new,” he said. “I didn’t need a car when we lived in New York, but I do here,” he said. “My life is about to change. Drastically.”
“No more playboy, hmm?”
“Where’d you hear that?” he asked sharply.
“Heard you talking.”
“I thought maybe you’d been talking to my father.”
She shook her head. Just to utter another word would require too much effort.
“He thinks it’s time I grew up. Took over the business and got married. I’m the elder son, you know.”
“I thought…twins,” she murmured.
“Yes, we’re twins, but I was born first. By thirty minutes. So Rahman’s allowed some slack while I’m the heir apparent. I’m the one who gets the corner office. I’m the one who gets the responsibility of running it. I’m the one who’s supposed to find a wife and settle down. Don’t tell anyone I said that. I’m trying to talk him out of that one.”
As if she could tell anyone anything. Her lips were numb, her eyes refused to open. He was still talking. She could hear the words but they made no sense. None at all.
When Rafik got to California Street he turned to ask Anne which way to turn, but her eyes were closed and she was breathing softly and steadily. She’d fallen asleep.
“Hey, wake up,” he said. “Which way on California?” He shook her gently by the shoulder. Nothing. “Anne. Where do you live? Come on, sweetheart, speak to me.” But she didn’t. She slid down even farther in the seat. Too much to drink, obviously. Well, it wasn’t the first time he’d been stuck with an inebriated date. Though he usually knew where they lived. He could go back to the wedding or call Carolyn, but the truth was, he was tired himself. It had been a week of nonstop pre-wedding parties along with setting up a new office and frankly he was beat. He, the man who loved a good time, who’d never met a party he didn’t like, was slowing down. What was the matter with him?
Another thing. He didn’t relish telling Carolyn her friend had passed out before he even got her home. It might put a damper on the remainder of the party for her. And it would make her best friend look bad. The only thing to do was take her back to his hotel with him. It was a comfortable suite with great room service and a giant king-sized bed. When she came to, he’d sober her up with coffee, find out where she lived and drive her home.
Unfortunately Anne was still out of it when they arrived at the hotel. How was he going to get her up to his room without causing a scene? He pulled up to the front entrance and tried once more to wake her up. “We’re here,” he said loudly. “Come on. Do me a favor and wake up.” She didn’t stir.
The doorman opened the passenger door and waited.
Rafik jumped out of the car and lifted Anne up in his arms.
“Fell asleep in the car,” Rafik explained to the blue-uniformed doorman. “She’ll be fine. Have the valet park it, will you?”
“Certainly, sir,” he said, as if comatose guests arrived every day and had to be carried into the hotel.
The lobby was crowded with well-dressed guests. There was a party going on in one of the ballrooms. Not all of the people turned to stare at the man in the tuxedo carrying a redheaded woman in a strapless pink silk dress to the elevator. But most of them did. The decibel level fell about twenty points as a kind of hush fell over the crowd. The hush was replaced with murmurs.
“Who is that?”
“One of those sheiks. He shut down the bar the other night. Isn’t he too much?”
“No, I mean her. Who’s she? I’ve never seen her before.”
“It couldn’t be…no, if I didn’t know better I’d think it was Emma’s teacher, Miss Sheridan.”
“Anne Sheridan, the first-grade teacher at Pinehurst?”
“It isn’t, of course, but the hair…such a gorgeous color. There aren’t many people…No, what am I thinking? It couldn’t be her. What would she be doing in the arms of a playboy going up to his hotel room or hers? She’s not the type. All of the teachers at Pinehurst are screened carefully. Models of decorum. At least in public. No, it can’t be her.”
Rafik, who’d done just about every outrageous thing in the last few years in New York, felt his ears turn red. Not the type. Not his type. He knew that. But he’d brought her here anyway. What was wrong with him? He knew what was wrong with him. He didn’t want to let her go. Didn’t want to leave her anywhere. Not until he knew she was all right. On the other hand, she was a big girl. She could take care of herself. But not tonight. Tonight he was taking care of her whether she wanted him to or not. It made no sense. It made no sense at all. But there it was.
At least he should have covered Anne with something. It was one thing, as part of a colorful and wealthy international family, to be talked about in hotel lobbies. It wasn’t the first time that had happened to him. But to expose Anne to gossip was not fair. He shouldn’t have brought her here. He should have driven back to the reception, found out where she lived and taken her home. But hindsight is always 20/20. It was a little late to change his game plan.
He stared straight ahead, his teeth clenched in his jaw, praying for an early arrival of the elevator. After an eternity it arrived and gratefully he entered, Anne’s face pressed against his chest. He awkwardly hit the button for the twentieth floor and heaved a sigh of relief. But he wasn’t home free.
The elevator wasn’t empty.
“Big night?” a man in a dark suit asked with a smirk.
Rafik managed a tight smile. There was no way to explain that wouldn’t exacerbate the situation.
“Oh, my,” said an elegant woman in a beige suit, eyeing Anne’s inert body with surprise. “Is she all right?”
“Fine. She’s just fine. Just tired.”
“Beautiful red hair. Say, aren’t you one of those sheiks?” she asked.
He’d removed his headdress this morning, but somehow the woman knew. Maybe because the family had taken over the entire twentieth floor.
“Yes,” he said. “I am.”
Damn. He could have lied. Could have said he was the hotel manager escorting a guest to her room or a doctor with a case of Lyme disease on his hands. How many more people was he going to run into before he got her to his floor, to his suite? He could only be glad he wasn’t going to meet any family members, presumably all still at the reception. He especially wanted to avoid his father who’d had a talk with him that very morning about his new image, about public relations and the family business. This kind of situation was exactly what his father was talking about. Only it wasn’t really. It just looked like it. Unfortunately his father was into appearances. In a big way.
He finally arrived in the cool, calm, quiet, high-ceilinged suite. He strode into the bedroom and laid her down on the bed on her back. Her face was pale. He sat on the edge of the bed and pressed his ear against her chest. She was breathing slowly and regularly. Thank God. Rafik knew from experience she just needed to sleep it off.
It
