Stealing From The Sheikh - A Sheikh Romance Novel (Irresistible Sheikhs Book 3) (9 page)

THIRTEEN

As Riley parked in the lot outside of the tiny, run-down diner at the address that Alex had sent her, she thought bitterly that it was exactly the kind of place that she would expect someone like him to go.
Greasy, probably failed at least three health inspections in the last ten years, and I’ll bet that the bathroom is out of paper towels more often than it has them.

Riley took a deep breath, telling herself that she would just go straight in, find out what it was Alex wanted to show her, make it clear that she was formally backing out of their deal, and make her exit.

She had dressed carefully for the meeting, picking an outfit that looked—to her eyes at least—more professional than sexy; clean and straightforward. She’d twisted her hair into a tight bun, and put on some makeup, thinking of it as a kind of war paint.

Riley stepped through the doors and looked around, surprised at how crowded the diner was; the impression she’d gotten from the exterior was borne out by the smell of hot grease and frying meat that greeted her at the door. She spotted Alex sitting at a table in a corner, away from the flow of traffic, and straightened her back and shoulders. She told herself once more that she wouldn’t let herself be swayed no matter what Alex had to say, and started towards the booth he was sitting in.

Before she even sat down, Riley spoke. “Look—nothing you have to say is going to convince me to change my mind,” she said, keeping her voice as firm as she possibly could. “I’ve made my decision, and I’m not going to go back on it.”

Alex raised one eyebrow slightly and glanced around the room. Riley took a moment to look him over; he looked out of place in the diner with his tailored suit and expensive jewelry, but Riley knew that beneath the flashy exterior, he was no better than any other lowlife.

“Have a seat,” Alex said smoothly. “I’m not going to keep you very long.”

Riley hesitated for just a moment, but told herself that since she’d agreed to the meeting, she owed it to Alex to at least hear what he had to say.

“Fine,” she said, sitting down on the bench across the table from Alex. The cushions were worn, little white threads poking up out of the false leather in a few places.

Alex glanced around the busy diner once more before taking something out of his pocket. Riley recognized it as a digital recorder, and her heart began to beat faster.

“I think you’ll find this very interesting,” he said, smiling in a way that left Riley torn between disgust and anxiety.

Alex pressed play. For a moment there was a murmur of confused sound, and then Riley heard her own voice. Her cheeks burned as the playback continued and she recognized exactly what it was: Alex had recorded the conversation where she had formally agreed to become his mole on the
Galaxy Wars
set. Her voice was crystal-clear, but Alex’s was disguised somehow, unrecognizable. It was obvious what she was agreeing to—she had let Alex goad her into being exact as to what she would do, and what she would get paid in return.

When the recording ended, Alex slipped the device back into his pocket.

“Technology is so convenient,” he said with a sleek, confident smile before his face fell into serious lines. “I think you probably catch the drift of this already, but just to be clear: if you try and back out on me, I’m going to leak this to all the right people. If you thought it would ruin your career for people to find out that you became a star by selling out a production company, imagine how bad it is when you’re a nobody.”

Riley stared at Alex in horrified silence, trying to wrap her mind around his threat. Somehow, the possibility of him blackmailing her had never occurred to her.
Are you really surprised?
She clenched her teeth, her hands tightening in her lap.
You know exactly what kind of snake Alex is. It should have been obvious that he’d do something like this. You should have insisted on meeting him in person, making sure he wasn’t recording it.

She took a quick, deep breath, trying to think of a way to salvage the situation. “Honestly, I don’t even know why you’d bother,” she said, shrugging. “I mean, even if I don’t back out it’s not like I have anything valuable to give you. No one ever tells me anything.”

For a moment, Alex stared at her; the next instant he laughed out loud, throwing his head back. “Your acting skills are really underrated,” he said, smiling as he finished with a few guffaws. “Do you really think I don’t know who your new boyfriend is?” Riley felt cold all over and then felt as though she’d been pitched into a pot of boiling water as the blood rushed into her face. “I fully expect you to take advantage of your new position with the executive producer; I couldn’t have asked for a better chance to get privileged info.”

Riley’s humiliation transformed into rage, and she had to hold herself back from launching herself across the table to wipe the smirk off of her ex-boyfriend’s face.

“You think you can tell me how to conduct my love life? We’re through, Alex. You have no right to control who I do and don’t date.” She paused, thinking quickly of another aspect of what he’d said. “How do you even know about it, anyway?”

“Oh, my dear,” Alex said, shaking his head slightly. “I’ve been having you followed ever since your first day on the set. I had to protect my investment—make sure you were telling me the truth, that you weren’t sneaking off somewhere in your down time.”

