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Malid threw out a hand. “The mighty Nimr Adjalane—don’t you ever tire of acting the puppet master who makes us all dance?”
Standing, Nimr put his hands flat on his desk. “How dare you speak to me like that!”
“And how dare you use my mother as a pawn. She isn’t ill. You are—but I would call it a sickness in the head.” Malid jabbed a finger at his father.
Nimr straightened and slashed a hand though the air. “None of that matters. And our arrangement was for you to negotiate with Opell Oil—once you had a deal, I would give permission for you to visit. I was hoping you would learn more than you have.”
Malid took a step forward. “I worked out an excellent deal. I don’t know what devil drives you, but I will not play your games, and I no longer must live by your rules.”
“From what I can see, you don’t live by any rules. Everything I have tried to do has been for your own good—but you are too blind to see. You are an Adjalane and you belong here to take the family forward. But no…you cannot see that. How did you even get in here?”
“Nassir brought me.”
Nimr frowned and sat down suddenly. He clutched his left arm with his right hand. His skin took on an odd pallor—and fatigue filled his eyes. Malid held still, suspecting yet another ploy—another trick. Nimr was never sick—never. He thought of what Nigella had said—that Nimr could not express what he felt. And his mother had said his father was the one who was ill. Well, it did not matter—nothing did. Malid turned to go—he would not be back.
Before he could, Hassan—Nimr’s servant—came into the room and said, “Gordon Michaels is here to see you.”
Chapter 13
Malid watched as his father tried to pull the cloak of his position around him. He straightened and let go of his arm—but Malid felt as if he’d just seen the first chink in his father’s armor. It made him seem human, something Malid would have sworn would never happen.
Ignoring Malid, Nimr glanced at Hassan. “Show him in.”
Gordon Michaels came in as if he had been lurking right behind Hassan. The man looked rushed, his face slightly reddened, his hair tousled. His suit seemed wrinkled by travel and his tie looked as if it had hurriedly been pushed into place. However, Malid knew this was a man to reckon with. From all he had heard, Gordon Michaels had perfected the look of a country-boy—but his reputation was of a shark. Nigella trailed into the room behind him, and sent a frown and a small shake of her head at Malid, as if she had spoken already to her father to try and avert this and had failed.
Malid narrowed his eyes—he would not sit back and watch Gordon Michaels treat Nigella poorly.
Pushing his hands into his pockets, he watched as Gordon Michaels stalked into the room. “Adjalane, just what game you playin’ at? Are we doing a deal or runnin’ in circles?”
Nimr shrugged. “No game. You want something that is very important to myself and my family. I want something in return.”
Arms crossed, Gordon waited. Malid stepped forward to say something, but Nigella walked between the two older men. “Well, isn’t this just fine. You two can now have a good row that won’t make anyone feel better.” She glanced at Malid. “Malid, you have a chance to mend things here.”
He stiffened. “Nigella, why do you ask that of me?”
She threw out her arms. “For one thing, I’d like y’all to stop using anger and bluster as a reason not to say what you’re feeling. Family is important—to all of us.” She blew out a breath. “You and I, Malid, we have something going. But right now my heart is breaking ‘cause I could never be with a man who would abandon his family.”
Malid stepped back—he felt as if she had slapped him. “You expect me to forgive everything my father has done?”
“What about what you’ve done? Families fight, but at the end of the day, they stick together. Without family, we have nothing.” She turned and stared at her father. “Daddy, I love you, but I’m done with trying to prove myself to you.” She turned to Malid’s father. “Sir, you might have been trying to teach your son a lesson, but it’s about as good as the one of you leavin’ him in the desert—just plain wrong-headed.” Finally, she looked at Malid. “And you…you make a fine third here, just as bull-headed as these two and trying to get your own way and ready to stomp off if you don’t.”
Malid stared at her for a moment, his heart pounding. He glanced at his father and Nigella’s father—the two men looked stunned. Nimr sat back in his chair, one hand pressed to his chest. Gordon lifted a hand and let it drop. “Honey, you’re my little girl.”
“Not any more, Daddy. I’m grown, and if you don’t put me in charge, I’ll find a company that will. Won’t mean I love you any less, and I know you love me.” She propped a hand on her hip and faced Malid. “As for you—well, you need to make a choice here between pride or losing everything worth having. And that might include me since I’m not so sure I can be with a guy who doesn’t know how to say those three very important words?”
“Words? What...I love you?”
“Those are nice, but I’m thinking more of saying, I’m sorry.”
Malid stared at her—how dare she…she…she tell him the truth. He blinked. For the first time in his life, he knew he wanted something more than just to be in the right. The thought of not having Nigella in his life twisted a knot in his guts--.
He took a step toward her and stopped.
What if he said those words she had asked for—offered up an apolo
gy—but his father threw them away? Would Nigella blame him? His father was the hardest man in the world to deal with—and Malid wasn’t certain he could back down here.
He looked from his father to Nigella’s father and nodded. “It seems my father is not well. Until he is fully recovered, I will be acting for him—and we will sign our deal.” Nimr made a sound of protest, but Malid stepped between him and Gordon. “Father, you wished an apology. You do not deserve it. But if what you want is for me to make amends to my brother and his new wife, that I can do. I will do what is necessary to convince you to let me finish these negotiations.” Malid turned to Gordon. “But I will only sign this deal with Nigella Michaels.”
