The Sheikh's Pregnant Wife - Leslie North Page 0,46
white tent perched on a dune overlooking the pool, had been thinking of his mother when the CEO from the French firm came to stand next to him. Name. What was his name?
“It is,” he agreed, and the name came to him in a flash. Enzo Raphael. One of France’s premier property developers, and one of ten the royal family had invited to this gathering near his late mother’s oasis.
“I could see using it as inspiration for another property,” commented Enzo, lifting his champagne flute to his lips. “There’s something raw about it. I could strip it down to its essentials and create something utterly modern. A new form.”
A new form—all right. A vision of some pointed spire with an unnatural bend to the building flashed into Malik’s mind, and he mentally crossed Enzo off the list of potential contractors.
“Interesting,” he told Enzo. “Keep us apprised of your thoughts, would you?”
“Of course.” Enzo inclined his head and stepped gracefully aside.
Whatever Malik thought of ultra-modern buildings and new forms, the man did have excellent manners.
Malik turned to face the inside of the tent, which buzzed with conversation. His brothers Baqir and Zaman sat at a table with two developers from Germany, plates heaping with the catered meal. It had been no small project, Malik knew, to bring all the food out to the oasis, but he’d wanted the developers to gather here first before they came to him with their proposals.
His father, King Hasim, had put him in charge of the first five development locations. This was only the beginning of his increased responsibilities as crown prince, and Malik knew it for what it was—a test.
His father would never abdicate if he thought Malik was unfit to lead Qadir. So everything he did from now on, including this event, had to go off without a hitch.
At any rate, the oasis was the perfect gathering point—neutral ground. Under no circumstances would he let any of them develop the property. It had come into the royal family through his father’s marriage to his mother, and Malik’s future wife would decide for herself what to do with it when the time came.
It was that mystery woman’s right. His mother had left it to him in her will, with conditions. Ultimately the oasis would belong to Malik’s bride, but he felt a sharp pang behind his breastbone and his throat went dry whenever he remembered that his mother would never see his theoretical wedding ceremony.
Maybe it hadn’t been an excellent idea to have everyone meet at the oasis.
Malik put that thought, and all the other melancholy ones, out of his mind. He’d met three of the developers so far, including Enzo. He knew Baqir and Zaman had talked to several as well. And the king? Malik scanned the tables, each covered in a pristine white cloth. His father had been out walking at the edge of the pool. Now he was tucked at one of the tables with Clifton Berber.
The two men were friends from their college days. Clifton’s invitation had been at the king’s express request, though Malik wasn’t sure an American developer would be able to do the properties in Qadir justice. The royal family had visited the States several times over the years, and nothing about the architecture had impressed Malik. Most of their portfolio was full of high rises, steel and glass towers that would look fine in New York City but tear at the beauty of the desert.
Keep an open mind. It wouldn’t do him any good to write anyone off now. He mentally returned Enzo to the list. He had to hold back, at least a little. As king, he would need to be able to weigh all the available options and leave his personal biases out of it.
He had seven more developers to meet with. It was time to wade back into the fray. Two of them stood near the catering table, plates in hand. He’d start there.
Malik took one step toward the table. His foot was still six inches from the temporary hardwood floor of the tent when he saw her.
His heart missed a step, tumbling into his rib cage and landing near the pit of his stomach.
Gorgeous. She was gorgeous. No—stunning. And something altogether different from any of the other women at the event. The four women in charge of development companies wore a uniform of sleeveless black dresses topped with gauzy coverups for their shoulders, and their assistants wore similar outfits.
Not this woman.
Her pantsuit was