“Here. You take my seat.” He gestured for the brunette beauty to take his seat, staring pointedly at the newcomer. Omar had been pegged to meet the CTO of Thomas Petrochemicals, the American division of Almasi-Thomas, so why were two people here? He had barely had time to register the name of the visiting American, much less any supporting details. Like the fact that this woman looks like someone I need to take home immediately.
The woman slipped into his seat gratefully, and Omar strode to the hostess stand, explaining the situation in efficient Farsi. He waited by the table as a server brought a chair and arranged the additional place setting.
Once he was settled and glancing between the two recent arrivals, he said, “Okay. Now explain: which of you is Kelly?”
“I am.” The balding man with skin the color of pale oatmeal held out his hand. “My name is Kelly Gunther. CTO for Thomas Petrochemicals. I assume you’re from the Almasi tribe.”
Omar lifted a brow. The woman next to him sighed.
“Correct. And you are…?” He turned to the brunette, loving the way her deep brown eyes went wide.
“I’m Marian Frank.” She smoothed the edges of her napkin. “Here to assist Kelly with this deal.”
“Great.” Omar flashed a wide grin, determined to bring this meeting back to lighthearted territory. His primary function was to help navigate this deal to a successful conclusion. Launched by the American side of their newly merged companies initially, the Minarak office would play a pivotal role in securing the deal; Almasi was a crucial Middle Eastern liaison with the notoriously reluctant-to-negotiate oil technology company, National Oil.
Kelly turned to Marian, his eyebrows forming a hard line. “Go grab me a whiskey, would you?”
Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Do you really think—”
“Allow me.” Alarm bells went off in Omar’s head—who did this guy think he was?—but he played it cool, signaling for a waitress. “I’ll ask the server, not my guest,” he added with a pointed look to Kelly.
The flush in Marian’s cheek was unbearably cute, though he wished it came from better circumstances. Tension filled the air, and Omar cleared his throat when their waitress finally arrived.
“Please bring us a round of waters, a whiskey for him.” He pointed at Kelly. “And anything else they might want.”
“I’ll take any martini you have,” Marian said, sending the waitress a flat look. “Just make it strong.”
Omar squashed a grin. How he wished this meet-up could be only the two of them. “Now, let’s get back to business.”
The three of them—really mostly he and Kelly—chatted about the details of their upcoming itinerary. Tomorrow morning, they’d meet the CEO of the reclusive oil tech company. The three of them would sit in a meeting with the National Oil executives to review their respective proposals. Hopefully all would go well, and a deal could be brokered. They might be looking at a signing by the end of the third day.
“I don’t know how they could turn us down,” Kelly muttered over his whiskey. “Only a goddamn idiot would reject this deal.”
Marian’s brows lifted—the silent response system he’d been cataloguing all evening. She seemed familiar to him in a way he could scarcely articulate. She looked nothing like his late wife, Anahita, yet Marian possessed a warmth that reminded him only of Anahita.
Omar tried not to think too much of his late wife. Her passing, after only six short months of an arranged marriage, had been too big of a blow. The cancer had moved swiftly, too swiftly for even the best doctors to intervene. And their marriage was now a cracked shell of a memory. Too quick to even document much beyond the wedding. Snippets of their life together haunted him. But the worst part was not knowing—what would have become of him and Anahita? What children had they missed out on? The love they found together in so short a time was mostly born of grief and rapid bonding…turning a stranger into an intimate lover in mere months.
His heart squeezed in his chest, and he took a sip of his water. Why did Marian bring up these thoughts? He realized Kelly had been speaking, and he had no idea what he’d said.
“I’m sorry?” Omar adjusted his watch, feigning interest.
“I said I can’t expect too much from a company whose primary language is Arabic,” Kelly said more slowly, enunciating his words as if Omar might have suddenly gone deaf.
“You can’t say that,” Marian hissed.
“Why the hell not?” Kelly swung to look at her.
“First of all, they speak Farsi. Second, it’s completely wrong. And finally, we are guests here,” she said, her voice low and threatening, like a mother scolding a child in public. “You need to act like it.”
“The last person I need to take direction from is you,” he spat, downing his whiskey. He raised his hand, waving it in the air. “Waitress!”
Omar pinched the bridge of his nose. Tomorrow would be very interesting. Perhaps a smidge entertaining, if this buffoonery was any indicator. Remember, treat him with respect. Even if he’s deplorable.
“We expect good things of this meeting,” Omar said, measuring his words. “This company has shown interest in the idea of partnering with Almasi-Thomas, but the numbers conversation remains, of course.” He paused, tapping his fingers against the tabletop. “National Oil is very hesitant to meet with almost anyone. The fact that they have invited us to their headquarters is very promising.”
“Damn well better be,” Kelly muttered, craning his neck to find the waitress. “Brought me all the way out to this godforsaken place.”
Marian inhaled sharply. “Wow.”