Page 67 of Bred By the Sheikh

“You don’t know?”

“No, I don’t.”

“You own it.”

“I own the estate. I don’t personally interview the plants.”

She laughed.

“They’re tiny.”

I glanced at the pale yellow blossoms.

“I can see that.”

“You walked past them.”

“I’ve walked past them many times.”

“That’s terrible.”

“I’ll apologize.”

“To the flowers?”

“If necessary.”

She took out her phone with a smile.

She photographed the plant.

“For the campaign?” I asked.

“Maybe the flowers belong in it.”

“You want to put flowers in the campaign.”

“I want to remember the scale.”

I waited.

She crouched slightly to photograph the blooms against the stone.

“The hotel keeps showing huge things—huge suites, huge lobbies, huge views, huge cars, huge everything.”

“That’s because the things are huge.”

“I know.”

She stood.

“But this is the part I keep noticing.”

“You mean the flowers?”

“The water. The shade. The way nobody hovered after they brought it. That little towel that magically appeared before I admitted I was hot.”

She tucked her phone away.