Riley’s mind flashed on the memory of the man in front of her building, and her heart pounded in her chest. The fact that she could have someone following her for a week and not even realize it sent her spinning into a churning maelstrom of anger and horror.

She stood quickly, determined to walk out of the diner and never speak to Alex again—no matter what threat he might try and levy against her. As she turned to climb out of the booth, Alex’s hand closed around her wrist, tight enough to hurt, and Riley stopped unwillingly.

“Don’t think of trying anything cute, Ri-ri,” Alex said, his voice pitched low so that only she would hear it. “I have ears everywhere in this city, and if you try to cool things off, I’ll know about it.”

Riley’s hands shook slightly for a moment; but then anger overcame fear and she jerked her wrist free of Alex’s grip, not even flinching at the pain that jolted through her. She turned away quickly and strode out of the diner as fast as she could, trying to suppress the shudders working through her and the fact that her knees felt like rubber.

Riley barely knew how she got home; one moment she was fumbling with her keys, and seemingly the next she was pulling into her parking spot, her heart still pounding, her blood roaring in her ears. Her cheeks felt stiff and Riley realized that she’d been crying—though whether from the stress or the horror of knowing that Alex was spying at her, or the sense of betrayal that she felt, she wasn’t sure.

She made it into her apartment and locked the door firmly behind her, trying to work out what her options were. “What am I going to do? Right—because I totally have a choice in that at this point,” she muttered to herself, careening onto the couch and staring up at the ceiling. The leverage that Alex had on her—the recording of her agreeing to spy on the production and feed information to a rival company—meant that she would have to keep dating Mansour, and keep feeding information that she got either from the executive producer or from her days on the set.

Riley caught her bottom lip between her teeth and worried it for a moment, feeling the tears beginning to sting her eyes once more. She could call Mansour; she could call off their next date, make some kind of excuse.
“I have ears everywhere in this city,”
Alex had said. Riley’s stomach pitched inside of her; he could very well have somehow tapped her phone.

With mounting alarm, Riley realized that Alex could have had one of his minions break into her apartment and plant some kind of bug. In an instant she threw herself off of the couch, tumbling onto the floor, and stood quickly, darting into her room.

She walked along every inch of the four walls, ducking down to look around her vanity, behind her dresser; anywhere she could think of that someone could conceal a listening device. She checked the bathroom, shuddering at the thought of a hidden camera recording her showering—it would be just like Alex to add a voyeuristic thrill to his surveillance. She checked her bedroom again, diving into her closet, and ran around the living room, pulling the couch free of the wall, almost crawling under her coffee table in the search for something that could be transmitting her conversations—both on the phone and with herself—to Alex’s waiting ears.

After minutes of examination that felt like hours, Riley’s panicked fury began to subside; she couldn’t see anything that she didn’t recognize—although that didn’t necessarily mean that there was nothing there.
If he hired professionals, they’d put it somewhere I’d never see it. I can’t possibly check out every last inch of this apartment to find something when I don’t even know what it would look like.

She collapsed on the couch, exhausted, and grabbed at the plush throw she kept for cooler days. She didn’t even have enough energy to take off her clothes and makeup and crawl into bed; she felt a lump forming in her throat, but she was so tired and upset that after a moment Riley realized that she couldn’t even summon the energy to cry.

She sighed, burying her face against the couch cushions. She had no choice; if she wanted to get through the weeks and months ahead without losing her mind entirely, she would have to shut down her emotions, treat her relationship with Mansour—if it developed past a second date—as nothing more than a job, and pump him for whatever information she could, just to get out of the bind she’d let Alex put her in. “Don’t let yourself fall for him,” Riley murmured into the couch cushion, for the moment uncaring of whether Alex had her apartment bugged or not.

She almost laughed as it occurred to her that her predicament had given her the biggest single acting challenge of her entire life.
Alex did say my acting talent was underrated,
she thought bleakly. She would just have to find out how much of that compliment was the truth—and how much was his particular brand of insulting flattery.

FOURTEEN

The week went past more quickly than Riley would have believed possible; particularly during the long days on set, while she waited for her scenes to come up, it seemed impossible that Friday, and her next date with Mansour, would ever arrive.

Alex didn’t call as frequently as he had during the first week, but when he did, his comments were pointed: he wanted her to go on as many dates with Mansour as possible, and take every opportunity to get him alone and pump him for information.

Riley was torn between relief and dread that she didn’t have any opportunities to get Mansour alone during the week; she barely even saw him at all, except for a few fleeting moments across the set, hard at work while she sat around with the other nonessential talent. Part of her wished that she could get Mansour alone—not to pump him for information, but to see if their second kiss together would be as good as their first. Another part of her mind was glad that she didn’t have any opportunity to get the information that Alex wanted. A third part of her mind worried that Alex might think she was deliberately avoiding Mansour—that he would put his blackmail plan into motion on a whim, and she’d be called into the production company’s offices in disgrace.

