The Sheikh's Reluctant American (The Adjalane Sheikhs 3)

Malid held out his hand to help her from the SUV. He gestured to the high walls and the very solid gate. “We are in sandstorm season, and so an interior entrance from the garage as well as this one, and walls are most useful to block most of the sand. Fadin, please tell the kitchen we will be havi

ng luncheon on the second floor balcony.” He glanced back to her and asked, “Do you like nature?”

She ignored the hand held out to her and used the excuse of gawking to climb out on her own. She turned in a circle. “Back in Texas we have a greenhouse—it’s my retreat. The mansion’s big and the ranch is even bigger, and growing up that greenhouse was Tarzan’s jungle, and I was Indiana Jones.”

Malid laughed—he actually laughed. She turned and saw he’d pulled off his sunglasses—at last. His dark eyes gleamed with amusement, and she started to think this deal wouldn’t be that hard to pull off. “You are mixing your fiction,” Malid told her.

She grinned. “Oh, always.”

Taking her arm, he led her inside. Short of being rude and pulling away, she didn’t know how to get his hands off her, but maybe she shouldn’t try so hard. He’s just being polite, she told herself. But she also gave a small shiver. She liked those strong wrists and long fingers on her skin just a touch too much.

She also found herself liking the clean lines inside. Not quite stark, but modern and sparse, with a vibrant use of colors—dark blues, reds, orange and yellows—in the artwork choices which were all excellent, modern works, the carpets, which looked old and richly worked, and thick drapery that bracketed sheer linen.

Malid led her upstairs and to a balcony where a dining table of glass and wrought iron had been set up. He gestured toward one of the chairs, and she seated herself.

“Your name…it seems unusual,” he asked. He took the chair opposite her. She relaxed back against the thick cushions. It wasn’t too personal a question, but it was an ice breaker, and one she was used to.

A young woman in a very modern maid’s uniform came out of the house and filled water glasses for them. Nigella sipped and said, “Gordon Michaels was hoping for a son—Nigel was going to be his name.”

“And he got you instead?”

She nodded. “But Daddy likes to stick to a plan. So I got the name—only a little adjusted.”

“And now you’re following his footsteps?”

She smiled. “I’m Daddy’s problem solver.” And his deal maker. She’d learned young how to twist arms, leverage weaknesses and bargain hard. This, however, was due to be the longest pipeline in the Middle East and the crowning jewel in Opell Oil’s empire. Gordon had made her work hard to get her hands on this deal—and he’d all but said he was now looking at her to run the company when he retired at the end of the year.

But that wasn’t certain yet.

Gordon had two others—Benson and Williams—that he’d also been grooming for top spots, and Nigella knew that when it came to business, Gordon put the company ahead of family. The way it should be. Of course, that still stung at times. Which meant she was going to earn the right to take over from Daddy—and this deal would prove her worthy. Yet again.

She glanced out at the courtyard they were overlooking, and blinked hard. She wasn’t going to dig up old wounds—not the ones that had her having to work harder than any son. She was here to prove to Daddy that she had what it took to be the next head of Opell Oil.

Waving her water glass, she asked, “So…did you buy or build all this?”

Malid shook his head. He sat back, hands folded over a very flat stomach. He’d taken off his ball cap and had dragged his fingers through his hair, leaving it disordered. She almost wanted to do the same thing. Thankfully, the maid came back with two others—and plates with salads, the hummus she’d learned you always got anywhere in the Middle East, flatbread, fruits, something that smelled like roast lamb, and finely chopped cucumbers mixed with olives. She realized she was hungry and started to help herself.

Malid sipped his water and gave her that mysterious smile of his. “Not quite. Now, before you ruin our luncheon by asking more questions that will no doubt lead to a subject I despise, I suggest we discuss the details of your offer.”

She raised an eyebrow in his direction and dug into the flatbread. It was fresh, melted in her mouth, and was perfect. She nodded and pulled out a sheaf of papers from her messenger bag. In the field, she liked to have hard copy, not computers. “That’s the offer my father presented to your father.”

Malid took the papers and read through them. Nigella shamelessly ate. The lamb was as good as the smell promised—moist, marinated in something with citrus and delicately spiced. The fruits were perfectly ripe and sweet. She could get used to this diet. Then Malid started to frown, and Nigella’s stomach tightened. He glanced at her. “Opell Oil wants to purchase the land, not just lease it? You expect us to sell land that has been in our family for over two centuries?”

Putting down the flatbread—the meal was to be eaten with the fingers, her favorite kind of food—Nigella wiped her hands on her napkin and met that dark-eyed, steady gaze. The man would make a great poker player, and she had thought this might be an issue that would need to be hammered out. “I’ve done a comparable cost analysis for similar land, and I believe our offer is more than fair. Do you see a problem?”

Eyes narrowing, he put the papers down on the table. “Adjalane will not sell you the land.”

She let out a breath. “We are looking at other sites. A long-term lease is just…well, it means we would build a resource that would one day not be ours, and we like to look at the long term.”

That damn smile came out again—it was starting to torment her. “Come up with another offer.”

Nigella picked up her water. Okay, so he was going to play hardball. She could do that. “I’ll have to give it some thought.”

“No, right here. Right now. Surely you can come up with a counter that I will find more appealing?”

Frowning, she wanted to pick up an olive and throw it at him. That was childish. Instead, she put down her water and smiled back. “I’ll have to look at the numbers again. And we’ll want to look at those other sites first.”

Malid shook his head and made a tsking noise that had her clenching her hand around her napkin. “Do you take your time with all major decisions?” he asked.