The Sheikh's Triplet Baby Surprise (The Sheikh's Baby Surprise Book 3) by Holly Rayner Page B
Authors: Holly Rayner
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second.”
Flora suddenly appeared on the other side of the window, curly blond hair wavering over her face. She popped open the door and slid into the seats facing Amity and Aziz. Her bright pink lipstick made her look like a bubblegum pop star. She shot out her hand to Aziz, shaking his.
“So good to meet you, finally. I’m Flora, Amity’s intern.”
“Flora, it’s a real pleasure you’re joining us this evening,” Aziz said. He looked at her brightly. “We’re dragging Amity out on the town, can you believe it?”
“Frankly?” Flora began. “Not at all. Not for a second.” She giggled beneath her hand. “I just wonder how many shots will put her under.”
“Now, now,” Amity began, her voice haughty. “Let’s not get carried away.”
The limousine swept from the apartment block, then. Flora began jabbering about the afternoon she’d had, the shopping she had already completed. She eyed Amity sharply. “You’ll have to go out with me tomorrow. I know a store you would absolutely love. And, let’s face it, you need to restock your wardrobe.”
Amity rolled her eyes. “Let’s see if we have time. You know we’re here to work, right?”
“Nonsense,” Aziz said, clapping his hands.
Suddenly, a small liquor cabinet opened before them. Aziz leafed through it, eventually choosing a bottle of tequila. “We’re not here to work, at least not right now.”
He poured them each a small shot. The glass was chilled, cool against Amity’s hands. She studied the alcohol. She enjoyed wine, but she hadn’t had tequila in years. She watched the other two pulse the shot back before taking it herself, hoping her inhibitions didn’t fly from her in the night.
Soon, the limousine pulled up before a nightclub. Stunning twenty and thirty-somethings were hovering around the entrance, looking at each other with hazy, loving eyes.
Aziz cranked the door opened and landed smoothly on the sidewalk, sending that iconic smile across the sea of people like a wave.
“Aziz!” someone called out. “Aziz, over here!”
In a moment, Aziz disappeared into the crowd, leaving Amity and Flora standing by themselves, on the outskirts. Amity shrugged toward Flora, who flipped her hair.
“I’m not sure about you,” Flora said tartly, “but I plan on having fun tonight.” She clattered into the crowd, in the path paved by Aziz, leaving Amity by herself.
Amity sighed and took a deep breath before entering the nightclub herself. She felt her heartbeat in every digit of her hand. Around her, gorgeous people were dancing like sirens, tilting their hips back and forth, their dark skin illuminated by the lights. The music was electronic, similar to techno, in that it made Amity grow cold. Nothing about it was warm or welcoming. Rather, it evoked feelings of loneliness, despite being in a crowd.
God, where was Aziz, she thought then. He could well be making her job much more difficult, right then—creating a negative image in some room, somewhere, with some pop star. She could imagine the headlines. And she could imagine the month-long headache she would have as a result.
“I’m sorry, Amity,” Aziz would say in this all-too-certain future. “I just wasn’t thinking.”
Amity rolled her eyes at the thought. She strolled toward the bar and ordered a gin and tonic—what Flora would call a “grandma drink”—and sipped it languidly, her head bobbing to the music.
In the corner, an older, perhaps close to 40-year-old Arab man, sat watching her. He beckoned for her to join him, to sit with him, but she shook her head wildly, panicked. She didn’t want to meet people. She longed for the silk pillows of her new chambers.
Abruptly, Aziz appeared beside her. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw him, followed by another, as she noticed he had a woman latched on each of his elbows. They could have been twins, each with silver eye shadow
Flora suddenly appeared on the other side of the window, curly blond hair wavering over her face. She popped open the door and slid into the seats facing Amity and Aziz. Her bright pink lipstick made her look like a bubblegum pop star. She shot out her hand to Aziz, shaking his.
“So good to meet you, finally. I’m Flora, Amity’s intern.”
“Flora, it’s a real pleasure you’re joining us this evening,” Aziz said. He looked at her brightly. “We’re dragging Amity out on the town, can you believe it?”
“Frankly?” Flora began. “Not at all. Not for a second.” She giggled beneath her hand. “I just wonder how many shots will put her under.”
“Now, now,” Amity began, her voice haughty. “Let’s not get carried away.”
The limousine swept from the apartment block, then. Flora began jabbering about the afternoon she’d had, the shopping she had already completed. She eyed Amity sharply. “You’ll have to go out with me tomorrow. I know a store you would absolutely love. And, let’s face it, you need to restock your wardrobe.”
Amity rolled her eyes. “Let’s see if we have time. You know we’re here to work, right?”
“Nonsense,” Aziz said, clapping his hands.
Suddenly, a small liquor cabinet opened before them. Aziz leafed through it, eventually choosing a bottle of tequila. “We’re not here to work, at least not right now.”
He poured them each a small shot. The glass was chilled, cool against Amity’s hands. She studied the alcohol. She enjoyed wine, but she hadn’t had tequila in years. She watched the other two pulse the shot back before taking it herself, hoping her inhibitions didn’t fly from her in the night.
Soon, the limousine pulled up before a nightclub. Stunning twenty and thirty-somethings were hovering around the entrance, looking at each other with hazy, loving eyes.
Aziz cranked the door opened and landed smoothly on the sidewalk, sending that iconic smile across the sea of people like a wave.
“Aziz!” someone called out. “Aziz, over here!”
In a moment, Aziz disappeared into the crowd, leaving Amity and Flora standing by themselves, on the outskirts. Amity shrugged toward Flora, who flipped her hair.
“I’m not sure about you,” Flora said tartly, “but I plan on having fun tonight.” She clattered into the crowd, in the path paved by Aziz, leaving Amity by herself.
Amity sighed and took a deep breath before entering the nightclub herself. She felt her heartbeat in every digit of her hand. Around her, gorgeous people were dancing like sirens, tilting their hips back and forth, their dark skin illuminated by the lights. The music was electronic, similar to techno, in that it made Amity grow cold. Nothing about it was warm or welcoming. Rather, it evoked feelings of loneliness, despite being in a crowd.
God, where was Aziz, she thought then. He could well be making her job much more difficult, right then—creating a negative image in some room, somewhere, with some pop star. She could imagine the headlines. And she could imagine the month-long headache she would have as a result.
“I’m sorry, Amity,” Aziz would say in this all-too-certain future. “I just wasn’t thinking.”
Amity rolled her eyes at the thought. She strolled toward the bar and ordered a gin and tonic—what Flora would call a “grandma drink”—and sipped it languidly, her head bobbing to the music.
In the corner, an older, perhaps close to 40-year-old Arab man, sat watching her. He beckoned for her to join him, to sit with him, but she shook her head wildly, panicked. She didn’t want to meet people. She longed for the silk pillows of her new chambers.
Abruptly, Aziz appeared beside her. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw him, followed by another, as she noticed he had a woman latched on each of his elbows. They could have been twins, each with silver eye shadow
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