As she got ready for her second date with Mansour, Riley thought to herself that it was just as well that she had never had aspirations of becoming a spy; she knew now for sure that she wouldn’t be able to handle that kind of pressure on a continuous basis. Her hands shook as she applied her makeup—so badly that she had to wipe off smeared eyeliner and lipstick more than once and try again. She debated again and again whether to call the date off; but Riley knew it was pointless to pretend like she even could.

When Mansour arrived, Riley had somehow managed to finish getting ready; but even though she’d tried to steel herself as much as possible against any feelings she might have towards the man, the sight of a bouquet of flowers in his hand shocked her so much that she nearly began to cry.

“Are you okay? Are these bad flowers?” Mansour looked stricken. “They’re my sister’s favorite—I know I probably should have asked you what you like, but I wanted them to be a surprise.”

Riley quickly shook her head, accepting the bouquet and hurrying to leave the apartment as quickly as possible; she still wasn’t sure whether or not Alex had managed to bug her space.

After hastily putting the fragrant lilies in some water in her apartment, Riley did her best to regain her composure as they headed down to the lobby. By the time Mansour opened the passenger side door to his car, holding it to let her in, Riley almost felt back to normal—almost as though she might be able to get through the date after all.

As Mansour walked around the front of the car, Riley took a moment to notice that he was dressed a little more smartly than he’d been for their first date; he was wearing a pair of slacks and a button-down shirt, though it looked more comfortable on him than any piece of business attire had any right to.

Mansour had given her no hint of what their second date together would be, and Riley had assumed that it was another dinner-date. As he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road, Riley let herself relax enough to make small talk.

“I feel sometimes like I got in on the wrong side of the business,” Riley observed. “It seems like all of the production crew are busier than I am on any given day.”

Mansour laughed. “Why would you want to be busier than you are?”

“I hate to say it—I know I definitely shouldn’t say it to the big boss on set—but sometimes I do get bored, sitting around waiting for my scenes to come up,” Riley admitted. “Especially after all that time sitting in a makeup chair, it seems like a waste.”

“Well, production has it’s own pitfalls,” Mansour pointed out. “There’s a lot of waiting around on our end, too.”

“So basically we’re agreed that making a film is alternating moments of bliss and absolute tedium,” Riley said with a grin.

“Oh definitely,” Mansour said. “One of my friends from Yale went on to become a musician; apparently it’s the same in his business.”

“Every once in a while, I feel like I probably should have at least tried college before running off to LA,” Riley told Mansour. “At least then if my career never takes off, I’d have a fallback option.”

“Fallback options are kind of…” Mansour pursed his lips in thought. “If you have something to fall back on, you don’t have as much incentive to just throw yourself into whatever you’re trying to do.”

“That’s a good point,” Riley said. After a few more minutes, she realized that they were heading through downtown and towards the highway. “So where are we going for this magical second date?”

Mansour glanced at her and grinned. “It’s a surprise,” he told her.

Riley’s heart started beating faster, her throat tightening in instinctive fear.
Oh God. Oh God, what if he knows? What if he’s taking me to—the cops or something?
Had Alex interpreted her lack of information as trying to call his bluff, trying to pull out of their agreement? Had he already passed along the recording to Mansour?

“A surprise?” Riley struggled to keep her voice even, her manner light. “Come on, Mansour, you can tell me what it is. I promise I’ll still act surprised when I see it.”

“You’re a fine actress,” Mansour said, grinning again. “But I would rather see real surprise.”

“Well,” Riley said, trying to think of a way to convince him. “What if—what if the place you’re taking me has something I’m allergic to?”

“Are you allergic to anything?”

Riley blushed. “Penicillin,” she replied dryly, and Mansour chuckled.

“Okay; I will tell you—to settle your mind—that where we are going, no one is going to try and give you penicillin.”

Riley snorted, chuckling in spite of her nervousness. “Am I even dressed appropriately for where we’re going?”

Mansour glanced at her, taking in her outfit. “Absolutely,” he said with a nod.

Riley groaned, leaning against the back of the seat in exaggerated frustration. The sundress she’d picked out would be suitable for almost anywhere.

“Oh—how about this: what if it’s something I’m terrified of?”

Mansour pressed his lips together, and Riley saw the conflict in his expression between doubt and amusement. “If we get there and you hate it, then I can come up with alternate plans right then,” he said, reaching out and taking her hand in his. The contact sent a pleasant, electric tingle through Riley’s body, and she felt herself warming up all over.

