Page 92 of Bred By the Sheikh

Amanda read the slide.

“This is yours?”

“The idea came out of the estate visit, but yes.”

I explained it the way I planned to explain it in the presentation.

Al-Hadid didn’t need to prove that it could provide beautiful things. The scale of the company should let it anticipate better, notice more, and remove more friction before the guest ever had to ask.

Amanda listened without interrupting.

When I finished, she leaned back in her chair.

“That’s the strongest part of the deck.”

My fingers tightened once around the clicker.

“Thank you.”

“I want you presenting it.”

I stared at her.

“You do?”

“I do. I’ll handle the partnership framing and the senior client discussion. You take the guest-experience section from the arrival sequence through this strategy.”

A warm rush spread through my chest.

“You’re sure?”

“Chrissy, you developed it. I’m not going to stand in front of the client and pretend I did.”

That was so thoroughly Amanda that I should’ve expected it.

She waited.

“You can do it?”

“Yes, I can.”

“Good, then stop asking whether I’m sure.”

I smiled.

“Also thoroughly you.”

“I’m glad international travel hasn’t damaged your powers of observation.”

We spent another hour tightening transitions.

Amanda changed two lines, cut an unnecessary slide, and made me explain one piece of research until I could do it without looking down.

By the time the Al-Hadid executives began arriving, my nerves had settled into something useful.

Then Tariq entered.

He wore a dark bespoke suit and a crisp white shirt, every inch of him controlled CEO instead of the man who had fucked me into a mattress at his desert estate the night before.