Olivia lifted her brows heavenward. He might have been technically correct, but it was in the very early hours of the morning; a time when she was usually escorting clients home and making sure they were tucked up safely in a drunken, yet not comatose, stupor.
“Yes, sir,” she agreed calmly.
“Come to my room.” The order was given with the complete confidence of a man who was always obeyed.
“Yes, sir.” She hung the receiver up with a wry grimace. Men like Zamir didn’t employ common civility. Why would he? Where he came from, his words were gospel; his instructions to be implicitly followed.
She scrambled out of bed and finger combed her hair then reassembled it into a neat bun. Instead of changing out of her outfit, she pulled on a button up shirt and slipped her feet into a pair of heels. A spritz of perfume and a slick of lip gloss and she was just about as good as she was going to get at two o’clock in the morning.
The hallway was far quieter than it had been the evening before. Only a handful of security men stood sentry, and Marook was nowhere to be seen. She opened the lift and pressed the button for the Sheikh’s floor.
She knew that her access to his floor would be momentary. A button at his end would give her a small window of opportunity. Such restrictions were familiar to her. He was not her first high-profile guest to utilise the high-tech security of The Infinity hotel.
When she entered his palatial suite of rooms, it took her a moment to find him. He was sitting at the piano, his fingers resting on the keys, but perfectly still. No sound was coming from the instrument.
“Good morning, sir.”
He looked sidelong in her direction without speaking, and then turned his attention back to the keys. He began to play, a slow song that was both beautiful and inexplicably sad. Olivia felt a bereft breeze shift across them.
While he played, she observed. His shoulders were broad, and his back straight. He was not just tall, he was built like an a
ncient warrior. As though he could live in the desert unaided, and survive any possible threat.
But he played like a haunted prodigy.
Olivia took a step closer on impulse, and he stopped, closing the lid of the instrument with a louder-than-necessary snap.
He turned around on the chair but didn’t stand. His eyes bore into her for such a long time that Olivia felt a ridiculous impulse to fidget with her fingers.
“How may I help you?” She repeated the question she’d asked on the phone, but still he said nothing for a very long time.
“I wish to be distracted,” he said finally, his smile ghostly.
“Of course.” She nodded with a whoosh of relief. Finally, they were returning to far more familiar ground. “You’re in the right place, sir. This is, after all, a playground city.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and loaded the app she used to track current events and activities. It updated every five minutes, and included which bars were closed, which were full, and which were at their peak. “Now, what would you like to do? There’s a high-stakes poker game at The Bellagio and I can get you a seat. Or perhaps a dinner reservation, despite the hour?”
She felt a frisson of discomfort creep along her spine as she broached the next subject. “There are some very exclusive gentlemen’s clubs in the area. Private and … well-regarded.”
He arched a single brow. It was just one tiny facial movement but it had the power to make her feel as though she’d said the most ridiculous thing imaginable.
“None of these things are of interest to me. I wish to be distracted, not bored by other people’s stupidity and lax morality.”
She pressed her lips together, willing herself not to get offended by his snappish words.
“Do you have an activity in mind then, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. If you tell me what it is, I will facilitate it.”
“As is your job,” he said unnecessarily.
She nodded, her eyes narrowing at his snappish mood.
“I would like to drink tea, and talk.”
“Tea?” She couldn’t help but repeat. “And talk?”
“There is a golden canister in the kitchen. It carries the royal tea of Dashan. Make a pot and join me.”