Glamour (48 page)

“Give us a smile, baby! Let’s see that rock!”

Sally turned and waved, and gave them a dazzling smile. “There you go.” She extended her finger, to display the princess-cut natural pink diamond, three carats, a million dollars.

“I have to go shopping,” she informed the crowd of photographers, blinking her long lashes at them.

“Sal! Gonna get your wedding dress in the store?” somebody shouted.

She practically purred.“Of
course
.What do you think inspired me to open GLAMOUR’s bridal boutique? And I’m getting my wedding day scent specially blended for me in GLAMOUR Paris. Chris and I are going there on our honeymoon.”

They loved it. The flashbulbs popped again. She was now almost as famous as he was. But Sally was quick on her feet; she turned and dashed into the store, waving to shoppers who were dizzy with excitement, while security guards escorted her to the staff elevator. Make them wait outside; the press always had to be left hungry, wanting more. Sally was shopping at GLAMOUR for the sports wedding of the year. That was what they needed to know.

“Great stuff out there.” Maxi, her assistant and PR booker, rushed to greet her, bearing Sally’s usual tall glass of fizzy water and crushed ice with lime.

“You watched?”

“From a window.You work them like you were born to it.”

Oh, I was,
Sally thought.

“And the
New York Times
called.They want to do a Style section feature on you and GLAMOUR . . .”

“Say yes.”

“
Access Hollywood
wants to film the wedding . . .”

“No, but they can do a short bit at the reception.”

“Ma’am, it’s Mr. Nelson on line one,” said one of the secretaries.

“What are you doing, baby?”

“I’m at the store. Getting the gown. So don’t pick me up, it’s bad luck.”

“At the store?” he grumbled.“Damn, girl, you are such a salesman. Even with our wedding.”

“They watch me . . . you know that.”

“Don’t I just,” Nelson said darkly.

“Don’t be mad. I’m running out the back door, I’ll be with you soon.” She wanted to tell him about all the new magazine covers, the TV slots, the offer from Hollywood that she was turning down—business was the star, and she, Sally Nelson,
was
GLAMOUR. “I’ll make it up to you, baby,” she promised.

Sally could hear his grin through the phone. “You certainly will.”

“Mark Cohen on two.” She punched the line to hang up on Chris and pick up Mark. Wow! This store was a rocket. If she didn’t physically leave the building, her phones would never stop ringing. Mark was Jane’s latest hire, shipped in from New York to be the general manager of GLAMOUR L.A., their original, flagship store. Jane had insisted they run every store like a first-class hotel.

“We got the extension from the city.”

“Fabulous.” Haya and Ahmed’s place was way too small; they had discovered that months ago. Now she could concentrate on building something glorious. Lots of smoked glass, she thought, and an indoor garden, with fully grown trees, like they had in the lobby of CAA . . .

“And the monthly sales figures have
tripled
.We’re selling stock as fast as we can ship it in.” Cohen was ecstatic. “Ms. Morgan called and told me to pass on to you that three more consortiums have made offers. She also wants a meeting to consider going public.” He paused. “Ms. Lassiter, what with the amazing figures from the opens in New York and London . . . do you understand how rich you are now?”

“Doesn’t matter. We’ve only just started,” Sally said coolly. “And tell Ms. Morgan’s assistant I’ll call her back.”

She hung up, told Maxi to deal with her messages, and got ready to sneak out the back door.

She had an important appointment. With a realtor, and her fiancé.
Let’s face it,
Sally thought.
Life is pretty damn sweet.

Chris whistled a little, as soon as the pushy broker had left them to themselves.

“This is quite a house,” he said. “Are you sure we need this much space?”

“Think of the fun we’ll have christening every room.”

He kissed her, one of those slow, lingering kisses that got her squirming and impatient.

“If you like the place, folks, ask is twenty,” said the agent, bustling back in after half a minute. Sally pulled away from her fiancé, annoyed.

“We need much more time to think about it. Please give us some privacy.”

“Oh, certainly,” the woman said.“But I have another viewing at five o’clock.”

“If you don’t leave right now, I’ll call the owners and tell them you personally cost them a sale.”

