The Sheikh's Pregnant Employee (Almasi Sheikhs 3)

And he’d shouldered this responsibility because it was expected of him. Because it was the right thing to do. Because he valued his family more than anything else in the entire world.

“This must be a good idea.” Omar sat up straighter, crossing an ankle over a knee. “Do share.”

“These repeated and incessant culture clashes cropping up, on both sides of the ocean,” Zahir began, leveling his family members with his gaze. “It’s go

tten to the point where productivity is being impacted. We have to curtail it and solve it.”

“Agreed,” their father rumbled.

“I think what we need more than anything is a bridge between the two companies. Parsian or American—it doesn’t matter. Just someone trained in Human Resources with enough sensitivity to help us combat these issues and develop policies to handle them,” Zahir said.

Omar nodded slowly. Their father glared at Zahir as he spoke, but it was just his thinking face.

“It can be a temporary position or long-term. Let’s think of them as a cultural sensitivity trainer, someone experienced in reacting to the needs of our company straddling two very different social realities.” The words flowed easier for him the more that he spoke. “But more than that, they will be the point person for handling these issues. It frees us up from dealing with these quarrels like elementary school teachers. We can all focus on our tasks, remain productive.”

“Brilliant,” Omar murmured.

“Hmmm, yes.” Father replaced his glasses. “Have you looked at budget?”

“We have enough,” Zahir said. “It would be a salaried job, yes, but simply one additional spot.”

“I know someone who might fit the bill,” Omar said.

“Yes?” Zahir steepled his fingers, pleased by the reception, but more than that, his spot-on delivery. When he was on, he was on.

“Marian has a friend with a spectacular HR history. A stellar resume overall. Plus she travels; she’d be a perfect fit for the job.”

Zahir shrugged. “Get her in here. Is she New York-based?”

“Normally. But she’s actually in town now, here for the wedding. I bet we could get her in for an interview.”

Zahir nodded, Layla flashing through his mind’s eye. She was the only American he cared to think about after last night. That hook-up had practically burned their clothes right off.

“She has preference, then,” Zahir said, pushing to standing. “Seems like she’s part of Marian’s chosen family, if she’s traveled here for the wedding, and that works perfectly for our family business model. I’ll inform Mr. Thomas of our plan, as well, since it affects both divisions.”

Zahir squeezed his brother’s shoulder on his way out of the office. Some days—moments like these—he was okay with the task of leading the Almasi family, of steering the business eventually. Even though he hadn’t chosen it.

Back in his own office, Zahir slid back into his chair, mind wandering immediately to Layla. He hadn’t felt such a visceral lack from not being around someone before. They’d been together a total of six hours before he’d snuck out of her hotel and back to his own penthouse early that morning, but today every cell in him screamed for her, like a petulant child seeking candy.

It wasn’t fair. Especially since he hadn’t gotten her number or any other form of contact.

The only ideas that came to him were visiting the club again…or showing up at her suite. Though a surprise visit sounded a bit intrusive. He could call the hotel, leave a message for her with his number. Something simple, seductive, and easy.

He was dialing the hotel’s number before he could even register the fact that he’d made the decision. The phone rang twice before a receptionist answered.

“Hello, I would like to leave a message for suite number 903.” Zahir paused as the receptionist readied to take his message. “Please write, ‘I can’t stop thinking about you. I need to see you again. Yours, Z.’” He relayed his phone number to her, and then hung up the phone, satisfied.

This way, the ball was in her court, but she knew exactly where he stood.

Now all he had to do was wait. His eyes drifted to his phone, as if maybe a call would come through instantly. The anticipation would be nearly too great to bear.

3

Layla smirked over top of her latte. Marian couldn’t see through her sunglasses just how smug she was, but her friend would know something was up.

“Spill it. You’re hiding something from me.” Marian sounded wry as she sipped at a glass of water. This was almost like back in NYC at their favorite spot, if only she looked past the fact that everyone around them spoke Farsi.

“I hooked up with a stranger last night.” Layla giggled despite herself. It wasn’t the most scandalous thing for a twenty-nine-year old woman. But it sure was fun.