“Father, I can’t.” The words leaped out of his mouth without his consent. He’d never said those words to him before. Not even once. But apparently, he had limits. Omar would be proud of him.
His father’s eyes narrowed to slits. “And why can’t you?”
A slick fear coated his gut. “This is so sudden. I wasn’t told in advance. I haven’t even prepared. And without meeting her, no less?” He shook his head. “It’s not fair.”
“Fair?” His father laughed bitterly. “Fair has nothing to do with an arranged marriage like this. It’s all about strategy. Why are you acting so childishly? You’re too old for this foolishness. Too old not to have a wife anymore. All of my sons are.”
Imaad sputtered. At twenty-six, he hardly felt old. “But shouldn’t Zahir be the first to marry? He’s the eldest.”
His father softened, pouring them both another drink. “You’re the only one I can trust with this arrangement. Omar’s too idealistic, and Zahir is too serious. Why would I task either of them with this sensitive arrangement when you’re the best equipped to handle it?”
Imaad’s anger melted. Being needed—and trusted—by his father was the only salve to the situation. And if he was the best one for the job…he’d have to do it.
“Besides, we need this merger.” His father took a testy sip of whiskey. “It’s the only way to prevent more layoffs, to stabilize the business. I thought you’d be relieved.” His father eyed him, sending a subtle guilt trip quaking through him. “Now you don’t have to sit around waiting and wondering if you’ll meet someone worthwhile. I’ve arranged it for you. This is the daughter of the other company’s CEO. She’s young and smart, a perfect match for you.”
Imaad tossed back all his whiskey in one gulp and set the glass down with a thud that resonated through the room. He cleared his throat. “Okay. I’ll do it.” Thank God Omar wasn’t in the room to see him roll over so quickly.
His father’s brows arched appreciatively. “My son. I knew I could count on you.”
The two shook hands while Imaad’s mind scrambled to find an exit strategy. If this was all for business, then it would be important to uphold his side of the deal.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t do something to make sure the American pulled out of the deal. Like making sure she saw the worst, most abhorrent version of Imaad possible.
In fact, that might be his only bet to maintaining his freedom amid the necessary business deal. The merger came along with the CEO’s daughter…but if she chose to call off the wedding, then it wasn’t Imaad’s fault at all.
He grinned a little as he let himself out of his father’s office.
3
Annabelle navigated the Minarak airport with a permanently furrowed brow. She read each sign three times, just to make sure she read the right language, distracted by the jolts and dips of the Farsi alphabet. Once she’d made it through customs, she tensed, worried she might miss the person sent to pick her up. What if they took the wrong Annabelle back with them?
The greeting area was stuffed with people and shouts, and strange consonants filled her head, making it hard to see straight. She waited nervously among milling families, rushing businessmen, and taxi drivers, keeping an eye out for anyone with a sign reading “Annabelle.”
Men filled the area, some with complicated scarves on their heads. She tried not to stare but was awed by the diversity, the sheer foreignness of these sights and this land. She hadn’t even left the airport yet. Excitement shivered through her, and she wondered what awaited her with this merger.
She scanned the crowd again. Plenty of people looked at her, but she assumed it was the way she stood out like a sore thumb here. Her blonde hair and blue eyes were eye-catching as it was, but in her Western clothes, she looked every bit a foreigner.
One man raised his hand to wave her way. She lifted a brow, waiting to see if it was meant for her. The man gestured excitedly, his big pot belly jiggling with the movement. Head to toe, he was covered in a flowing white robe. She swallowed hard. Probably in his mid-sixties, a round face with a big, black beard. Was he her driver?
She took a tentative step forward, but paused when a gaggle of little kids rushed past her, shouting something as they headed for the man. They swarmed him, jumping up and down. His big smile told her that he must be grandpa. Off the hook.
Annabelle relaxed, looking back at the meandering stream of travelers. She nibbled on her lip, watching the door where more and more people exited, leaving the hall nearly empty. She kept a firm grip on her trademark teal suitcase. It was best to stand out, to set one’s luggage apart from the rest. She fidgeted with a cuticle. Or maybe that just meant it was easier to steal.
She sighed, cocking a hip, anxiety making flutters in her belly as she waited.
“Annabelle?”
A deep voice interrupted her fretting. She spun on her heel, finding a tall man behind her. She gasped, unable to rip her gaze from his gorgeous face. He was picture-perfect, with the sort of stunning proportions that made her feel like she was looking at a magazine ad. Her mouth fell open and she forgot how to act, how to speak, how to do anything.
The man blinked, eyes narrowing. “You are Annabelle, right?”
She drew a deep breath, forcing her gaze away from his face. He was d
ressed like a model too. Crisp black suit, which complemented his olive skin tone amazingly well. Too amazingly well. She stared at his shoulder—the safest place she could look, she figured. “Yeah.”
“I’m Imaad.” He stuck out his hand. She blinked, looking at it for a moment, before bringing her own small, pale hand to greet his. They shook, and his warmth flooded her. She swallowed a sigh.
“Pleasure to meet you. You’re Director of Operations for Almasi Holdings, right?” She tucked back a lock of her hair, which suddenly felt greasy now, standing in the shadow of this beautiful man. She had day-old hair and airplane face. She would have freshened up in the bathroom before hitting baggage claim if she’d known a man like this was greeting her.