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

“I’m sorry—can I help you?” she asked him. Her voice was harsh. The music was pounding in her ears, and she felt moments from a headache.

“You can help me by spending time with me,” he said, tilting his head. “What do you say to that?”

“I say absolutely not,” Amity snarled. She turned on her heel and marched toward the door. She stabbed her champagne glass on the top of the bar and meandered from the chaotic VIP area, suddenly sure she needed to get out of there. The party atmosphere was rollicking, panicked. And she had about a million things to do.

Just before she left, her eyes met with Aziz’s. His face was pained, his eyes faraway. She made no move toward him, and she soon swept away, without sayin

g goodbye. A pang of guilt waved through her, but she brushed it away as she emerged into the Al-Mabbar streets.

After a wave into the universe, a cab halted before her, and she jumped in. She breathed evenly, telling the man where to take her. She wanted to wash off the night; she wanted to lose the memory of that man’s eyes as he beckoned her. Finally, as the cab raced away, she was free.

EIGHT

The door opened wordlessly as Amity approached it, aided by a maid who Amity would soon learn was awake for much of the night, ever ready to take care of Aziz and his fellow partiers. Amity thanked her and approached the steps. Her feet were heavy, like rocks. She slipped her heels off and felt the soft, expensive rug beneath her toes.

When she reached the first floor, she was surprised to hear the opening of the door downstairs. Perhaps another maid, another household worker? She arched her back and peered down, concealed behind a marble pillar. Curiosity at the happenings in the mansion at night had captured her.

But she was taken aback, in that moment, to see that it was the Sheikh himself who walked through the doors, his head high and his face calm, sincere, without that bright smile. He thanked the maid and adjusted his sleeves as he walked. Nothing about his movements was sloppy; he was all royalty, all perfect posture.

Amity toyed with rushing upstairs to her rooms, with pretending she wasn’t moments from seeing him. But an invisible force halted her. She waited until he appeared on the steps and she spun back, looking at him directly.

“Hi there,” she said softly.

“There you are,” Aziz said. “I left shortly after you did. Did you have a good night?”

Amity tilted her head back and forth, unsure of how to answer. “It was a nice club,” she chose. “And that champagne. To die for.”

Aziz dropped his chin. “Truthfully, I have an entire cellar full of that stuff downstairs. A bit greedy when it comes to French champagne, I’m afraid.”

“We all have our vices.”

“It doesn’t seem like you do,” Aziz countered. He looked at her curiously, climbing up the steps to join her. “But I was surprised when you didn’t say goodbye. Disheartened, in fact. Why did you leave?”

Amity frowned; she hadn’t expected to be called out like this. She swallowed, and her throat felt tight. “You know, I’m not sure. I felt uncomfortable after a while. It’s not really my scene. But I didn’t want to interrupt your… time with those girls.” She shrugged.

Aziz nodded. His eyes were large, welcoming. She felt as if she could dive into them like great, dark pools.

“Well, Amity. I suppose we’d better be getting to bed—”

“Wait,” Amity said, breathless. She was aching with fatigue, but she couldn’t leave this moment. “I wondered. I wondered why you like to be seen partying so much. I saw you tonight. You didn’t seem to be having even a moment of fun. Why do you do it?”

Aziz combed his fingers through his dark hair. He was as caught off-guard as she was, it was clear. Around them, the mansion was silent.

“Well,” he murmured. “That’s a good question—one that no one has asked me before.” He began up the steps, but it was clear he wanted Amity to follow him. She did so gladly, slipping her shoes back on as she went.

“I suppose, like most things, it has to do with my father,” Aziz said then. “Bahir was the life of the party, eternally. A grand merrymaker. Always singing and dancing. People loved him for it.”

Amity nodded. Abstractly, she was taking notes on this—trying to comprehend how it could assist in her cause. It was clear, from what she’d heard at the nightclub, that not everyone was buying into his merrymaking—certainly not Aziz himself.

“Ah,” Amity said, her mind zipping back to what her research had told her about Sheikh Bahir. “But wasn’t your father adored because he was always entertaining for a good cause? He held balls and galas for charities, and he didn’t frequent nightclubs. Do you think doing something similar could assist in improving your image?” She blinked, suddenly feeling her PR brain coming back to life. She longed to rush up to her room and start strategizing.

But Aziz seemed to harden at her words. They’d reached his rooms and he leaned against the golden doorframe, a portrait of an oil baron, a billionaire. He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to think about work right now,” he said, his voice stern. “I know that might be difficult for you to hear, given that you probably came back here to work the rest of the night,” he teased, and Amity bowed her head.

“But I would be interested in continuing some kind of non-work-based