The Sheikh's Pregnant Employee Page 8

  Her face went stony, which sent a pang of fear through him. “Right.”

  “Am I making sense?”

  She turned to him, a bright smile coming over her face. “Perfect sense. Thank you.”

  He paused, trying to feel her out. It was as clear as he could make it—please be with me as long as possible, before I sign my life away to a woman I don’t even know.

  “But I can understand too if this might be uncomfortable. I’d be willing to help you achieve whatever arrangement fits best. Moving to a different department, relocation…in the event that you decide you, well, don’t want to continue.”

  “Zahir.” She slung her arms around his neck, her face growing stern. “I’m a liberated western woman, remember? You don’t have to worry this much.”

  He nodded, taking another gulp of water. He should have known. Besides, it was clear this meant more to him than it did to her, especially since the only people who knew about his upcoming betrothal were his brothers and father. She had no way of knowing that their liaisons were destined to end. No matter how much he wanted to continue seeing her, getting to know her, planting those sweet kisses all over her face…

  Layla finished her glass of water and stood, heading for the far corner of the room. She bent to pick something up, exposing the shiny redness of her pussy. Zahir’s jaw clenched when he realized she had his briefs dangling from her fingertips.

  “Here’s your underwear…unless you’d prefer to remain nude on my couch for just a little while longer,” she purred, easing down next to him.

  He set his glass on the table beside the couch, then tugged her down on top of him by the hips. She laughed, bending her knees to straddle him, her perky breasts nudging him in the face.

  “I think I’ll stay here until it’s absolutely necessary for me to leave,” he murmured, placing small kisses along her collarbone. Remnants of his stilted confession to her still rang between his ears, and part of him wished he could confess everything—the betrothal, the sense of helplessness, the fact that the only woman he was truly, deeply interested in was her.

  But those doubts were swept away by a maelstrom of kisses and gentle touches, until all that remained was the throbbing echo of Layla, playing like a mantra in his head.

  The next few weeks passed as a blur before Zahir’s eyes. After that night in Layla’s apartment, they fell into a tacit, easy rhythm. One that required almost no thought, just simple, heated glances and the perfectly-timed head nod to indicate “meet me in my office” or “follow me to the boardroom.”

  The two of them fucked everywhere. In their offices, on top of the desk, bent over the chair, in the boardroom after work hours, even inside one of the bathrooms in the early morning hours. Zahir ate her out whenever he could, and she’d given him more blowjobs than he could count. The risk of being discovered weighed on him—was more of an anxiety than anything else—but he couldn’t control himself either. He was a man unhinged. Crazed for Layla. Desperate to absorb as much of her as he could while he still had the chance.

  He’d never been so buoyant at work. His secretary mentioned something once, that he had a special glow. It was a sex glow or a Layla glow—or both. Either way, it was obvious to the outside world; he felt compelled to squash it but helpless to stop. Was it so wrong to be enjoying this so much?

  Besides, he and Layla had reached a new level between them. It was effortless, something sweet and playful that he would have no problem continuing for a long time. Their workday romps weren’t quite enough, but they satisfied him—temporarily, at least. He wanted more of her. Outside of work. In his penthouse, at her apartment, at dinner, maybe even weekend trips.

  You want Layla. The thought sizzled through him as he reviewed his emails one Friday, something both obvious but much deeper than simple wanting. Of course he wanted her. He’d wanted her since the day he met her. But this was something else. He wanted her for his own. His mystery bride and upcoming wedding weighed on him like a lead jacket, an oppressive future that sometimes had him waking up at night unable to breathe.

  Zahir checked his watch. A few hours left in the day. He’d been considering his weekend plans, trying to find a casual way to insert Layla into them without coming off as overbearing. But at this point, he should go for it. Just ask her to dinner. What was the harm? He could pass it off as a business meeting easily enough…or invent a story about how they’d run into each other unexpectedly on solo excursions out on the town. Either way, he had leverage now to deal with speculation from errant reporters or press hounds. He could easily deflect them to research her status within the company.

