The Sheikh's Triplet Baby Surprise (The Sheikh's Baby Surprise 3)

Aziz looked to Amity to get her approval, but Amity didn’t budge, didn’t speak. “I think we’d like it,” he said then, without allowing another dead moment to pass. “Right, Amity?”

The keeper clinked the gate open and allowed them to enter. Amity eyed Aziz with panic, but Aziz waved his hand, whispering. “Don’t worry. They’re used to humans. I come in here all the time, pet them. They’re my animals. They know I’m their master.”

Amity wasn’t so sure about this, and her brain was buzzing. This was a massive red flag. She suddenly understood precisely what the people of Al-Mabbar thought of the man before her—that he was greedy, that he couldn’t comprehend that lions and tigers deserved better than to live in his backyard.

Amity hung back toward the entrance of the enclosure, near the animal tamer who handled the massive stick, while the Sheikh walked confidently toward a tiger who lay with wide-eyes, his paw outstretched. She wanted to call out, to tell him not to. But already, Aziz had splayed his hand atop the tiger’s head, and—incredibly—the tiger had begun to purr.

“She’s really a beauty,” Aziz called, his eyes like a child’s. “I adopted her first. She’s been the tamest. Never had a problem with her. Right now, I try to avoid the lions, since they’re expecting. I can’t wait for that lion cub to be born. Raising a cub from birth, Amity. Can you imagine?”

At that moment, however, the only thing Amity could imagine was racing out of there and never returning.

She flashed him a professional smile, her mind racing. “Do you think we could speak in private for a moment?” Her voice was hesitant, strained. “I’m always in work mode, I apologize.” Her heart was bumping so fast, she thought it would churn out of her throat.

“Of course,” Aziz said, giving the tiger one last pat. “I think this one’s sleepy, anyway. Don’t want to mess around with her when she’s grumpy.”

Amity spun on her heels and took rapid steps toward the exit, where she waited impatiently for Aziz’s arrival. She bounced from left to right foot, feeling the panic rile through her. Finally, she heard the screech of the gate as the animal tamer closed it; she heard Aziz’s steps as he approached her. She couldn’t allow him to see her fear.

“Shall we head to the garden, then?” Aziz asked, frowning slightly. “It’s just on the other side of the enclosure.”

“Absolutely,” Amity grinned. If Aziz couldn’t see how controversial it was to own a lion and tiger den in the back of his extravagant home, then he might be more work than she initially thought.

Oh well, she remembered. She was a professional, through and through. And she’d seen much, much worse. She straightened her shoulders and followed Aziz to the back garden. Any attraction to him she would fight; she was there for the greater good.

SIX

Aziz sat at the garden table, situated between a golden birdbath and another mighty collection of plants, which spun into a colorful overhead canopy. It was a cozy garden, one that made Amity feel as if they were hidden away, shadowed from the ever-penetrating sun.

She cleared her throat, then, leafing through her purse to find her notebook. She turned the page, beyond the initial notes she’d taken during their meeting that morning. When she raised her head, she found Aziz looking at her expectantly.

“What do you think of my home?” he asked, his voice like honey.

“Hmm,” she began, searching for the words. “Well. I think—beyond anything—it is gorgeous.” She couldn’t help but attempt to please him. She felt anxiety pummeling through her. “But I have to admit, that although I’m impressed with your collection of lions and tigers, others won’t be so inclined to promote you. In my experience, these ostentatious shows of wealth rarely change people’s minds for the better.”

Aziz’s smile faltered. He tipped his head to the left, his eyes inquisitive. “I see,” he said. His voice was gruff. “Well. This is quite interesting to hear, I must say. Exotic pets are more common than you might think, but I suppose, looking at it from another point of view…”

Amity couldn’t believe he hadn’t put these pieces of the puzzle together before, but she cleared her throat—brightening. This was why she was here. “Don’t worry,” she said, her face growing kind. “This is why I’m here. I’ve been doing this for years, and trust me—you’re not the worst I’ve seen. I worked with Britney Paige briefly. Every move she made gave me nightmares. I couldn’t sleep for weeks.”

