The Sheikh's Virgin Bride(37)
A wave of pure annoyance swept over Kaye as she read the text, her thumb hovering over her keypad as she tried to think of a response that wasn’t as catty as she felt like being in that moment. She took a few deep breaths, opting for simple and classy.
Okay. Good luck.
Setting her phone down, Kaye stared once more at the warehouse. There were other cars in the lot, so there had to be people inside. Were they all killers and victims, or was this actually worth a shot? Thinking about her empty bank account and the fact that she had eaten saltine crackers for breakfast, she realized she wasn’t exactly in a position to pass anything up. She had already driven there. If it seemed like something was off inside, she would bail, and that was that.
Unlocking her car, Kaye stepped out, raising a hand to block out the Californian sun as she walked briskly to a propped-open door. When she stepped inside, it took her eyes a moment to adjust, and when they did, she felt a small sense of relief.
There was a small group of other disconcerted-looking women standing in a circle toward the center of the warehouse. Kaye made her way over, and a red-headed woman scooted a little to make room for her in the circle. Glancing around, Kaye could see in an instant that they were all stunning— though everyone that showed up to a casting call in L.A. was. The competition had been fierce from the start; Kaye just had to hope she had the acting chops to set herself apart.
One could always hope.
“Do you know what this is for?” one of the girls asked Kaye.
She shrugged.
“Not really. My friend was supposed to do the audition and I agreed to show moral support, but then she bailed and told me to go for it instead.”
“I’m not sure I blame her,” another woman said. She had a perfectly angular face, large blue eyes, and hair the color of corn silk. Kaye found herself wondering what that girl was doing among them, when the casting calls she had seen earlier would have been a perfect fit for her.
The group mumbled uneasily as a loud screeching sound rang out across the room. Everyone turned toward the back of the warehouse, where a separate chamber had been opened by a man that looked far too much like a weasel. His eyes were beady and black, his hair greasy.
As the man stepped forward, another man walked up from behind him, falling in step at his side as they approached the small circle of women. This man was a different package altogether. He was tall and muscular, with his deep olive skin, dark hair and eyes suggesting he was Middle Eastern. As he came closer, the women began to whisper.
“Is that who I think it is?”
“No way. It can’t be! What would he be doing in a sketchy place like this?”
Kaye glanced around at the women, then back to the handsome stranger.
“Who is that?” she asked quietly.
“The Sheikh? Only one of the most desirable men in Hollywood. He’s dated half the models in L.A., not to mention the actresses. No one can seem to pin him down, though,” one girl sighed as she made eyes at him.
“He’s in the tabloids all the time. You really don’t recognize him?” another asked, and Kaye shrugged.
“I guess I’ve been out of the loop.”
Kaye had always avoided the tabloids. To her, the invasive nature of those things made her feel bad for anyone they were chasing, and so she actively chose not to give them her money, whether that meant at a newsstand or a click on the internet.
Weasel man and the Sheikh finally arrived at the whispering group, and the former let out a derisive sneer.
“Get ahold of yourselves, ladies. This can’t be the first time you’ve been to a casting call.”
The group grew silent at his nasal tone, waiting for him to continue. Once he had their attention, he cleared his throat. A thick, phlegmy noise echoed across the warehouse.
“I’m Merle and I’m the executive producer on this project. This, as you’ve likely noticed, is Sheikh Amir Al-Asfour. For any of you that don’t know more than what the tabloids tell you, Amir has been making a name for himself in the States for ten years, and is on board as executive producer for this show.”
“That’s all well and good,” one of the women pointed out, standing apart from the crowd. “But you left us pretty in the dark as to what this project actually entails.”
Merle’s lip twitched, the dark stubble of his beard visible just beneath his skin.
“That was very much on purpose, my dear. We wanted only the most daring, the bravest of women to show up for this audition. You all have passed the first test. Congratulations.”
“Great. Now how about part two, where you stop being vague and tell us why we’re here?” the woman demanded, crossing her arms.
Merle stared her down, but to her credit, the woman stared right back, waiting for his response.
“We don’t accept women who are difficult to work with. I think we can already tell which one of you won’t be a fit for our new reality show.”
“Reality show?” a few of the women exclaimed, rolling their eyes.
“Should’ve known…” one of them mumbled, glaring at Merle before several of the women made a grand exit through the front door.
Four of them remained.
For some reason, in spite of Merle’s behavior, in spite of the questionable surroundings, Kaye couldn’t keep herself from staring at the Sheikh. He glanced with casual interest at all of the women, and when their eyes met, he winked at her.