The Sheik’s Embrace (The Billionaire’s Club #12)

Chapter 18

Tara slapped the file folders down onto her desk, grumbling about obnoxious men and their highhanded tricks.

“Ready for dinner?” Zayed asked, poking his head into her office.

Tara spun around and glared at him. “No!”

Zayed merely grinned and stepped into the office. “Shut down everything, Tara. You will no longer be working over a hundred hours a week for me.”

She leaned back in her chair, narrowing her eyes at him. “I don’t work that many hours, Your High…” She stopped when he lifted an eyebrow at her. “I don’t.”

He chuckled and stepped closer, pressing the button on her laptop that would save her work. “Actually, you do. I asked the other people that work around you to estimate the number of hours. Then I went to the security office. There are some weeks when you work more than a hundred hours a week.” He took her hand and guided her out of her chair and around her desk. “Did you know you work more than sixteen hours a day most days?”

“I don’t!”

“You do,” he confirmed with a nod, tucking her hand onto his arm once again. “Hayim, the head of the human resources department, has already started interviews for the three assistants that will help you.”

Tara walked alongside him down the hallway, feeling self-conscious as the others in the administrative office looked up from their work areas to watch the procession. It wasn’t just herself and Zayed. Nope! There was an entire entourage of bodyguards surrounding them!

“This is embarrassing,” she whispered up to him.

“Get used to it,” he whispered back.

Tara stayed silent during the trek along the ornately decorated hallway. She breathed a sigh of relief when they finally entered the dining room. He led her over to a chair and held it for her until she was seated, then sat down on the opposite side of the table. With a nod, the servants stepped into the room with the first course.

“What’s this?” she gasped, staring down at the salad in front of her, excitement growing in her chest. “Is this…?”

Zayed eyed the wilted lettuce with a grimace. “I’m not sure. It looks…!” He lifted his eyes to look at her, chagrin changing his handsome features. “I asked the chef to make traditional Kentucky favorites, but I didn’t ask for details.”

Tara laughed with delight. “This is a killed salad,” she explained, poking her fork at the wilted lettuce. “The hot bacon grease dressing wilts the lettuce. It’s absolutely delicious. There’s a touch of sugar, or most likely, honey to the dressing. But it’s probably bacon grease and vinegar, which was what most of the people had on hand when the state was in it’s infancy.” She stabbed a few of the lettuce leaves, took a bite, then closed her eyes as the memories and delicious flavors washed over her. “Oh, this is delicious!”

When she opened her eyes, it was to laugh at Zayed. He’d lifted several lettuce leaves from the plate, his fork hovering in the air as he stared at the droopy food. “It looks disgusting.” But he put it in his mouth, chewed slowly, then nodded. “Huh. Not bad!”

She laughed and started eating with gusto. “I remember the first time I was allowed to eat the killed salad. I’d snuck into the kitchens while the ladies were cooking.”

“How old were you?”

She thought about that for a moment, then nodded. “About ten, I guess. Rarely was any of the fresh food leftover after the men had eaten.”

He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. “Why weren’t the children fed first?”

“Oh, the children were always fed first, but in a different room. The children weren’t allowed near the men.”

“You know that’s ridiculous, right?” he asked, trying to decipher her hopes for their future family.

She grinned and stabbed a cherry tomato. “Yes, I am fully aware of how backwards my community’s traditions are. I’ve read many books about changes every society needs to make in order to create a more equal community.”

“What are some of the family traditions that you’d like to maintain in our family?”

“None,” she admitted without hesitation.

“Nothing at all?”

She tilted her head slightly. “The first twelve years of my life, every moment of our existence was focused around making the man the center of our universe. We were taught at an early age never to anger a man because the consequences could be dangerous.”

“That’s abuse,” he argued, pointing his empty fork towards her.

She smiled, obviously relieved that he understood that. “Yes, it is. I read a book on how to anticipate the signals of an abusive personality.”

“Last year, you mentioned that my economics advisor was probably the type to smack his wife around.”

“Yes?”

