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He inclined his head. “I must admit I, too, know what it is to be at odds with one’s father. It is the one good thing of being asked to absent myself—while I have missed my home and certain members of my family, I haven’t missed fighting with Nimr. And the approved way for my brothers Adilan and Nassir and I to settle an argument is with fists. That I haven’t missed, either.”
The knot loosened in her stomach. “Well, Daddy’s not much of one for punching, but he did teach me to box when I was twelve.” Turning, she led the way down the hall and to her corner office. A few days and she’d already turned it into her space—meaning lots of mess. Papers cluttered the rosewood desk, books spilled from the shelves, and the only feminine touch she’d allowed herself was an exotic carpet, locally made and antique. She loved the rose and tan hues in the carpet and had bought it despite the ridiculous price charged. This was her space now—and she firmly shut the door.
Malid walked to the large wall of windows behind her desk. She had a silver tea set on a table near an overstuffed sofa, but he ignored comfort for the view. “This city is amazing—I never tire of visiting.”
Joining him, Nigella folded her arms. She made sure to stand a few feet away. He looked even more the dashing sheikh today, with his robes and the headscarf she’d seen on other men. He also smelled good—like sandalwood or something else exotic and spicy. For some reason, she’d thought he’d show up in a suit—and he had. But the addition of the traditional clothing left him…well, looking very much a prince of the desert.
She’d tried to pound that part of it into Daddy’s head—the Adjalane family was just about royalty in these parts. But Daddy was a Texas son through and through—it wasn’t so much that he believed all men were created equal as he thought princes were something that belonged in story books.
Giving a nod to the view spread out below them—blue water and high rises all sparkling in the sunlight—she said, “Your part of the world is beautiful in such unexpected ways.”
Malid nodded and turned to face her. “You are quite certain your father has agreed to let you handle the negotiations from here on out?”
“Daddy had a point. Tawzar is an option—I’m not taking it off the table. But I’d like to think there’s some way we can work out a deal with your family that makes everyone happy.”
He seemed to consider the idea. Nigella held her breath. She hoped Malid hadn’t figured out that Tawzar was a last resort for Opall Oil—the place was notoriously unstable and she didn’t see that changing in the future. Daddy might think the good old US of A would come in guns blazing to help protect a U.S. company, but Nigella would prefer dealing with a stable country.
Stepping over to her desk, Nigella spread out some photos. “I flew over Tawzar yesterday by helicopter. It was barren, but I could see some good potential spots for a pipeline.”
“What did you say about vinegar and honey? Is it not vinegar to talk of Tawzar? And you would have to add thousands of miles of pipe. Have you done the same…fly over with Al-Sarid?”
She shook her head. Did he have to stand so dang close. She could feel the heat of his body and smell that teasing spicy scent. “The piece we saw a few days ago was all I’ve seen.” Pressing a hand to her stomach, which was already rolling at the thought of another helicopter ride, she admitted, “Have to say, I did not enjoy all that dipping and diving. Not at all.”
Malid smiled. “There is so much more to see in Al-Sarid. And better ways to see it. What are you doing for the rest of the day?”
Nigella cocked her head to one side. Just what was he planning here? “My calendar’s clear. I wasn’t sure how long our meeting would take.”
“Then let me show you my country. Let me prove to you why Al-Sarid is the perfect place for your pipeline, and also show you why a lease would ally you to my family, which would be of greater benefit to Opell Oil. I promise we will not be taking any helicopters. What I have in mind is something much more…traditional. Old school, if you will.”
“Don’t tell me—camels?”
Malid lifted a hand. “For part of the journey. Clear your calendar for tomorrow as well—and the day after” He offered up a boyish grin. Her stomach gave a flip. Damn, but when he wanted to put on the charm it came out hot as the sun in the desert. She couldn’t help but stare at him like she was fourteen with her first crush—those amazing, dark eyes, and those lush lips that curved right now and looked all too inviting.
Heat tingled on her cheeks. And what was she thinking? Three days with him in the desert? Why would that be so bad?
She knew the dangers of mixing business with pleasure. She’d had one office fling, had it go sour, and had to endure seeing the guy for another six months as he charmed his way around through half a dozen more affairs. HR had finally booted the guy for sexual harassment.
But Malid—this was a deal that would be done, and if getting him in bed got the deal done faster, nothing wrong with that.
She smiled back at him. “Don’t tell me you’re going for the cliché of a sheikh who carries a woman off to his desert tent?”
Malid stepped closer. “We leave in fifteen minutes.”
She gave a laugh then realized he was serious. Shaking her head, she told him, “I can’t possibly be ready by then.”
“I will have everything you need waiting for us when we reach the border. What use is my carrying you off if I can’t…well, carry you off.” He tapped one finger on her cheek. “I promise you will not regret anything.”
Nigella pressed her lips tight. She never acted without looking at things from all sides. Never. Going away like this was not something she’d ever done—or did. She’d dated plenty, but it was always with a plan and a schedule and a…and boy had those all worked out badly.
She sucked in a breath and let it out. It was not how she operated and this was so far outside her comfort zone, it took everything within her to actually nod at him and give him a smile.
***
Malid strode from the room and was already on the phone by the time he stepped into the elevator. Arrangements would need to be made, but this gave him an excellent reason to return to Al-Sarid. After speaking to Fadin about what was needed, he called his father’s private line.
“Malid, I assume you are calling to say the deal is made?” Nimr sounded tired—exhausted in fact.
Malid pushed down the urge to ask about that. His father would admit to nothing, and that was not the purpose of this call. “I need to bring Michaels into Al-Sarid.” He intentionally did not say which Michaels. “I need a few days.”