  Toward the end of the day, his father called. Zahir cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder as he reviewed some reports. “Father.”

  “My son, I have some news for you.” His father’s voice had that unnerving joviality again. Zahir’s stomach shrank to a nut.

  “What is it?” He stopped seeing the screen, even though he was staring at it.

  “We’ve set a date.” His father’s glee rumbled through the phone. “Set by the bride’s family. Five months from now.”

  Zahir blinked, nearly dropping the phone. He caught it as it slid away from his face. “What? That…it seems…”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll meet her soon enough.” He could practically see his father waving away his concerns. “She finishes her master’s degree in two months and then will come home to prepare for the wedding. I imagine we’ll have quite a party planned for that time, as well.”

  Zahir’s mouth went dry. Two months until he met her. Five months until married. It all seemed so fast…and unpalatable. “Father, are you sure—?”

  “What, son?”

  “Are you sure this isn’t a little fast?” He blinked rapidly, trying to piece together some sort of logical protest. One that didn’t reek of the fact that he wanted to sidestep the marriage altogether. “I mean, usually there’s at least a year to prepare. I hardly think we can throw an appropriate wedding in so little time.”

  His father hummed on the other end of the phone. “Yes, you may be right. It does seem fast. But this is the date the bride’s family has chosen. They have final word in these matters.”

  Zahir pinched his eyes shut. There was no way out. “Thank you for the update, Father. Very good news.” His stomach clenched as he said it.

  “Indeed, it is!” His father hung up, practically buzzing with happiness. Zahir stared at his computer screen, hesitant to breathe or blink or do anything that might let this reality sink deeper into him than it already was.

  Two months to introduction; five months to marriage. It translated in his head to no more Layla. And that stung worse than anything.

  Now that there was a date set, he and Layla’s end was in sight. He had to come clean about the marriage, and his future…eventually. Because shouldn’t he also enjoy what little time remained between them? Two more months at least were better than no more months.

  But the thought of telling Layla wrung out his insides. On the one hand…she might not care. Might toss her hair and say “oh well” and want to keep fucking up until the last hour before his wedding. Or maybe she’d be angry or even feel betrayed. He’d prefer the latter to the former.

  Because there was no way around it: he and Layla had something between them. Even though it was disguised as work fun, there was more there. And if it turned out Zahir was the only one wrapped up in this fantasy…

  That was something he was willing to postpone finding out about.

  13

  Layla stood in front of her bedroom mirror, inspecting herself from all angles. How far along was she now? It was hard to tell, since she refused to visit the doctor quite yet. Morning sickness had set in for real, and by her count, it had probably been around fourteen weeks since her last period—she’d been in Parsabad for three months now. But an ultrasound seemed out of the question. Not yet. Not while things still seemed relatively normal.

  Am I showing yet? She squinted,
twisting to check out her belly from the side. Could Zahir notice anything? He certainly hadn’t seemed to notice anything amiss over the last four weeks of non-stop fooling around. The doorknob jiggled, but she didn’t glance at the doorway. Marian stepped in a moment later, holding up a taupe set of Spanx.

  “Here they are.” She waved them in the air. “Flown in especially for you from the US.”

  “You act like you didn’t just order these online,” Layla said with a smirk. She snatched them out of her friend’s hands, tugging at each side to test the elasticity. “God. I might never fit into these. What size is this, a small?”

  “No, it’s your size. It’s just meant to, you know, keep everything in.” Marian shrugged, sitting on the bed. “Try them on.”

  “I’ll need an army of women to get into these once I start growing.”

  “You’ll get used to it. It’ll become second nature.”

  “Maybe I’ll just put them on once and not take them off again until I deliver,” Layla said, stepping one foot tentatively into the opening of the undergarment.

