Page 8 of Bred By the Sheikh

Did the campaign need to explain service more directly, or would that make it feel less luxurious?

I answered what I knew.

When I didn’t know, I said so.

He never seemed bothered by that.

By late afternoon, the light outside had warmed, but I had completely lost track of what time it felt like.

Someone brought sparkling water and a small plate of food to the working group.

I ate three bites before realizing they were probably the first meaningful calories I’d consumed since somewhere over Europe.

Of course Tariq noticed.

“You haven’t eaten.”

I looked at the small pastry in my hand.

“I’m actively eating.”

“You’ve eaten half of that.”

“Your surveillance standards are alarming.”

His mouth tilted.

“I own hotels. People eating is relevant to my business.”

“That sounded almost convincing.”

“Almost?”

“You knew exactly how much I’d eaten.”

“You were sitting across from me.”

My stomach fluttered again.

I took another bite.

“Better?”

“Yes.”

That single word shouldn’t have done anything to me.

It did.

By six, the working group had a revised direction for the next day and I had four pages of notes, a low-grade caffeine headache, and absolutely no idea whether it felt like morning, afternoon, or the middle of the night.

We were gathering our things when Tariq glanced at the itinerary beside my notebook.

“Where are you staying?”

I gave him the name of the StayWell-booked property.

His expression changed.