The Sheikh's Virgin Bride(88)

“I thought you understood, Lucy.”

His voice was low, so I whispered my answer.

“What do you mean?”

Under the table, his hand clasped mine.

“That you and I, we aren’t like these other people. We don’t value the same things, live the same lives.”

His honey eyes were searching mine for understanding, agreement. But my mind was blank, my heartbeat pounding like gunshots. All I could think was that I didn’t want him to stop clasping my hand.

“And now, a few words from the head of Stateside operations—Sheikh Khabib bin Samara!”

The announcer’s excited voice boomed us back to reality. Releasing my hand, Khabib rose. He didn’t look at me, instead extending his gaze to the crowd, all who were paying such attention to him that they’d stopped eating.

“I was enjoying myself so much that I forgot I was here to launch a car!”

He chuckled along with the crowd, then his face grew serious.

“But it’s good, really. Because, at Samara Motors, that’s what we want our cars to do for you. Effortless luxury that makes you forget that you’re in a car, driving even—that streamlines every single aspect of the driving experience.”

Applause.

“Now, we’ve been known for this effortless luxury of our vehicles, and you can’t argue that we’ve accomplished this to the utmost. Leather seats that mold to whatever body is placed in them, increasingly adaptive artificial intelligence technology which is removing the need to even click or press controls—you name it, we’ve done it. But tonight, we’re here to celebrate something a bit different.”

He strode over to the wall and pressed a button. The lights snapped off and a holographic image appeared in the center of the long table. More applause sounded, which Khabib quieted with another raise of his hand.

“Tonight, we’re here to celebrate what is nothing less than a revolution. Ladies and gentlemen, what you are looking at right now, is the future.”

Now the Sheikh had a remote in his hands, and was pressing it. The illuminated car in the center of the table did a slow 360 spin, then started to move.

“A future where we aren’t burning away the planet, a future where we roll across the earth as easily as a stone, a future of luxury, and longevity.”

More applause, but Khabib wasn’t close to finished with his speech.

“Samara Motors doesn’t want you to have to choose between high-class and high mileage, saving the planet and saving time, treating yourself and treating Mother Nature. We’ve created a vehicle that meets all of your needs—needs you have now, and needs you might have in the future.”

As Khabib spoke, the car’s sunroof, back doors, and trunk opened, revealing a surprising amount of space.

“The Samara Reseda is going to change the way the world thinks about electric cars. So, here, tonight, I invite you to raise a glass and, more importantly, write your names on our order sheet. This is a one-night-only deal for all the valued guests that are here tonight. As of tomorrow, the price will be going up—if you’ll even be able to get this sold-out superstar in the next few months, that is. So, to one, to all, to the future, to Samara Motors!”

At this, the crowd of attendees and I raised our glasses, clinking exuberantly and repeating, “Samara Motors!”

The applause continued as Khabib snapped the lights back on and returned to his seat beside me. He turned to me with a pained, nervous expression.

“So, on a scale of 1 to 10, how bad was that?”

“Khabib, are you kidding me?”

This time, the right corner of his mouth was twitching unmistakably, so I batted him playfully. Immediately when my hand came in contact with his arm, I realized my mistake, a spark of electricity flowing through my body.

“Sorry, sir, I wasn’t thinking—”

Once again, under the table, Khabib clasped my hand.

“Please, Lucy. Enough with this formality. We’ve spent enough time together that I’d prefer you think of me as a friend, rather than an uptight boss.”

“But—”

“That’s an order.”

His voice was stern, but his laughter afterwards was infectious. The beautiful, tall presenter at the front was still making announcements in her melodious voice. Khabib nudged me with his elbow.

“What do you say we step outside for a bit?”

To my uncomprehending stare, he continued, “I just did my part, made my speech. No one will expect anything of me for at least another twenty minutes.”

At my continued silence, he shrugged, released my hand, and got up from his seat.

“See you in twenty, then.”





Chapter Eight





Lucy




The Sheikh was a few paces away by the time I caught up to him.

“Khabib, wait.”

He grinned.

“Yes...?”

Taking his arm, I declared, “I’m coming with you.”

As we walked out, I told him, “But it’s only so I don’t finish off that pastry plate.”

We laughed together and he grinned wolfishly.

“It’s something, isn’t it? Every one of those little pastries is different, a custom design. Delicious.”