  “Listen, this is a temporary solution,” Marian said, slicing her hand through the air. “You asked me to help, and I did. This is the best I’ve got while you make up your mind about telling Zahir.”

  “I already made up my mind,” Layla reminded her, guiding her other foot through the opening. She tugged them up until they met resistance mid-thigh. “I’ve told you. He doesn’t need to know.”

  Marian sighed dramatically. “I just think you need to consider this decision further.”

  “Why? So I can ruin his family?” Layla scoffed, but it turned into a huff as she struggled to raise the garment higher. “I’m not going to be the black sheep here. It’s one thing for me to come around to being a mother. But I refuse to be someone’s obligatory wife.”

  Marian watched flatly through the mirror as Layla tugged the pants higher. “He wouldn’t marry you just because he got you pregnant—”

  “Oh really?” Layla laughed sarcastically. “You said yourself this is the most traditional family you’ve ever seen. I can just imagine the scandal his bastard baby would create.”

  Marian picked at a nail, her mouth a thin line. “Well, I’m sure you two could work something out...”

  “Yeah, and he’d have all the leverage. Compared to him, I’m just some broke girl from New York. Who’s going to win that custody battle, Mare? Not me, that’s for damn sure.” Layla grunted. The torture device didn’t want to crest her hips, no matter how hard she tugged. “Can you give me a hand?”

  Marian hopped to her feet, pulling up at the back of the waistband. Layla wiggled around until the Spanx finally slid into place. She heaved a sigh of relief, assessing herself in the mirror.

  “Well at least I can still breathe,” she said, examining her body again for any evidence of a bump. “Though I might need to have Zahir cut me out if we ever hook up while I’m wearing them.”

  “I can’t imagine your baby growing up not knowing who their daddy is,” Marian said, sounding pitiful.

  “I know. I know.” Layla shook her head. “But if I tell him, and we don’t come to the magical perfect agreement in life, then what? Besides, I don’t want to settle down. I don’t want to live here forever. Zahir’s focus is clear—he’s strapped to Almasi-Thomas until the day he dies. If I’m attached to him via this baby, I’ll be forced to stay here with him. I already know it.”

  “I think you should tell him,” Marian said, gripping her friend by the hips. “I just know that he’d want to know.”

  Layla deflated a little. “I get it. And I promise I’ll think about it. I just…can’t decide yet. I’m still wrapping my head around everything.” She blinked rapidly, a knot appearing in her throat. Probably a sign of the pregnancy. “There’s just so much to think about, you know?”

  Marian nodded, her curls bouncing. “I know, honey. I support you in whatever decision you make.”

  “And please, don’t tell Omar. If Zahir doesn’t know, nobody can know,” she said, meeting her friend’s gaze hesitantly. It was a tall order. A seriously big request to make of someone. But for now, it was the only decision that felt right. Marian was by her side in this, come hell or high water.

  “I promise,” Marian said quietly.

  “Now. Let’s see.” Layla turned to her reflection in the mirror once more. “Am I showing or not?”

  Marian bit her lip, shaking her head slowly. “Not yet…but when you do, this will hide it.”

  Layla frowned. “Well, it looks like the Spanx era will soon be upon us.”

  Marian stayed to hang out and chat a bit longer, as well as to help tug Layla out of the skin-tight Spanx, which helped Layla ignore the insistent pinging of her phone. By the time Marian went home to meet Omar for dinner, Layla realized Zahir had been texting her the whole time. Urgent, fun, and playful texts, imploring her to let him take her out to dinner.

  A grin covered her face as she responded. “Dinner? Again? You’ve taken me out every weekend. Shareholders are going to start thinking you’re banging your subordinate.”

  Little dots let her know Zahir worked on a response immediately. “But we do so much more than mere banging. So yes? Dinner?”

