Page 66 of Bred By the Sheikh

Chrissy stopped.

She stared at the glass, then at me.

“You didn’t ask for that.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Did you tell them when we were arriving?”

“They knew our schedule.”

She picked up the water.

“See? This is exactly what I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

She drank.

“The hotel keeps trying to tell people it provides personalized service. This place doesn’t tell me anything. It just has cold water sitting where I want it.”

I glanced at the glass in her hand.

“That seems difficult to build a campaign around.”

“That’s why you flew me here.”

“I thought I brought you because I wanted another excuse to keep you with me.”

Her brows lifted slightly.

Then she grinned.

“Both can be true.”

“Yes, they can.”

We spent the next hour moving through the shaded and indoor parts of the estate.

I’d visited the place so many times that most of it existed to me as function.

The west terrace was positioned to lose direct sun by late afternoon.

Deep overhangs and overhead fans kept the courtyard usable even at the height of summer.

The private guest rooms were positioned away from the main suite so visitors had privacy without feeling isolated.

Chrissy stopped beside a small pot of pale flowers against a stone wall and noticed the chilled towels that appeared after we crossed an exposed stretch of courtyard.

She also noticed a bench placed precisely where the shade reached it and the staff member who set a fresh carafe of water on the terrace, then disappeared before she could thank him.

She touched one of the flowers with the tip of her finger.

“What is this?”

“I don’t know.”

She turned to me.