The Sheikh’s Instant Family (The Safar Sheikhs 2)

“Well, you told me she’s always on top of fashion trends in the US,” Calla went on. “That could be seriously helpful as we think about expanding our line for that market.”

“Sure. Sure.” Amad cleared his throat again, looking around at the unfamiliar faces around him. He recognized a few women from years past. Tribal wives, if his memory served correctly. He glanced at Fatim. “Are we waiting on anybody else for this meeting?”

Fatim shook his head, pocketing his phone. He still sat off to the side, as if he was a spectator instead of the king. “Nope. We’re ready.”

Amad fiddled with his watch as silence overtook the table. “Are you going to join us?”

“I’m here,” Fatim said, gesturing in front of him. “I’m just not leading the meeting.”

Amad laughed. This was ludicrous now. Things had changed far more than he was prepared to handle this morning, but this wasn’t the place to make a scene. “Great. So, let’s get started.”

Calla launched the meeting with a quick snapshot of recent developments in the fashion line and the vision she had for the future expansion. The main issue was the funding, which Amad promised the ladies he had covered. He remained purposefully vague about it, because the truth was that he had liquidated the tribe’s tech holdings in order to free up the capital needed to support the new fashion line.

Amad didn’t feel like he needed to give an in-depth breakdown anyway. He was the finance guy, so it was his discretion. It was a big leap, but one he believed in fully.

After all, the deal would work out. It had to. Everything was riding on it, and he’d do everything to make sure that this fashion line became a new, strong facet of his tribe’s economy. Calla’s line promised to bring countless jobs and a new source of pride to Amatbah. It was—and would be—huge.

He was sure of it.

Amad, Calla, and her advisors had an intense and productive meeting, with lots of pointed questions and smart answers. Even though things had strayed far from tradition, Amad could accept it. For now.

Once everyone was clearing the tent, Amad strode over to Fatim.

“Where are the tribal leaders?” he asked into his ear.

Fatim shrugged. “I don’t know. Why?”

Amad smirked. “They’re supposed to be here. Did you allow them to miss this meeting on purpose?”

Fatim sighed, shaking his head. “Sorry, brother. I forgot you haven’t been here in quite a while.”

“Yeah. Seems more like decades than months,” Amad said.

“The tribal leaders aren’t required to be at every meeting. We have a new way of dispersing information,” Fatim said as they began a slow walk back toward the palace. The scent of cumin reached Amad’s nose—the kitchen staff must have been preparing lunch already. “Furthermore, those are the most important people you need to meet with in matters of the clothing line. Calla is completely in control of this project.”

“We’re in control of this project,” Amad corrected.

Fatim paused, his jaw working back and forth. “You heard me right.”

Amad studied his brother’s face for a moment, trying to find the part of him that had withered and died since getting married. This couldn’t—wouldn’t—happen to him. He’d make sure of it. Men and women had their roles. They had their space. And the meeting space was the man’s space.

“How has the rest of the tribe taken this change?”

Fatim shrugged, and they resumed strolling through the gardens. The mid-morning sun was getting stronger now, warming the soft gray button-down shirt covering Amad’s back.

“There was some pushback, obviously,” Fatim said in a conspiratorially low voice. “But part of my vision as king is to move the tribe in a more modern direction. To be more progressive. And that involves women having representation, especially regarding their work.”

“Women already were represented,” Amad countered. “They played a critical, invaluable role behind the scenes. We couldn’t function without them. But on the level of business negotiations—”

“I hear you. But this is just how it is, brother,” Fatim said, his tone leaving no more room for discussion. He clapped him on the back. “You have an American wife now. You’ll see how it is.”

Amad snorted and shook his head, but he didn’t argue further.

Fatim was wrong about that part. Amad knew how his marriage would be—the way that made sense. The traditional way.

Surely, Vanessa would think the same.

6