhaps we should retire to your office and out from the sun to discuss plans. I’m sure Mr. Adjalane has other things to do.”
Adilan watched as the architect’s eyes widened. He swept out a hand and inclined his head in her direction. “Miss Reynolds, I shall leave you to the cool of the date palms.” He withdrew a business card from his shirt pocket and tucked it into her breast pocket, letting his fingertips linger for a brief moment. He didn’t miss how her eyes sparked. “I shall call you about dinner later.” He waited to see if she would rise to that bait—perhaps start an argument in front of Mr. Bashira, which would only make that man wish to reconsider working for her.
Instead, she forced a smile that was too bright and which left her eyes still icy. He swept her a bow and left.
She had won this skirmish, but if she thought she had won the war, she would be sadly mistaken. She might refuse his offer today, but he intended to make certain she eventually accepted. This land would belong to his family again, no matter what he had to do to get it.
Chapter 3
Michelle watched Adilan Adjalane stroll out of the valley as if he still owned it. She pressed her lips tight and resisted the urge to pick up a rock and throw it at his back—that would be childish. Instead, she turned to Mr. Bashira and smiled. “Let’s take a look at those plans.”
Mr. Bashira turned—he, too had been watching Mr. Adilan Adjalane leave. Now he offered a smile that didn’t hold and mopped his brow. “Perhaps at my office?” He turned and hurried away before Michelle could agree or disagree.
Following him, she headed into the cool canyon and back out to where the cars were parked—or rather, where her town car waited. Mr. Bashira’s car was leaving a dust trail as it sped back toward the city and Adilan’s sports car wasn’t even a red dot on the horizon. Michelle let out a breath. Just what was the problem here.
She asked the driver to take her back to the city, gave him the address of Bashira’s office, and dug out a bottle of water from the mini bar in the town car. The air conditioning was a blessed relief, and she repaired her makeup.
The town car pulled up in front of an elaborately decorated building that mixed old and new. Stone and glass blended in harmony, and the structure—only three or four floors—looked like a perfect jewel box. Asking the driver to wait, Michele got out and headed inside. She liked that even better. Sculpted doorways and classic plaster walls had been combined with modern furnishings and light fixtures, Persian rugs with the soft colors of age graced the floor. The structure had been built around a shaded courtyard that managed to pull in the least little breeze. Sheer curtains danced in that touch of cool air to create an inviting atmosphere.
She walked through the courtyard, where a tiled fountain added color and the musical sound of water. This was why she had hired Bashira—this was similar to what she wanted him to create at Al-Hilah.
Smiling at the receptionist, Michelle gave her name.
The young woman frowned. “I am very sorry, but Mr. Bashira is unable to see you just now. I do not see that you have an appointment.”
Michelle pulled in a breath of air. “We just met out at the property I own.”
Michelle swallowed back her frustration. She’d learned from her mother to hold her temper, so she fixed her smile. “There’s obviously been a misunderstanding. Don’t worry about it.” She turned, and headed straight for the main office, which had to be Bashira’s.
The receptionist protested, but Michelle was already inside and facing Mr. Bashira. The man looked rolled his neck, the receptionist started an explanation, but Bashira held up a hand. “It is all right, Samina.”
Striding into the office, Michelle put her messenger bag on a chair and stayed standing. “Just what’s going on?”
Straightening, Mr. Bashira offered a faint smile. “Unfortunately, a large project I have been waiting on just came through. I’m afraid I will not have time to help you further.”
Michelle stared at him. “We had a verbal agreement.”
“No. We had discussions. I am sorry, I am no longer available.”
She crossed her arms. “Would this other project be something for the Adjalanes?”
His face reddened. “I do not like to discuss other clients.”
“You don’t have to—that says it all. This is very disappointing, but I understand your position. You live here—they are a powerful family? Could you perhaps recommend another architect? Or just give me the existing blueprints?”
He let out a breath and seemed to deflate. Sinking into the leather chair behind his desk, he put his palms on the polished oak. “I really cannot. Your project is…offers unique challenges. I doubt any firm in Al-Sarid could undertake it.”
Without the support of the Adjalane family.
He didn’t say the words, but they hung in the air. Adilan Adjalane had gotten to the man—they’d probably talked by phone, or Adilan had ambushed the man in the city and had made it clear that he’d better not work with her if he wanted to do business in Al-Sarid.
She’d know the Adjalane family was powerful—her mother had made that clear. They not only owned a good deal of property, they were the money behind most of the development over the past ten years to convert Al-Sarid’s economy from oil—which the country lacked—to solar and tourism.
She gave a nod and grabbed her bag. “Don’t bother showing me out. But do keep your schedule open—this isn’t finished yet.”
Heading for the front door, she stormed out. This wasn’t over by a long shot. No way was Adilan Adjalane getting away with this. He couldn’t threaten her—and, hell, if she had to hire a firm from the States or anywhere else, she would do it.