The agent bolted.

“Tough cookie,” Chris said, admiringly, feeling her ass; Sally shifted under her dress, wanting him, right there on the kitchen floor. “But baby . . . twenty mil. I’m not
that
rich. Sorry.”

“We’ll bid fifteen,” Sally said. “They’ll take it. I have to have this house.”

“There are lots of other good ones. . . .”

“You’re not that rich, but I am,” she interrupted, kissing him back, stretching up on her toes to do it. “GLAMOUR . . . it’s doing well. More than well.” She summarized for him.

“Man.” He blew out his cheeks. “When I met you, you were living in a scummy walk-up apartment. Is the store really that hot?”

Sally nodded proudly.“Hey, at least I know you’re not marrying me for my money!”

Chris gave her a slap on the rear.“Just for that, when I get you home, I’m gonna make you work out naked.”

“Promises, promises,” Sally teased back; but she was turned on, and he could see it.

Chris took her hand. “Let’s go. I want to see you on that exercise bike . . .” He whistled loudly, and the realtor came running back in.

“Fifteen mil. Not a cent over. And they’re lucky my fiancée likes the place,” he said dismissively. “Call me back only if you have a signed contract. Come on, sweetness. . . .”

And he ushered her out, back to the car.

They hadn’t driven more than half a mile before the car phone rang.

“Chris? It’s Jemma.”

“That’s Mr. Nelson,” he said sharply. Neither of them liked the woman.

“Yes, sir,” she said eagerly. “They’ve accepted! I’m having a signed contract messengered over to Malibu. Congratulations! I’m sure you’ll enjoy Beverly Hills . . .”

“Good. You’ll get the money wired by tomorrow.” He punched the button and hung up. “Looks like you got it, baby.” Nelson shook his head.“Man, that place is so big it’s like owning my own country. It’s a long way from the Bronx.” He casually lifted her skirt with his left hand, and felt her inner thigh. “So why did that place appeal to you so much? There are lots of other mansions. . . .”

“You don’t understand,” Sally said. “That was my home. My dad’s place. The one they threw us out of.” Her face was bright with a fierce pride. “And now it’s mine again. Mom can live in the guest cottage. Maybe one day I’ll give it to her.”

He was shocked. “Fifteen million?”

“The way things are going, we’ll soon be able to afford six of them,” Sally told him.

“Man, what am I doing in practice all day?”

“Getting ready to win the World Series?”

“There is that, I guess.” His hand went higher. “You’re still gonna be working out naked. Somebody has to keep you under control.”

“Have you seen the latest consignment?” Haya was angry. “I expect quality control, Muna.You can’t assume honesty.”

“Nine times out of ten—”

“Ninety-nine out of a hundred,” Haya interrupted. “But we serve an amazingly expensive, luxurious chain. I need the quality to be there
one hundred times
out of one hundred. When I made a surprise inspection at the Cairo docks I found four machine-woven carpets. Machine-woven! Do you know the scandal that would cause, if we misrepresented them? Furthermore, do you understand what that means?”

The older woman hung her head.“That the suppliers did not buy them from the artisans?”

“Exactly. So not only are we being cheated, some poor woman who depends on us for her survival is, too. . . .”

“It won’t happen again,
Siti
Haya.”

“It better not. Or you’re fired. And don’t call me
Siti,
” Haya snapped. They were always doing that—she hated it, all the assumptions, the idea that Jaber would marry her in due course, make her his....

The more she was seen at the palace, the more they said it was a done deal.

When she talked with him, she was free to be herself. He was intelligent, strong, and masculine, and yet respectful of her—interested in her business, and how she was shaping it. Jaber relaxed her, and she knew that however hard she tried not to, she was falling for him. . . .

Yet in the last month, he had withdrawn from her. They had met for dinner only twice, and he was moody and distracted.The only time he seemed like his old self was when he played with Noor, already toddling around.

