college.”
Rachel felt strangely detached as she listened to him, as if he were talking to another girl, sitting in a chair who had the same name as she. There was a buzzing noise that tried to cancel out his words. She guessed it was a defense mechanism to keep his words from doing too much damage. Yet he told her what she already knew, what everyone already knew.
He smiled again. “Ahmed said, ‘give it to her. She will learn. Trust me, she will bring you luck. And that is not something you can buy.’”
“So,” he said, clasping his hands together. “Here we are.”
She tasted blood and realized she had bitten her lip. She knew she looked fierce, but didn’t care anymore. There would be no more pretending. “Have you ever opened a hotel before?”
He opened his mouth to say something but stopped. He tapped the tip of his pen once on the desk. “I have not,” he said.
She just looked at him.
“But I have been to very many.”
She wanted to say that she’d been on many airplanes but that didn’t mean she could fly one, that the only difference between them was a few years and piles and piles of money. His dad was royalty and hers was a pediatrician. She swallowed this and said instead: “How did you find them?”
“The grand openings, you mean? All the same. Unless someone got drunk or something caught on fire. So still, all the same.” His tone was lighter now. Perhaps he was trying to make amends.
“I’ll write that down,” she said. “Catch something on fire.”
“Better than another ice sculpture.”
“I can try,” she told him.
“Please, give me updates on what your doing. I want to hear your ideas. I’d also like a link to the spreadsheet, so I can see the changes. Otherwise, everything dealing with money goes through Jensen.” He leaned forward, opened a small brass box sitting on his desk, and retrieved a card.
“It’s going to be a busy month until the event. You need to meet people, know who to invite, know who can help with the press. We need a cultivated guest list. This Thursday night there is a party at Jorg Oberheim’s villa. I am going. Samantha is going. You need to be there.”
“Thursday? Sure.”
“I’ll have Sahar give you the details.”
He stood up, came around the desk. She stood up too. He took a few steps closer, holding the card, running his finger along the edge of it. He was so close she could see a freckle just above the edge of his jaw. She let her gaze move up to his eyes and noticed he was looking right at her. “Here,” he said holding the card out for her. She took it and when she did the top of her index finger brushed the tip of his thumb. The room felt diagonal and she took a step to right herself.
"Rachel," he said, " Rachel?"
* * *
“I do.”
“Good. He can show you how to share the spreadsheet, using my email address. Also share with me any ideas you have. This will be seen as my event, so I want to know what’s happening. No problem?” He looked down a little trying to catch her eyes again.
“No problem,” she said.
She gathered her papers from the chair and began t
“Do you have a dress? A party dress?”
“Of course.” It was a lie but she would have one. Somehow.
“In case you don’t have anything appropriate, tell Claire, the personal shopper on staff and she’ll help you find something. This, I consider a business expense. So it goes on the hotel’s tab. Okay?”
“Yes,” she said. She waited until she got out the door to look at the card.
Prince Khalid Al Zari, was printed in a simple black font. Under his name was his phone number and his email address. On the back, it was written in Arabic.
Cut here?
She took the card back to her suite. Set it on the console. She took her shoes off. She took her suit off and put on a summer dress put on a pair of flip flops and walked across the street along a strip of sand between a
Rachel felt strangely detached as she listened to him, as if he were talking to another girl, sitting in a chair who had the same name as she. There was a buzzing noise that tried to cancel out his words. She guessed it was a defense mechanism to keep his words from doing too much damage. Yet he told her what she already knew, what everyone already knew.
He smiled again. “Ahmed said, ‘give it to her. She will learn. Trust me, she will bring you luck. And that is not something you can buy.’”
“So,” he said, clasping his hands together. “Here we are.”
She tasted blood and realized she had bitten her lip. She knew she looked fierce, but didn’t care anymore. There would be no more pretending. “Have you ever opened a hotel before?”
He opened his mouth to say something but stopped. He tapped the tip of his pen once on the desk. “I have not,” he said.
She just looked at him.
“But I have been to very many.”
She wanted to say that she’d been on many airplanes but that didn’t mean she could fly one, that the only difference between them was a few years and piles and piles of money. His dad was royalty and hers was a pediatrician. She swallowed this and said instead: “How did you find them?”
“The grand openings, you mean? All the same. Unless someone got drunk or something caught on fire. So still, all the same.” His tone was lighter now. Perhaps he was trying to make amends.
“I’ll write that down,” she said. “Catch something on fire.”
“Better than another ice sculpture.”
“I can try,” she told him.
“Please, give me updates on what your doing. I want to hear your ideas. I’d also like a link to the spreadsheet, so I can see the changes. Otherwise, everything dealing with money goes through Jensen.” He leaned forward, opened a small brass box sitting on his desk, and retrieved a card.
“It’s going to be a busy month until the event. You need to meet people, know who to invite, know who can help with the press. We need a cultivated guest list. This Thursday night there is a party at Jorg Oberheim’s villa. I am going. Samantha is going. You need to be there.”
“Thursday? Sure.”
“I’ll have Sahar give you the details.”
He stood up, came around the desk. She stood up too. He took a few steps closer, holding the card, running his finger along the edge of it. He was so close she could see a freckle just above the edge of his jaw. She let her gaze move up to his eyes and noticed he was looking right at her. “Here,” he said holding the card out for her. She took it and when she did the top of her index finger brushed the tip of his thumb. The room felt diagonal and she took a step to right herself.
"Rachel," he said, " Rachel?"
* * *
“I do.”
“Good. He can show you how to share the spreadsheet, using my email address. Also share with me any ideas you have. This will be seen as my event, so I want to know what’s happening. No problem?” He looked down a little trying to catch her eyes again.
“No problem,” she said.
She gathered her papers from the chair and began t
“Do you have a dress? A party dress?”
“Of course.” It was a lie but she would have one. Somehow.
“In case you don’t have anything appropriate, tell Claire, the personal shopper on staff and she’ll help you find something. This, I consider a business expense. So it goes on the hotel’s tab. Okay?”
“Yes,” she said. She waited until she got out the door to look at the card.
Prince Khalid Al Zari, was printed in a simple black font. Under his name was his phone number and his email address. On the back, it was written in Arabic.
Cut here?
She took the card back to her suite. Set it on the console. She took her shoes off. She took her suit off and put on a summer dress put on a pair of flip flops and walked across the street along a strip of sand between a
Similar Books