“I had the police investigate. He regularly beat his wife while his two sons watched. The man was arrested and the woman now lives in the country, trying to recover from her ex-husband’s abuse.”

Tara smiled approvingly at him. “That’s good. I’m relieved that she was able to escape.” She put her fork down. “Most women don’t have someone as powerful as you on their side, ensuring that their cases are adjudicated fairly.”

“Most people don’t have you watching out for them either, Tara. It was you that brought the possibility to my attention. Apparently, when one grows up with the constant threat, and reality, of assault, one learns quickly how to identify that trait in others.”

“That’s true. Assault survivors are intimately aware when there is a potential abuser in their midst. The abuser gives off…signals, for lack of a better word.”

“Well, he’s in prison now.”

“But what about the other victims?”

He looked at her intently. “If you have suggestions on how to stop abusers, identify them and/or their victims, then I’m happy to listen.” He leaned back as one of the servants took their plates and another stepped up with the next course. “In fact, as my wife, you’ll have the power to set up your own system. With me backing you, I suspect that you could be a very strong advocate for domestic abuse survivors.”

She considered that for a moment, then shook her head. “I receive a great deal of satisfaction from my current job.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, then merely nodded and said, “We’ll see.”

The main course that night was barbeque, which was more interesting than she would have expected, mainly because of the debate. “Dry rub barbeque is better,” Zayed announced as he poured some of the sauce onto the chicken barbeque.

Tara gasped in horror, causing Zayed’s fork to freeze. “Take. It. Back!” she hissed.

He looked confused, looking around as if he’d insulted someone. “Take what back?”

Her eyes narrowed on him in mock anger. “Take back what you said about dry rub,” she ordered, glowering at him.

He chuckled, lowering his fork. “Are you serious?”

“Yes!” she said, trying to hide her laugh. “Absolutely serious. Take it back.”

The fire of challenge sparked in his eyes. “Nope. Dry rub is better.”

“You’re wrong.”

Zayed laughed, then piled more barbeque onto his fork. “I prefer the dry rub because cooking the meat in a tomato based sauce is basically boiling the meat. A dry rub style means that the meat is grilled slowly, which adds more flavor.”

“A tomato based sauce adds more zing to the meat,” she argued. “The sauce is cooked in its own juices, adding flavor and tenderness.”

Back and forth, they argued about the pros and cons of dry rub versus sauce-cooked barbeque, both forcefully adamant that they were right.

When the bread pudding with bourbon icing was placed in front of Tara, she nearly moaned with delight. “You’re spoiling me!” she gasped.

“That’s the point,” he replied, that heat returning to his eyes.

Tara was frozen for a moment, understanding what that light meant. Was she afraid of that desire? Or was she intrigued?

Both, she realized. He watched her and Tara felt suddenly felt too hot. “I…uh…don’t know how to react to comments like that, Your Highness.” She thought about lowering her lashes, of demonstrating her submissiveness. But she’d hated the way the community leaders had always demanded submissiveness. She’d wondered why the women had to literally bow down whenever a man entered a room. They weren’t royalty.

Okay, so Sheik Zayed el Mastrion was literally royalty. He was king of Pitra. He ruled every single centimeter of this country, as well as several miles out into the surrounding sea.

And yet, she’d never bowed to him. At her interview, she hadn’t realized that she should have bowed. After she’d started working at the palace, she’d just…never done it.

So why was she considering doing it now, if only with her eyes?

Instead, her chin jutted higher, silently showing him that she wouldn’t, couldn’t, be a submissive woman if that’s what he was hoping to marry.

“I don’t want a fake response, Tara,” he told her, his voice huskier than before. “I want honest reactions between us.” He tilted his head slightly. “Why would you think I’d expect something different now that we’re engaged?” he asked. “You’ve been my assistant for the past two years. During that time, you’ve never held back your reactions or opinions.” He grinned when Tara’s pale cheeks warmed with a blush. “You think I’ve missed those sarcastic eye rolls whenever you thought I was doing something stupid?”

