Snorting, Mila tied her apron around her waist. Apparently, a supervisor at the resort had called to check her references.
That was fast.
“Let me guess. You put in an application and got denied? For your information, I haven’t told Liyah that I put in an application, and I didn’t list her as a reference. You should mind your own business, Fatima. Jealousy really doesn’t suit you.”
Things went downhill from there. Fatima made sure that the hostess only sat singles in her section, she deliberately messed up Mila’s orders, and she doubled the side work that Mila had to do at the end of the night.
There was no hesitation when Mila put in her two weeks. If not for her strong work ethic, she would have quit on the spot.
When she checked her phone after her shift, she was surprised to hear a voicemail from the hiring manager at the resort asking for an interview the next morning, but rather than at the resort, they wanted to meet her at the conference center in Rashid’s sports arena. She bit her lip as she listened to the message again. It sounded like a group interview . . . lots of potential competition. Still, she was determined to do this on her own, without Liyah’s help.
Even though it was late, she called back and confirmed that she’d be there at noon. Hope filled her, and even the memory of Fatima’s venomous comments throughout the evening could not dampen her spirits. It was time for her to move on and try something new. She couldn’t stand the rut that her life had become.
The next day, she wore the only business suit she owned. She’d ironed the modest black skirt that skimmed just above her knees, along with the matching blazer. Because it was far too hot to keep the blazer on for long, she wore a short-sleeve gray blouse underneath, one that would let her skin breathe.
Sahaar was out shopping for ingredients, and Mila hadn’t told her host-mother about the interview. She couldn’t bear to disappoint the woman if things didn’t go well. A taxi picked her up at eleven thirty, and fifteen minutes later, she was striding through the halls of the sports complex with her head held high.
The arena complex was impressive. Mila knew from Liyah that Asad and his brother Rashid were in fierce competition to see which business would succeed first, but from what Mila could tell, the competition had served both men well. Both were enjoying ridiculous success.
The massive complex hosted football, cricket, tennis, rugby, and swimming, as well as billiards and pool tournaments. The main central building hosted several different restaurants and bars as well as dozens of conference rooms on the second floor. Mila checked her piece of paper again, and double-checked to make sure that she was at the right place. The large room could easily have held fifty people, but the chairs lining the long conference tables were empty.
“Crap,” she muttered to herself as she reached for her phone. It was going to be so embarrassing if she had to call and let them know that she was lost.
Before she could dial the number on the paper, the doors opened behind her. Mila’s eyes widened as Amira, Liyah’s sister-in-law, and Rashid walked in. Two security men eyed her from outside the glass door.
“I’m so sorry,” Mila said and bit her lower lip. “I think I’m in the wrong place.”
Amira smiled warmly as she pulled out a chair and sat down. “Not at all. I’d apologize for being late, but since it was my brother who made us late, I’ll let him apologize.”
“I was in the car and waiting on you,” Rashid growled. He openly appraised Mila, but there was no trace of the charm that she’d seen the other night in Sahaar’s house. “Sit down.”
“Rashid,” Amira said sharply. “Now I must apologize for my brother. He can be a little too curt, sometimes. Please join us, Mila.”
Nervous, she grappled for the back of the chair and pulled it out. Just as she sat down, she realized that her resume was still in her bag.
Muttering under her breath, she leaned down to pull her folder out and removed the cream-colored sheet of paper. “I’m surprised that you two would take the time out of your day to interview somebody for a waitress position,” she said as she slid the paper across the table. “I hope you’re not just doing this because Liyah asked you to. I told her I didn’t want any special treatment. I trust that my experience at the lounge and my experience waiting tables in the United States will speak for itself.”
Amira raised her eyebrows as she reached across and grabbed the piece of paper.
Rashid continued to stare at her quietly, and Mila plunged ahead. “I love meeting with new people, and I’m a quick study when it comes to menu items and operating systems. I’m a great multitasker, and I work well with other people and am also adept enough to solve problems on my own.”
Rashid put his hand up, arresting palm toward her. “Let me stop you right there. We’ve spoken to your previous boss. Although there’s a manager there by the name of Fatima who seems to hate you, everyone else has excellent things to say about you. You take orders well, you’re quiet, and you’ve charmed quite a few of their regular customers.”
Someone had told him that she was quiet? Mila had a hard time believing that, but if he got her a new job, she thought she could manage to keep her mouth shut—for a little while, at least.
Rashid snagged the resume from Amira and turned it over on the table. “I do still have a few questions. We don’t know much about your life before you moved back to Dubai. Is there anything scandalous in your past that might affect you here?”
Scandalous? Mila frowned. “I don’t think so?” she said slowly. “There might be some embarrassing pictures from my college days, but I doubt anyone here would be interested in those,” she said at last, and laughed. Social media made it difficult to live anything down.
“What kind of pictures?” he asked sharply.
She shook her head as she tried to think. “I don’t know, stupid things. My friends and I dressed up one year for Halloween, and I drew the short straw and had to go as Uncle Fester from the Addams Family. There were a few disastrous makeovers, and then there was that one time that I decided perming my hair was a good idea. Is this really relevant?”
Rashid ignored her question. “You no longer have any immediate family in the US, correct? Your father passed away?”
“Yes.” Mila swallowed hard. It was still difficult to talk about losing her father.
“Do you consider yourself a party girl?”