Page 11 of Bred By the Sheikh

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A woman from Tariq’s household staff met me a few minutes later.

“I’m Farah Saleh, Sheikh Tariq’s household manager. I’ll show you to the guest wing.”

Farah escorted me through a controlled elevator lobby and waited while I retrieved my suitcase.

I rolled it myself because there were limits to how quickly a woman from Omaha should become accustomed to people carrying everything for her.

The private elevator opened into a foyer larger than my apartment.

I stopped with one hand wrapped around the suitcase handle.

The foyer had cool cream stone, pale wood, soft fabric, and huge windows.

Farah led me toward the guest wing.

My bedroom had a wall of glass facing the city, a bed large enough to host a diplomatic summit, and a bathroom with a soaking tub positioned beside another window.

I immediately decided there were some forms of luxury I could understand without professional analysis.

The sitting room opened off the bedroom.

My entrance door locked from inside.

A house phone sat on a side table beside a card listing direct numbers for the residence desk, cars, and hotel services.

Farah showed me the elevator access panel.

“Your key will allow you to reach the hotel and lobby whenever you wish,” she said. “You won’t need permission or an escort.”

I wouldn’t have to pass through Tariq’s private rooms, either.

“Would you like assistance unpacking, Ms. Campbell?”

I looked from my suitcase to the room and back again.

“No, thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Dinner can be served whenever you wish.”

I nearly hugged her.

“I may love this hotel.”

Her smile remained beautifully professional.

“I’ll let the kitchen know you’ve arrived.”

After she left, I changed absolutely nothing about myself because sitting down seemed dangerous.

If I sat down, I might wake up Thursday.

Instead, I wandered back toward the shared residential sitting area.

The terrace doors stood open to the evening.

Hot, humid air touched my bare arms when I stepped outside.