Secret Triplets(60)

 

“Jesus,” she whispered, watching as he bounded up the sidewalk, the car keys jangling in his hand.

 

She stood in the arch of the doorway, awestruck. The Sheikh halted his walk when he saw her, gazing at her with a mischievous smile. They’d obviously dressed up for one another, becoming new, more sensual versions of their office personas. Audrey swallowed harshly, trying to find words of greeting.

 

“Hey there, Audrey,” Jibril said, beating her to the punch. “You’re looking ravishing this evening.”

 

Always so devilishly confident, Audrey thought. A grin crept across her face. “Jibril, hello.”

 

“Are you going to wait at the door forever, or are you going to join me for dinner?” he asked.

 

Audrey took a dramatic step forward, elongating her stride. “Don’t mean to hold you up. More than anyone, I know how tight your schedule is,” she said, teasing him.

 

Once she drew even with him, Jibril placed a gentle hand on the small of her back. Was this a romantic gesture? Audrey couldn’t tell. She quivered, feeling like a schoolgirl.

 

“You’ve been wonderful,” Jibril said, his voice kind. “I normally lose personal assistants after about the sixth or seventh day. They just can’t handle my schedule, and I just can’t do it by myself.”

 

Audrey’s eyes flashed. Had he really had that many personal assistants?

 

“It’s been my pleasure,” she answered, always looking to say the right thing.

 

“Ha. If only I could believe you,” he said, opening the side door of his sports car and then watching as she slipped onto the seat. “But tonight’s your night to relax. Let me do the hard work, won’t you?”

 

Audrey nodded almost imperceptibly, feeling her heart jump in her chest. As he joined her in the front, she forced herself to remember the terrifying, drooling face of his ex-girlfriend’s bulldog moments before he’d ripped at her shoes. This man had given her the worst week of her life; he didn’t deserve any kind of compassion—or lust—from her.

 

Jibril played the local radio station, speaking companionably to her about a television show he’d begun to watch while on the treadmill.

 

“It’s the only time during the day that I have a chance to do anything—well, normal,” he said, shrugging. “And I find it fascinating that some people commit their entire lives to TV. I can’t keep my eyes on that screen for more than 25 minutes.”

 

“Oh, I can,” Audrey said, finding a laugh. “I could watch my favorite shows every single day of the week. I wish I could quit my job and just watch TV full-time,” she teased, half-joking.

 

“You don’t mean that,” Jibril said. “You’re far too industrious for such a thing. I’ve been watching you at work for the past three months. You’ve got a fire in you. And it wouldn’t do for you to rot away on a couch somewhere.”

 

Audrey’s heart stirred at his words. A fire in her? She’d long sensed that about herself as well. The moment she found a passion, she felt compelled to be the best she could be, to strive for the top position, to beat out the competition. But it felt strange that the Sheikh could see this about her.

 

“That’s why I knew you’d be a wonderful personal assistant even though you’re tremendously over-qualified,” Jibril said, yanking the car off to the side of the road and pulling into the valet zone. With a flourish, he leapt from the car, tossing the keys to the thin-boned valet driver on the sidewalk.

 

Opening the side door, he helped Audrey into the cool, spring air, flashing her a smile. “And far too beautiful, I might add. I’m sure all the ex-girlfriends were incredibly jealous when you appeared at their front stoops saying you were my personal assistant. They probably assumed I was playing a prank.”

 

“They certainly haven’t been very nice to me,” Audrey said, smiling sheepishly. “How on earth did you find such a collection of horrible human beings?”

 

“I will take that as a compliment,” Jibril said, teasing her, “for I suppose that means I’m not nearly as bad as they are. I am incredibly grateful for that.”

 

“I suppose I can’t know that for sure yet,” Audrey said, her eyes flashing. “We haven’t even gotten through the first drink.”

 

“Fair point.”

 

Jibril led her into a small burrito place that had plastic chairs, plastic tables, and a large poster of Bob Marley on the far wall. Incredulous, Audrey frowned, drawing her eyebrows tightly together in the center.