She continued trying to get him to divulge some detail of where they were going as Mansour drove for around thirty minutes. He finally got off of the highway in Santa Monica, and Riley tried to figure out for herself—from the very, very limited hints at her disposal—what his plan might be.

She had almost forgotten her instinctive fear that Mansour was taking her somewhere to pay for her betrayal, but the thought leapt to the fore of her mind once more as he pulled into the Santa Monica Pier. Most of the boats were either moored or out at sea, but as Mansour navigated the space, she spotted a small speedboat waiting in the distance, clearly ready to make way in a matter of moments.

A sudden, panicked idea flashed into Riley’s mind: Mansour was more than wealthy—he had the kind of money that led some people to think they could get away with anything. What if he had decided to take her out to see, tie her up, and dump her there to drown?
He seems so nice, so sweet—but how many men in the industry aren’t absolutely ruthless at the core?

Mansour parked in a spot next to the waiting boat, and Riley tried to decide how she could get out of the date; should she try to flee? Would he just send someone after her? Riley got out of the car when Mansour opened the passenger-side door, numb and cold all over with dread; but the next moment she spotted a waiter standing on the dock next to the boat, holding a tray with champagne.
People don’t give champagne to people they’re going to dump in the middle of the ocean,
Riley thought .

“Is this where we’re having dinner?” she gestured to the boat.

Mansour grinned, taking her hand and leading her towards the vessel. “Not quite,” he said. “That boat’s just a shuttle to the yacht.”

Riley accepted the champagne hesitantly, stepped into the boat, and in moments the engine roared into life and their journey was underway. The boat sped across the water into the darkness, and Riley’s fears about Mansour having discovered her duplicity evaporated as she sipped her champagne.

“Have you ever been on a boat before?” Mansour’s arm brushed hers, and then he draped his arm around her waist.

“A boat, yes,” Riley said. “I mean, it was just someone’s speedboat, nothing as luxurious as a yacht. One of my friends had a rich uncle or something like that. He took us all out and we went tubing.”

“I should have asked you before but, do you get seasick?”

Riley chuckled. “Not to the best of my knowledge,” she told him. “But then again, I feel like a speedboat is probably a different experience from a yacht.”

“Very different; for one you don’t have a whole lot of space for a bedroom, or a dining room, or a dance floor,” Mansour said with a little grin.

“A dance floor? Your yacht has a dance floor?”

Mansour nodded. “It’s not a very big one, but it’s there alright.”

Riley shook her head, unable to quite believe the situation she had found herself in.

A few minutes later she saw the outline of the huge yacht in front of them, marked out from the gathering darkness by floodlights on the deck. Riley’s heart beat faster with excitement as they approached the behemoth; for a moment she wasn’t sure how they would even get from one boat to another.

“How are we going to get up?”

Mansour gave her waist a squeeze. “There’s a ladder on the side—it’s really very sturdy.”

He showed her when the shuttle boat came to a stop next to the yacht, and although Riley felt nervous, she trusted him. She climbed up first, very aware of the fact that she was wearing a dress—possibly not the best choice, when she was climbing a ladder with Mansour standing under her.

The yacht was everything that Mansour promised and more; as he led her on a tour of the boat, he took her to the dance floor below deck. He plugged his phone into the sound system and called up a song: Arctic Monkeys’ “Hellcat Spangled Shalala.”

Riley grinned when Mansour hurried back to her, putting his hands on her waist and drawing her onto the dance floor. She tingled every time their bodies brushed against each other, her skin heating up everywhere, her heart beating fast but steadily in her chest.

“I never would have imagined there’d be a dance floor on your boat,” Riley said as the song came to an end and they pulled away from each other reluctantly.

Mansour grinned. “I’m glad to have finally had the opportunity to use it,”

He took her hand and led her on a tour through the rest of the yacht, showing off the cabins, the bridge, and surprisingly spacious kitchen where his personal chef was already hard at work. Riley had never given much thought to the level of staffing that a yacht would require; but as they moved from one section of the boat to another, she noticed that there were at least a dozen crew members moving about on one task or another.

“Where are we going to have dinner? I’m starting to get hungry,” Riley said.

Mansour grinned and led her out onto the deck; the boat was moving fast through the water, and the wind against her cheeks felt exhilarating.

“Right over here,” Mansour said. He gestured to a table—it was just big enough for two with room for dishes, with a white tablecloth and candles shielded from the wind by crystal shades.

He pulled one of the chairs out for her and Riley sat down, looking around in excitement and amazement at the view. She could see the moon starting to rise, the stars starting to show in the darkness; the ocean was a dark mirror flowing alongside the yacht, combers radiating out from alongside the boat in white and blue.