There was some other woman, Haya was sure of it. And her heart ached at the thought. She loved Ghada now with a passion, but she couldn’t stay here; couldn’t turn on the TV, read the local papers and see the emir, the favored foreign minister, accompanied by a new princess, his chosen bride; Jaber worked hard for charity; he would attend every benefit, every concert Haya got involved with. And as one of the world’s most successful Muslim businesswomen, that would be quite a few. Haya and GLAMOUR were famous in Ghada. Famous across the Middle East. She had insisted on sticking to her principles—ethics
and
profit—and people loved her for it. Haya only talked to the regional press.The company had its strategy; let golden Sally be the face of GLAMOUR in the West.

So she would have to move. And Haya had already decided she would go back to Amman, live in a villa, somewhere secluded and safe for Noor to grow up in; the country her father had left for America; with her, it would come full circle. She would always love the States. But she would live with her heritage.

“I understand,” Muna said, chastened.“I’ll check them all personally, Ms. Al-Yanna.”

There was a hard rap on the door.

“Come in,” Haya called.

A soldier opened the door; he wore the epaulets of the royal house and had a gun at his belt. Muna shrank back, toward Haya, who instinctively stepped in front of her employee.

“What do you want?” Haya asked, fighting to stay calm.

“Madam, you must come with me,” he said in guttural English. “It is His Royal Highness who orders it.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He looked at her, his eyes expressionless.“I have orders to take you by force if necessary. It is for your own protection.” He lifted the gun. “Please come.”

Haya was terrified; her palms started to sweat from adrenaline. “What’s going on?” she cried. “Where is Noor?
Where is Noor?
”

“There is trouble at the palace.Your baby and her nanny have already been collected—they are at His Highness’s compound.” He moved forward to grab her, but Haya was already ahead of him.

“Take me to my daughter,” she said firmly. “At once. Do you hear me?”

Startled, the soldier gave a small bow.

“Yes,
Siti,
” he said.

This time, she did not object.

“You’re here.” He walked over to her and kissed her on both cheeks. “
Mash’Allah,
you are safe.”

“And Noor?” They were standing in his private apartments, and Haya was still shaking; the ride through the streets, her car, armored, flanked with five riders with guns, had taken fire; screaming, she had dropped to the floor.The center of Ghada City was on fire. People in the streets were running, yelling, throwing rocks. Even inside the royal compound, it was all different: rows of the palace guard, no longer ceremonial, AK-47s at their sides, were dressed for battle.

“She is upstairs. One of my servants will show you to a guest room.We have supplies, baby formula.You are too well known as my companion—they would have come for you.”

“What’s going on?”

“The sons of the crown prince are impatient; they have prepared a revolt.There are mercenaries here, and they intend to kill the king. I am to fight them. If I fail, take this.” He looked behind him and withdrew some papers and money from a cabinet. “Passports in a false name for you and the child, money to take you across the border. My personal bodyguard will see you out of the palace.”

Haya wept—she wanted to hold him, to kiss him. But they were not even engaged.

“Be careful,” she blurted out. “Come back to me, come back safe. I pray you will come home!”

“It will be quick,” he said grimly, and then, to her astonishment, he leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips.

“Haya—I love you. Maybe this is not the time or the place, but I have no choice. If we survive this, will you marry me?”

She opened her mouth to consent, but Jaber stopped her.

“I knew this was coming. It is why I did not ask you. But Haya, know this. If you are my wife, you cannot be directly involved in GLAMOUR anymore.You will be a princess.You will have to be merely a partner, and instead of commerce, perform other duties with me.” He pressed her hand. “And they
are
duties, Haya, and there is no time off. So you will have to choose.”

There was gunfire in the distance—she looked at him; now her heart was on the line, there was no choice. Not really, not when he might die.

“I accept,” she said, and kissed his hand. “Go with God!”

He looked back at her, briefly, then picked up his gun, lying on the table, and rushed from the room.

A nursemaid in palace uniform crept into the apartments and gave Haya a small half curtsy.

“I will take you to your daughter,” she said.

“Yes—let me see her.” Haya’s heart was full. Terror and joy and loss, mingled together. Oh, God! She loved him now, loved him so completely.

She had no idea what the night would bring. She clutched the papers to her. Of course, if she had to flee, she would flee.... Noor’s safety came first. But she didn’t want to go. She never wanted to leave Jaber.