Aziz laughed appreciatively, and the air surrounding them loosened. “Well, it’s good to hear that I’m not as bad as her.”

Amity chuckled, shrugging. She moved to write something in her notebook, but her strategic mind was faltering.

“So. Tell me more about yourself,” Aziz said then.

To their left, a maid entered the garden, carrying a tray of tea and coffee. She placed it on the table before them, along with a small bowl of cookies, before sauntering back into the house.

Amity called out a brief thank you before reaching for a cookie. She shrugged her shoulders. “About me. Well. As I’ve said, I lived in Minnesota prior to moving out to L.A. and diving headfirst into the PR industry. From an early age, I knew I wanted this life, this professional world. And because I busted my butt for the first few years, I got a very early promotion.”

“That’s impressive,” Aziz murmured. He ignored the tea and coffee, choosing instead to focus upon her.

“Provided everything goes well with this encounter, I’ll be able to work my way up on the East Coast. I’m always looking for my next big endeavor.” She gave him a false grin, knowing she sounded a bit plastic, a bit strange. She hated discussing herself, although she did have immense pride in her accomplishments.

“Well,” Aziz said, bowing his head slightly. “I have the highest respect for your professional success, Amity. However—I’d like to reiterate. I wanted to hear about you. Not about your accomplishments. I want to know about you.” His voice was warm, soothing.

Amity blinked wildly, realizing that she hadn’t been asked that question in years. She swallowed, unsure. Why was he so curious about her personal life? As seconds passed, she realized she needed to say something—anything. Her tongue played against her teeth.

“Well. I suppose you could say that I’ve had trouble separating myself from my work. Especially in the last few years.” Her words were tentative. They hung in the air.

Aziz nodded, understanding. Urging her to go on.

“I mean, working late at the office for the likes of Britney and Christina—plus a stint with Lindsay Lohan.” Amity gave him a broad smile. “It certainly doesn’t leave you a lot of time for yourself, to think about what you might want. To imagine any kind of personal life.”

Aziz leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You weren’t much of a partier in your early twenties, then?” His eyes gleamed.

“I could probably count on one hand how many ‘big nights’ I’ve had since I turned 21,” Amity admitted. “I haven’t been committed to making friends, let alone any kind of romantic life.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I’m only 27. Maybe there’s still time.”

“Of course there is,” Aziz replied, giving her a grin. “Hey. Before we really get going on this, do you mind if we order lunch from my chefs? I’m not really feeling cookies, and breakfast feels like it was light-years ago.”

“Not at all.”

Aziz swept his phone from his pocket and quickly dialed a number. Speaking in rapid Arabic, he ordered what sounded like a long list of dishes, before adding in English, “Oh and a bottle of red wine. I have a guest today; make it a good one,” he teased the man on the phone.

Amity felt lightheaded. Was this what traveling was meant to feel like?

“Anyway,” Aziz said, ending the call. “It’s strange how committed you were to your career during these years, while I was whiling away here—trying to live from party to party.” He shook his head, his dark pupils meeting hers. “But it always seemed like I was missing out on something.”

“That’s how I felt every single day,” Amity laughed. “Like I was working for something that almost didn’t matter anymore, after I’d lost so much time out of my life.”

“After each party, I’d look around at my near-destroyed mansion, and I’d wonder what it was all for,” Aziz murmured. “Maybe it’s just an inescapable element of your 20s—that you always feel you’re missing out on something.”

“Maybe,” Amity admitted, looking at her hands.

“Anyway. You grew up in Minnesota. What was that like? Your parents—what about them?” Aziz asked. A basket of pita bread had been placed between them, and he tore a piece from one delicately, bringing it into the hummus and then biting it. Everything he did was so comfortable, without making Amity feel jarred.

“Well. My father was a lawyer, my mother a teacher,” she began. “I was always living under the shadow of my older sister, Elizabeth. She was a sporty type. Won all these awards in high school. And on top of it all, she was absolutely gorgeous. Tall and blonde.” She blushed. She hadn’t spoken to anyone about her sister in a long time.