  She smoothed a hand over the Spanx as she contemplated her reply. Of course she wanted to go to dinner. These last four weeks had been magical and fulfilling in a way she hadn’t expected. More than anything, she wanted to continue this fantasy where she and Zahir had pure, unadulterated fun with one another, where they were able to connect and just be together without any consequences. She excelled at this kind of relationship.

  Except her guilt at knowing that it was all a ruse gnawed more on her daily. She would be showing soon, for fuck’s sake. She couldn’t keep up this deception for much longer. She had to tell him.

  Marian is right. He needs to know. All of her protests and excuses for keeping it to herself withered when she burrowed down to her gut instinct. And when she got down that deep, another niggling truth emerged. She wanted him to be excited. She wanted him to want her. In a way that she was scared to allow herself to crave.

  She took a shaky breath. So she’d tell him tonight…come hell or high water. She typed out a quick response. “Okay. You win. Tell me where and when and dress code.”

  She checked herself out in the mirror once more. She’d have to tell him soon…because otherwise, he’d notice himself soon enough. The Spanx would only hide the growing midsection for so long. And sure, she could pawn it off as weight gain for a time…but when the questionable girth turned into that obvious bump?

  Her days were numbered.

  She nodded at her reflection, offering a small smile for encouragement. You can do this, Layla. It’s time to tell Zahir the truth.

  14

  Zahir adjusted the silverware of his place setting for the hundredth time. He’d chosen a fancier place than normal for this dinner—another ostensible business meeting, according to his phone calendar—and it was important that the setting was right. This dinner was more than just another excuse to see Layla’s face and hear her snort-laugh at his bad jokes and burn from her alluring looks when he rubbed her leg under the table.

  He was confessing tonight, too. The guilt was eating him up.

  His assumption that having fun with Layla in the background of his brewing nuptials would be fine had proven naïve. He hadn’t counted on things blossoming like they had, their friendship and intimacy a multi-layered zinnia sprawling outward toward the sun. The more time they spent together—whether fucking, fondling, or just talking on the phone late at night—the more Zahir spiraled into conflict.

  He wasn’t scheduled to meet his bride for another month. But if he waited that long, as he’d originally planned, the situation would only get worse. As it was, it perplexed him at night, keeping him up longer than he wanted.

  If you tell her, you know she’ll stop seeing you.

  This thought plagued him, and he had an arsenal of
rationalizations ready. Reasons why she could continue to see him up until his wedding day. They were desperate and foolish, and he knew it. But it was his only option; the only intersection of doing the right thing with his embarrassingly unmanageable desires.

  Maybe part of his confession this evening would involve something other than the upcoming wedding. He’d considered it a few times—telling her plainly that he felt more for her than just a work fling, or whatever classification they might use. This is more than just sex. The words elbowed for room inside his head when he least expected it. And if he had any choice in the matter, he knew who he’d want to have at his side.

  Zahir licked his lips, searching the restaurant for any sign of her. What did he expect her to say? The conversation couldn’t end well. Yet he couldn’t lose her. He needed every last possible second with Layla.

  And you think you won’t need her once you get married?

  He’d need her more than ever then—he knew it down to his bones. He huffed, adjusting his jacket. These never-ending, circling thoughts wouldn’t rest until he reached some sort of peace with the situation. But it might never come.

  Layla breezed through the foyer of the restaurant, entering the main dining room like an angel strutting the catwalk. She glowed—she truly did. He smiled, as he always did when he saw her, even when he tried not to. Her face lit up when her gaze landed on him. She glided toward him in a form-fitting black and white dress, something that hugged her curves but left enough to the imagination. He stood as she approached, then pressed a hand to her lower back as she leaned in for a polite kiss on the cheek per custom.

  “You look amazing,” he murmured into her ear, sideswiped by the rush of heat when he caught a whiff of her perfume. That smell could bring him to his knees.

  “Business dinners are important.” She winked at him as she sat down, setting her purse in the empty chair at the table. “This one seemed especially urgent. Is the company going through another merger?”