“But I am led to believe,” he continued, “that you find the kitsch of the ‘Ali Babba’ name as ridiculous as I do?”
“I think it’s a bit degrading. I suppose it’s better that you didn’t call it ‘Aladdin’s’ or make a ‘1,001 Arabian Nights’ pun,” she replied, smirking.
So the intrigue continues, does it not?
“Do you have other questions for me?” he asked. “I can tell you about the specs for the restaurants and our chefs. I can talk about the amazing magicians and stage shows we’ve hired for the night entertainment. I can even tell you about the literal, arduous process of creating this skyscraper girder by girder.”
He couldn’t keep the pride from creeping into his voice. No matter how risky this maneuver was or how much his father had frowned at the idea of going big with their next building venture, the resort and casino had been a complete labor of love for Amir. It was almost like his child, something he’d fought for in order to bring lovingly into existence. Considering he enjoyed his bachelor lifestyle, he figured this would be the closest thing to a legacy he’d leave on the world…assuming the casino survived and flourished the way he sincerely hoped it would.
“I suppose you’ll have to tell me.”
He frowned back at her, still intrigued by her utter lack of care. He’d dealt with reporters for years. It went hand in hand with being a royal and with his family’s vast financial holdings. He’d rarely met one who couldn’t fake enthusiasm or even politeness. Whatever else were true about Miss Sinclair, she had a serious stick up her bum, and he wasn’t sure where it had come from. Yet, her acerbic nature was refreshing, something that toyed with him.
“We can keep talking about you. I have a feeling this isn’t the assignment you actually wanted at the Sentinel.”
“I’m trying to be polite. I just…and don’t take this the wrong way,” she said.
“Oh, I won’t.”
“But this is a puff piece. I could be easily asking the same questions for Us Weekly or People. This is not at all my type of journalism. To be perfectly frank…” she started, biting her lower lip a little.
“Why stop now?” he asked, chuckling.
“Look, usually I’d be covering political news in America’s capital. This is a side diversion, so I really just have to type whatever gets the inches filled and record the right quotes tonight at the press conference. If you can just go through the spiel for my recorder, then we can both be closer to freedom.”
He leaned lower and traced a finger over her shoulder, smoothing back her golden hair. “Of course, if that’s what you actually want, Miss Sinclair. We can go by the book…but perhaps one day you should learn to hide your disdain for the assignment you’re currently on. It’ll get your subjects to open up more,” he said, leaning so close that his lips were hovering over her left ear. “I’d open up so much for you.”
She stood up fast and swallowed hard. “I think I’ll just get what I need from your press secretary. I...until tonight at the press conference, Sheikh Bahan.”
“Yes, we meet again, Miss Sinclair,” he finished, enjoying the view as she walked out of the office.