"Hey, wait a minute. I'm here on legitimate business. You can't just—"
"You forget, Mr. LaRue, I am a sheikh of Zahkim. My cousin rules this country, and when I tell him of this episode, he will approve of my actions. Go back to Mr. Leeland and tell him his daughter is well able to negotiate on behalf of Leeland Enterprises, and he will approve of such a thing, or he will not have access to my country."
He snapped his fingers. The guards stepped closer. Hank huffed out a breath, opened his mouth to say something, and glanced back at the guards. Muttering, he headed back toward the exit.
"Not as stupid as he looks," Nasim said. He smoothed the sleeves of his suit, drank his tea, and then called for someone to bring his car to the front. It was time to expand the search for Ginni to outside the palace. Where the bloody hell had she got herself to?
Stepping into the foyer near the front doors, he found Sheikha Amal's maid, swathed in black robes, pacing and wringing her hands. She turned to Nasim, a flood of Arabic pouring out, and all of it seemed to indicate that Amal and Ginni had left the palace together in Amal's car.
But why would Ginni go anywhere with Tarek's grandmother, and what was that meddlesome old bat up to now?
Chapter Thirteen
Okay, so robes and veils were loose enough to give a girl room to move around in, and with the air conditioning of the limo, they weren't half bad to wear. But the veil over her face kept heating her up from her own breath. She glanced over at Sheikha Amal, who sat back in the limo looking every inch a royal lady. Ginni wished she had that kind of calm. She kept twitching at the robes—least they were soft—kept fussing with the air conditioning controls, and kept wishing this was over with.
"You sure this'll work?" She started to adjust her veil again.
Amal slapped her hand. "Stop. Your veil is correct. And if you do not wish for Zahkim to have to give up the Ash Lands or for Nasim to have to pay Sheikh Ahmad, this is what we must do. I am the mother to a sheikh and the grandmother to another sheikh. Out of respect for my age and status, Ahmad must see me if I demand an audience. After that…" She waved a hand, her jeweled rings glinting.
While Ginni wore unrelieved black robes, Amal's robes dripped with gold embroidery. Her kohl-lined eyes looked exotic.
I get to be the maid in the background.
Well, if it worked to get her in to see Ahmad, it was worth it.
They'd been on the road for over an hour, the limo speeding along at rates that should have gotten them a ticket. But the fluttering royal flags on the hood meant nobody fussed with them. The landscape changed from rocky desert to sand, and then the glittering capital of Dijobuli rose up before them. Ginni caught a glimpse of blue sea in the distance before the streets and tall buildings cut off the view.
Sheikh Ahmad went in for an office building, not a palace. The limo pulled up in front of a high-rise, and Amal got out and shook out her robes. Ginni copied the move, remembering to stay a couple of steps behind Amal the way she'd been told to. Amal swept into the high-rise, and an elevator took them up to the penthouse, which had a terrific view of the coast and the city.
"Wait until I give you the signal," Amal whispered.
Ginni stared at the woman. What in tarnation was the signal?
She had no time to ask, for guys in white robes and golden vests and turbans bowed them into an office that would've impressed anyone.
A thick, royal blue carpet stretched out over what looked like about an acre of office space. Dark wood paneling lined one wall, and windows lined the other three. A huge desk dominated one end of the room, while gold-brocade couches and chairs offered up seating at the other end. A low, round brass table sat between the chairs, a brass tea urn and gold-trimmed glasses already set out, along with a plate of delicate pastries.
Sheikh Ahmad rose up from behind the huge desk and came forward, a flow of Arabic coming out of him. Ginni caught Amal's name and not much more, but she was going to guess it was all polite stuff, such as nice to see you, hope you had a good trip, and so on.
She'd not forgotten Ahmad from the wedding. He looked much the same—a white robe and long, white tunic, a white cloth over his head, held in place with a gold and black rope band. A trim, white beard jutting out, strong nose and black eyes. Ginni could see the resemblance
to Jasmine in the heavy-lidded eyes, the arched eyebrows, the stubborn chin.
Ahmad bowed them over to the seating area, and one of the staff poured tea. Ginni stood behind Amal and a little to her right, trying to figure out what the signal was supposed to be. Her heart had started thudding as soon as she'd stepped into the room. Now, sweat dampened her upper lip, and her palms itched.
Conversation suddenly dried up, and Amal turned and looked at Ginni. Well, guess that was as good a signal as any. Ginni pulled off her veil; Ahmad sat where he was, a glass of tea halfway to his mouth, his mouth dropping open and his eyes bugging wide.
"Now don't go getting into a—"
Ahmad slapped his glass down on the brass tray with so sharp a move, Ginni worried he'd crack it. "What is the meaning of this deception?"
Ginni let out a breath. "I just want to talk."
"I will call the guards and have—!"
"Ahmad!" Amal's voice, stern as only a mamere could be, stopped his tirade. "Sit down and be respectful. This girl has gone to much trouble to see you." She said something else in Arabic, and whatever it was, it left Ahmad red faced, but he sat and crossed his arms.
"I am a busy man. And if this is about you trying to intercede on behalf of Sheikh Nasim, you have wasted both your time and mine."