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She shook her head. “I don’t know if I have enough sway with Malid to convince him of much—he’s very much his own man. You made him that, you know.”
He nodded. “But I have found that when the heart is involved, any man can act for the good and approval of another. And, as you Americans like to say, what have you got to lose?”
She wet her lips. One word echoed in her head in answer—everything. She could end up losing the deal, and Malid’s respect, and…and she didn’t want to dig any deeper into that thought. What she’d had with Malid was…was what? A fling? She didn’t do flings or affairs, and the thought right now of never seeing Malid again—or worse, seeing him and pissing him off by trying to interfere in his life—left her chest tight and her stomach knotted and she didn’t want to go there. But what other choice did she have?
Chapter 10
Nigella arrived back at her hotel, her mind spinning. If she didn’t find a way to help Malid sort things out with his father, Nimr was never going to approve any deal with Opell Oil. Sure, she could fly to Tawzar—and end up with a terrible deal there.
She paced her hotel room, weighting her options. She could pretend the meeting with Nimr had never happened—and she’d lose everything. She could sweeten the deal—and Nimr would reject it. Or she could try and convince Malid to make peace with his father. Nimr was far too much like her own dad, and so she could speak from experience about dealing with a difficult father.
She stopped pacing and scowled at her pale reflection in the glass door that opened onto her balcony. “Even I can’t pull that one off,” she muttered.
Her cell phone rang, her dad’s number showing up on the caller ID, so she answered.
“Nigella. How are things going? I haven’t heard from you for a few days.”
Not an unusual occurrence, Daddy. She buried her sarcasm—one family feud was enough right now—took a breath and put on her business voice. “Things are progressing.” Boy—was that waffling.
Her father’s Texas drawl deepened. “By that, I take it we’re no closer to havin’ a contract in hand.”
“Actually, we are closer—there’s a deal in place to buy the land. It’s everything we need.”
“But?” her father asked. That one word came loaded with doubt. “Tell you what, honey. I fly down an’ we’ll go see the sheikh together and button things up.”
“Daddy, you said you were leavin’ this to me.” Nigella heard the drawl deepening in her voice, too.
“An’ I have an’ you got a deal done. But I want to start construction before summer kicks in and it’s hotter than West Texas in a July. ‘Sides, be nice to see my little girl.”
Nigella clenched her back teeth. Once Daddy starting calling her ‘his little girl’ that meat he had stopped thinking of her as a woman who could run his company
I have to fix this.
Forcing a smile into her voice, she reminded Daddy he had a board meeting in London tomorrow—that would buy her a day. She hung up and dialed Malid’s number. “It’s Nigella Michaels.”
She heard a smile in Malid’s voice. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you? I was just thinking of you. How are you?”
She paused, wishing she could take him up on the invitation she could hear lurking. But she was running ou
t of time and options. “Can I come see you? Now?”
“What if I come to you? The helicopter will put me at your hotel in half an hour.”
Nigella let out a breath. There were things about Malid’s take-charge arrogance that were rather comforting. “Sounds good. I really didn’t want to make the drive to you.” She told him she’d meet him in the lobby, then started plotting just what she was going to say once she saw him. And was this all about to blow up in her face?
***
Malid had heard the tension in Nigella’s voice, and he saw it in her shoulders and stiff stance when he met her in the lobby. She looked in business mode—a dark suit coat and trousers, an even darker blouse. Her eyes seemed wary and she looked tired. Walking up to her, he took her hand. “Shall we get out of here?”
She gave a small smile. “Should I change first?” She waved her free hand at his jeans and polo shirt.
Malid grinned. “Today, I’m not a sheikh. And you’ll be fine.” He led her outside, flagged down a taxi and asked the driver to take them to the botanical gardens.”
With a sideways glance, she said, “I didn’t realize there was such a thing here.”
“It is financed by both the Adjalane and the Sharqi families and has been likened to the Garden of Eden.” He let his smile widen. “But it is not as private as an oasis.”
Her cheeks warmed. He was delighted to see it. He had been hoping she might provide him the distraction he needed to forget his frustration and anger with his father. At least for a short while. But seeing her tense and worried, he found himself wanting to be the distraction for her. That was a novel sensation.
