Suite Dubai (Arriving) by Callista Fox Read Free Book Online Page B

Cineplex, holding hands.   So cliche’.

    He told her he wasn’t in the mood for wine, but she picked up a bottle anyway, just to spite him. She rented a movie at the grocery store, Casablanca . If he was going to tell her something bad, she wanted to look really, really good.  

    “Hey Rach,” he said when she walked in. The room was dark and he was sitting on his shabby sofa, leaned over, his forearms resting on his thighs. “I think we need some space,” he said looking up, finally, to gauge her reaction. She stared at him, too stunned to say anything at first. Then he puffed his cheeks and exhaled, like he'd carried a refrigerator up the stairs.

    That’s when she said the thing about Cosmo Magazine , in a voice that was not cool, but shrill.  

    That was the first time it had happened. That was the first time she felt like she couldn’t breathe.   It wasn’t because she really missed him. “It’s rejection,” Emily told her. “It’s the worst.” She prescribed a night of drinking and then making out with a stranger. “Who wants to date a chubby, balding, Frisbee player anyway. Seriously, if you saw him in a bar would you choose him? I didn’t think so.”

    A ding indicated they'd reached their floor. Before they stepped out Samantha turned to her. "Rachel," she said, lightly touching her arm, "I want to warn you that shaking hands isn’t as common here as it is in Britain, or America-r. Really, it’s best to wait for the other person to initiate it, or not. Just keep that in mind.” She gave Rachel a little smile and then stepped out of the elevator.  

    Behind Sahar’s desk was a glass panel with frosted letters announcing Al Zari Enterprises, under it etched in the glass was the jagged skyline of Dubai. Sahar wasn’t young or beautiful, but she was sharp, friendly. She wore reading glasses on a chain around her neck and low-heeled shoes. “Good to meet you,” she told Rachel. “He’s expecting you now.”

    They walked in and she, trying to avoid looking at him right away, noticed the decor of his office. It was bigger than theirs by half, furnished with brown leather chairs, an octagonal table with bone inlay and topped with a brass tray and an ornate tea set. Displayed on the walls were artifacts from the middle east: a dagger in a holster made of dyed leather and silver studs, framed paper with what looked like Arabic writing in the shape of a stallion. The Prince, who’d been sitting, stood up.   "That was made by a famous calligrapher,” he said walking over to where she stood.

    “It’s painted?” she asked, stepping closer to see the thickness of the lines.  

    “With a small brush,” he said. She stole a glance at him as he spoke, noticed how his dark hair shone in the light, how a dark tendril of it framed his forehead and ended right below his cheekbone. He brushed it back.  

    She looked away. “Are those your relatives?” She nodded at the row black and white photographs.  

    “Great grandfather,” he said nodding at the first. “His brothers,” he said about the other two. All three had dark beards, thick eyebrows, and expressions that made her feel even more nervous.  

    “They look like brothers,” she said. She was aware of his eyes on her now, on her face, her jaw. She wished he’d look away.  

    Behind them Samantha coughed. “Sorry,” she said.  

    “Shall we sit?” He said taking the lead, walking to the chair behind his desk. Rachel took the chair next to Samantha. She felt awkward around him, angular. She didn’t know where to look and when he focused his attention on her, she wished he wouldn’t.  

    "You have a date set?" he asked. Now they both looked at her.  

    She told them she did. “We,” she was careful to include Samantha, “have decided on the 28th of May, a Thursday night.” She stood, teetered a little in her heels and handed Samantha a copy of her budget. She walked to the desk and handed one to him.  

    “This is a