The Sheikh's Virgin Bride(78)

“Lucy.”

“Yes?”

“So far, from what I’ve seen, you’ve been doing a stellar job as my brother’s personal assistant, so thank you.”

“I’m glad to hear.”

He gave a jerky nod.

“What you weren’t informed of—and what my brother is not aware of—is that there are some added responsibilities that come with your new role. That of…keeping my family in the loop.”

To my blank stare, Mahir explained, “Just some weekly updates on how my brother is doing, and what he’s doing.”

My eyes narrowed and, before I could stop myself, my realization of what Mahir was basically getting at burst out of me.

“You want me to spy on him?”

Again, that unconvincing smile of his.

“Not spy, exactly. Just keep on eye on him. Although my brother has been here in the United States for a few years now, he did not grow up here. As a result, he is not used to your country’s way of doing things—nor its dangers.”

To my silence, he continued, “The weekly updates will be carried out through video chats on your phone. My parents will call, you will answer. It’ll be simple, really.”

“You talk about this like it’s absolutely happening.”

Mahir’s face didn’t register any expression.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, what about my opinion in all this? What if I don’t agree to these terms? I accepted this promotion under the impression that I would be helping my boss, not spying on him behind his back.”

Again, Mahir’s face remained expressionless.

“I have to remind you, Lucy, that you are under contract to my father, Ra’id bin Samara, not my brother. So, no, if you want to keep your job—any job in this company, in fact—then no, you don’t really have a choice.”

Even as I glared at him, he didn’t react, only smiled that tense clench of a smile. Finally, my shoulders slumping, my glare softening, the answer slipped out of me.

“Fine.”

Mahir rose, reached out to shake my hand, then let his hand fall before mine reached it.

“My family thanks you for your discretion.”

And then he was gone, leaving me to fume with what I’d just agreed to. Me, spy on Khabib, the smart, hyper-aware business mogul who could turn me into a puddle of gooey emotion with a smile? He’d probably see right through my lying face in the first hour. Even if not, one thing was for sure—with this new job, I had definitely bitten off more than I could chew.

The next hour of finishing up my tasks was keyboard-banging torture. Why did this have to happen to me, the worst liar in the world, and the softie who still felt guilty about stealing a cookie in the 3rd grade? Already, I felt bad for agreeing to Mahir’s demand and deceiving Khabib—and I hadn’t even done anything yet to deceive him, yet!

It wasn’t like Khabib was an angel either; these past few years he’d been apparently making the most of his position of CEO at Samara Motors. I’d seen him on the cover of tabloids, while some casual internet surfing over the past few months had turned up quite a bit of dirt about his partying, drinking, and womanizing ways. Khabib clearly enjoyed all L.A. had to offer to a rich, handsome, charismatic man like him, and I didn’t blame him.

Still, even if Khabib did lead a wild lifestyle, that didn’t mean he deserved to be spied on. As I walked out of my new office, I sighed. What Khabib deserved, and what was right, didn’t matter at this point; all that mattered was that I kept my job.

I stopped by Mom’s before I got home. When I walked through the door, her thin face broke into a grin that nearly swallowed it.

“How was your first day, honey?”

I leaned down to hug her, maneuvering around the wheelchair that I still forgot about from time to time. I pressed her frail body to me tight, hoping she hadn’t glimpsed my face.

“Great, just… great.”

“‘Great’, that’s it? You’re going to have to give me more than that, Lucy.”

I drew away from her, and reluctantly lowered myself on the saggy armchair across from her.

“It was fun, a lot more fun than being the receptionist. I get to do a bunch of different things, talk to a lot of different people.”

“And Khabib, what was he like?”

If I kept my gaze on my hands, my thin, slightly-tensed fingers, maybe she wouldn’t notice my obvious guilty face.

“Oh, just the same as when I met him last time—kind of demanding, funny, charming.”

“Oh, really?”

My mom’s tone was chiding, jokey, but I wasn’t in the mood. If I stayed here much longer, I was going to tell her everything. And then she would tell me to what I had to do—the right thing, which would be the wrong thing for her. Lose the job, lose her. Mom had always been good at self-sacrifice. But not this time. No, this time I wouldn’t let her sacrifice any more for me.

“Lucy?”

Mom was squeezing my hand, peering into my face.

“You okay?”

I pulled my hand away and nodded, turning away already.

“Yep. I… Sorry, Mom, but I’m really beat. I picked up some tomatoes for you—” I placed the package on the counter, “and I’ll stop by on Thursday, or sooner if you’d like. You need anything you—”