Her hands clenched together under the table. “We aren’t engaged. However, I am always respectful,” she countered. “I’d never roll my eyes–”

“The defense budget conversation,” he interrupted. “I suggested that we increase the defense budget by thirteen percent.”

Instantly, her temper flared. “In the education budget meeting, you only increased that department’s funding by two percent.”

“You don’t think that the citizens deserve a strong military?”

Tara clenched her jaw at his stupid question. “You and I both know that comment is a ‘straw man’ argument. Don’t belittle my intelligence by distorting the issue.”

Zayed threw back his head, laughing at her challenge. When he’d regained control, he was nodding. “You’re right. But that’s the argument I hear all the time. As soon as someone suggests that we should take some of the money from the defense budget and apply it to other agencies, their primary attack is to say that I’m soft on defense and catering to one political group or another.”

“If you know what your opponents are going to say, then shift your public relations people to start planning the messaging sooner rather than needing to be on the defense.”

He grinned at her point, nodding. “You’re correct, of course.”

She sighed and leaned forward, releasing her hands to place them on the table. “Your Highness, I don’t know all of the decisions that you have to make in a day. So, I’m not criticizing your plans.”

“All evidence to the contrary.”

At his uplifted eyebrow, she blushed again, but continued. “However, you’ve had the same advisors on your council ever since you came into office.”

“They are highly experienced men.”

“Yes, yes.” she sighed, lifting her hand. “That’s the same argument that the senators and congress people in my country use to halt any kind of term-limit legislation. And some of them have been in office for half a century.”

“There is something to be said for consistency and experience.”

“There’s also something to be said for new energy and new ideas, Your Highness,” she shot back. “Plus, who are the people that are advising your advisors?” She waited, her expression turning smug at his stunned expression. “Exactly. The people who used to advise your advisors have moved on to other positions. So, why shouldn’t your advisory council change too?”

Zayed leaned back, his eyes contemplative. Slowly, he nodded his agreement.

“You make an excellent point, Tara.”

That’s when they looked down at the dessert. “Goodness, we’ve been arguing about politics all the while this has been waiting for us to notice.” Tara lifted her spoon and took a bite, then closed her eyes. “I’ve had bread pudding before, but we weren’t allowed to have alcohol. The bourbon in this is…delicious!”

“Why weren’t you allowed alcohol?”

“Because we were female,” she explained. “Women in my church group were told that drinking alcohol would cause us to lose our inhibitions. If we had even a sip of anything alcoholic, we would be throwing our bodies at whatever male was nearby.” She shook her head as she scooped up another bite. “When my sister and I escaped from that horrible place, we tasted beer.” She shook her head while staring at the bite of sweetness. “Nothing happened.” Then she squinched up her nose. “And we didn’t like the flavor either.”

“How many other rules did you and Kaia break after your escape?”

Tara thought about that for a moment while enjoying another bite of the bread pudding. “Both of us hated sewing so we both vowed to never sew anything again. But that’s not really a rebellion. We read as many books as we could get our hands on because women weren’t allowed to read. Since we couldn’t afford a television and could only afford the cheapest phone, which meant we couldn’t afford social media, we read whenever we weren’t working. The public libraries were our saviors during our time on the run. We didn’t always have a permanent address, but the librarians usually made exceptions for us.”

“You weren’t allowed to read?”

She shook her head. “Not in our old community. Educating women meant that we might argue. Arguing with the head of our household or, worse, the community leaders, would result in a fractured home. We would be disciplined severely for daring to challenge any leader.”

“What were some of the disciplines in your community?” he asked, and Tara could see the anger simmering in his eyes.

“Whippings. No food for a certain number of hours or days.”

He paused his spoon as he stared at her. “Are you kidding?”

“No,” Tara replied, carefully cutting another bite of the bread pudding and ensuring that there was the perfect amount of icing on it.

“How often were you whipped?”

She shrugged. “Only twice. My sister…” she stopped, resting the spoon on the edge of her plate. “Kaia was much more rebellious than I was.” Tara abandoned the dessert completely.