The Sheikh's Pregnant Employee (Almasi Sheikhs 3)

A grin covered her face as she responded. “Dinner? Again? You’ve taken me out every weekend. Shareholders are going to start thinking you’re banging your subordinate.”

Little dots let her know Zahir worked on a response immediately. “But we do so much more than mere banging. So yes? Dinner?”

She smoothed a hand over the Spanx as she contemplated her reply. Of course she wanted to go to dinner. These last four weeks had been magical and fulfilling in a way she hadn’t expected. More than anything, she wanted to continue this fantasy where she and Zahir had pure, unadulterated fun with one another, where they were able to connect and just be together without any consequences. She excelled at this kind of relationship.

Except her guilt at knowing that it was all a ruse gnawed more on her daily. She would be showing soon, for fuck’s sake. She couldn’t keep up this deception for much longer. She had to tell him.

Marian is right. He needs to know. All of her protests and excuses for keeping it to herself withered when she burrowed down to her gut instinct. And when she got down that deep, another niggling truth emerged. She wanted him to be excited. She wanted him to want her. In a way that she was scared to allow herself to crave.

She took a shaky breath. So she’d tell him tonight…come hell or high water. She typed out a quick response. “Okay. You win. Tell me where and when and dress code.”

She checked herself out in the mirror once more. She’d have to tell him soon…because otherwise, he’d notice himself soon enough. The Spanx would only hide the growing midsection for so long. And sure, she could pawn it off as weight gain for a time…but when the questionable girth turned into that obvious bump?

Her days were numbered.

She nodded at her reflection, offering a small smile for encouragement. You can do this, Layla. It’s time to tell Zahir the truth.

14

Zahir adjusted the silverware of his place setting for the hundredth time. He’d chosen a fancier place than normal for this dinner—another ostensible business meeting, according to his phone calendar—and it was important that the setting was right. This dinner was more than just another excuse to see Layla’s face and hear her snort-laugh at his bad jokes and burn from her alluring looks when he rubbed her leg under the table.

He was confessing tonight, too. The guilt was eating him up.

His assumption that having fun with Layla in the background of his brewing nuptials would be fine had proven naïve. He hadn’t counted on things blossoming like they had, their friendship and intimacy a multi-layered zinnia sprawling outward toward the sun. The more time they spent together—whether fucking, fondling, or just talking on the phone late at night—the more Zahir spiraled into conflict.

He wasn’t scheduled to meet his bride for another month. But if he waited that long, as he’d originally planned, the situation would only get worse. As it was, it perplexed him at night, keeping him up longer than he wanted.

If you tell her, you know she’ll stop seeing you.

This thought plagued him, and he had an arsenal of

rationalizations ready. Reasons why she could continue to see him up until his wedding day. They were desperate and foolish, and he knew it. But it was his only option; the only intersection of doing the right thing with his embarrassingly unmanageable desires.

Maybe part of his confession this evening would involve something other than the upcoming wedding. He’d considered it a few times—telling her plainly that he felt more for her than just a work fling, or whatever classification they might use. This is more than just sex. The words elbowed for room inside his head when he least expected it. And if he had any choice in the matter, he knew who he’d want to have at his side.

Zahir licked his lips, searching the restaurant for any sign of her. What did he expect her to say? The conversation couldn’t end well. Yet he couldn’t lose her. He needed every last possible second with Layla.

And you think you won’t need her once you get married?

He’d need her more than ever then—he knew it down to his bones. He huffed, adjusting his jacket. These never-ending, circling thoughts wouldn’t rest until he reached some sort of peace with the situation. But it might never come.

Layla breezed through the foyer of the restaurant, entering the main dining room like an angel strutting the catwalk. She glowed—she truly did. He smiled, as he always did when he saw her, even when he tried not to. Her face lit up when her gaze landed on him. She glided toward him in a form-fitting black and white dress, something that hugged her curves but left enough to the imagination. He stood as she approached, then pressed a hand to her lower back as she leaned in for a polite kiss on the cheek per custom.

“You look amazing,” he murmured into her ear, sideswiped by the rush of heat when he caught a whiff of her perfume. That smell could bring him to his knees.

“Business dinners are important.” She winked at him as she sat down, setting her purse in the empty chair at the table. “This one seemed especially urgent. Is the company going through another merger?”

He grinned, leaning back in his chair as a waiter appeared to take her order. She asked for a water with lime.

“No wine?” He reached for the wine list. “I saw a red that I thought we might try.”

“No thanks,” she said, waving her hand. “I’m not really feeling it tonight.”

“All right.” He set the list down, settling into seat. “No wine then.”

She smiled mysteriously at him. “Why order fancy wine when I can get drunk on you?”

“Am I that fine?”