Page 10 of Sheikh's Accidental Pregnancy

“There’s nothing adorable about her, and since when is that a requirement for a personal assistant?” Were they never going to reach the tenth floor?

“It is for me now,” Amir replied. “I’m sick of the stodgy models of perfection, or worse yet, the ones who think they might be marriage material. I’ll take one Sara over three paragons any day.”

“She certainly eats enough for three women.”

“That’s because you are used to women who won’t eat in front of you out of fear that you would judge them. And clearly, you would. Sara just doesn’t care.” Amir smiled, but Tariq did not return it. “If you stopped comparing her to the personality-free mannequins you usually hire, you’d realize her quirks are features, not bugs. Give her a chance, and she’ll grow on you.”

“You know me better than that. Do you really think she will grow on me?”

Amir did not respond. But as much as Tariq wanted to dismiss his brother’s words, he wondered if maybe he was right. Sara had stood her ground that morning, proving Amir’s point that she wasn’t afraid of him. She was the only non-family member who dared to stand up to him, and he wondered how far she would go.

* * *

Sara was happy that it was the weekend. She really needed a break from work. Despite Amir’s easygoing attitude, he worked her hard every day, and she still wasn’t used to the long days. She went from dealing with very important matters regarding the company to ordering his lunch, and he expected all of it to be treated with equal diligence.

She had a lunch date with her neighbors, Keira and Kaleena, twenty-four-year-old fraternal twins. She had been lucky to meet them when she first moved, and they got along instantly. The twins knew a lot about the Botros family and would no doubt have a ton of questions about how her week at the company had gone. They both thought the Botros brothers were gorgeous. Sara had tried to explain that while Tariq was possibly the most handsome man she had ever met, his personality cancelled out his appearance completely.

Realizing the time and not wanting to be late to meet her friends, she slipped into her espadrilles and hurried out the door. Living so close to the town center meant that the main shopping area was an easy ten-minute walk. She was quick to reach the restaurant. It was the perfect place to celebrate her new job with her friends. The whole front of the building was open to the outside, allowing the breeze to circulate through the elegant space and the diners to see and be seen by passersby. She wondered if they were already waiting for her inside. She scanned the tables but couldn’t see the twins. Maybe she’d arrived before them. She went to step inside the restaurant to make sure they weren’t seated where she couldn’t see them when the maître d’ stopped her.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” He shook his head and held up his hands to stop her on the patio. “We cannot accommodate you today.”

“My friends and I have a reservation,” Sara said.

“It’s not that, I’m afraid. Our establishment has a dress code.”

* * *

Tariq checked his watch. He always hoped his grandmother would be on time for their lunch dates, but she never was. The fluid nature of time in the Arab world had always annoyed him—not surprisingly—but his grandmother lived life on her own schedule, no matter what the clock or her calendar said. It might be another hour before she arrived. He would, as usual, go ahead to the restaurant and get a drink while he waited.

His pace slowed as he neared the restaurant. Sara was standing at the entrance, deep in a conversation with the maître d’. She looked frustrated. Her hands were propped on her hips, and her lips were pressed together.

“Again, these are the rules for our establishment,” the employee was saying when Tariq drew close enough to hear the argument. “You will find that most restaurants will have the same policy. Perhaps a food stall in the market would be a better option for you, miss.”

And then Tariq understood. Sara was wearing fitted pants that ended just below her knees and a sleeveless blouse. She was lucky she hadn’t been arrested. How long had she been in his country? He shook his head and approached. As little as he wanted to have to deal with her today, the fallout for Botros Oil if Amir’s assistant was jailed for violating the modesty laws would be far worse.

He cleared his throat. “What’s the problem here?”

The maître d’ bowed. “Sheikh Tariq, I apologize for the disruption. I will take you to your usual table immediately. This lady was just leaving.”

Tariq waved his hand. “In a moment. Do I understand that the young lady’s mode of dress is at issue?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll deal with it, Ibrahim. Thank you.” He turned to Sara. “Come with me.”

He knew a boutique not far away that would provide what they needed. Sara’s mouth began to move like a fish’s, opening and closing with no sound coming out. He thought she might explode in a moment.

Hoping to prevent any more of a scene, he leaned close to her. “We have standards of modesty in our public places. You’re at risk of arrest for your clothing. If you wish to have lunch here, you must change clothes. Come with me. It won’t take long.”

He started walking again, and she followed, surprisingly and blessedly silent.

The boutique was full of vibrant colors and soft, flowing fabrics, and a sales assistant hurried up to them and bowed.

“Sheikh Tariq. We’re honored to see you again. How may I assist you?”

He gestured at Sara. “My friend just arrived in Kithab, and the airline lost her luggage.” He waslyingfor her. He almost couldn’t believe it.

“Say no more. Do you know when her luggage is expected to arrive?”

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