Genie Knows Best (27 page)

A few hours later

Well, in Al-Jannah time…

“Congratulations, Khaled,” said the High Master when Kal entered the office he’d been summoned to on Cloud Thirteen.

The High Master waved a hand toward the microfiber seats beneath the ninety-six-inch, high-def TV, then tapped his iPad screen. A scene from Google Venus popped up. Probably a prototype; the High Master was a huge technology geek. “I hear you’ve fulfilled your sentence.”

“Yes, Sir.” Kal went with the shortest answer possible, because arguing that it was a sentence he never should have been given would get him nowhere at this point. Especially since it had already cost him Samantha.

He couldn’t believe she jumped to that conclusion about him. Although, in all fairness to her, she hadn’t been far off. He would have jumped higher than Dirham could at the chance to get his hands on his lantern if Harv hadn’t cut her off, but that didn’t mean he would have left her.

She’d changed him. She’d shifted something inside him, so that when he should have been rejoicing in the sweetness of restoring the honor to his name and his family, of having the job he’d wanted for so long within his grasp and gaining ultimate power, the taste on his tongue was anything but sweet.

Gods, how could she have run from him? She’d given him his freedom—didn’t she know he’d choose to spend it with her?

“Now that you’ve fulfilled your debt to Djinn society, we can get down to business.” The High Master motioned for Kal to take a seat on the sofa.

Kal did what was required as if on autopilot. He’d been like that a lot in the time Sam had been gone.

“Kal?” The High Master sat on the other end of the sofa and looked at him expectantly.

What the High Master had said finally registered. Didn’t make any sense, but it registered.

“Business?” Kal asked. “What do you mean?”

“You want the vizier job, correct?”

He blinked. Was the High Master offering…

“Speechless.” The High Master chuckled. “Yes, I can see where being given your life’s dream would do that to a man.”

“Being
given
? Aren’t you going to read this?” He set his thesis down on the table. “Don’t I have to jump through hoops or something?”

The High Master shook his head. “I already know what’s in that.” He nodded toward the bound doorstop Kal had spent years crafting. “Perks of the job, you know. And hoops are for show dogs and circus animals. Where do you think I found Dirham?”

Dirham. Kal was going to miss the little guy. Full-fledged genies had no need of a magical-assistance assistant. “So you’re just going to hand it over? As if nothing’s happened? As if I hadn’t gotten rid of the bracelets?”

What was he doing? Did he
want
to get thrown back under lantern-arrest?

The High Master conjured a tray of food. It hovered an inch off the sofa between them. “Of course. You paid your debt to society, and the job has always been yours for the taking.”

“What?” Kal leaned forward. He wasn’t on autopilot now. He was on auto-pissed. “What do you mean it’s always been mine? It was Faruq’s.”

The High Master shook his head and helped himself to some satay. “Faruq
thought
it was his. And I had to be sure that you understood the rules and the importance of living by them. Our personal wants and needs can’t come before the greater good of our people, and the vizier and High Master must recognize that their leadership needs to be focused on what’s best for Djinn society.”

“So this was a test? You put me through two thousand years of hell as a test?”

“You can’t say it was all hell. I know for a fact you had many more decent masters than jerks. I do have some pull with the cosmos and Karma, you know.”

No, Kal didn’t know, and frankly, he didn’t care. Because, all of a sudden, this stunk.

“So you’re saying that the job’s mine? That all I have to do is agree, and I’m the vizier?”

The High Master nodded and took another skewer of goat meat. “Seems like there should be more to it, I know, but, nope. That’s it in a pistachio shell.”

Sam would have corrected the High Master’s semantics.

Sam. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Wondering about her. Had she really forgotten everything?

The question was rhetorical because, as much as he’d like to believe otherwise, the truth was a bitter pill to swallow. Magic erased the memory if it was wished for.

And she’d wished.

The thought of her forgetting what they’d shared hurt more than any of the last two thousand years. He would’ve hoped the magic they’d created together would be stronger than just his.

Hope
…

If only he’d opened that box, at least he’d have a prayer of having some hope.

But he had the power to make his own wishes come true now; he didn’t need hope. And he didn’t need magic. He just needed a little luck. And a lot of love.

“I don’t want it.” Until the words came out of his mouth, Kal hadn’t realized what he was going to do.

Once he’d said them, however, it was as if the capstones of the pyramids at Giza had been lifted from his shoulders.

“What?” The High Master dropped his food.

“I don’t want the job. I want Samantha.”

“But you wrote the thesis. I’m all set to announce it next week. And she’s a mortal.”

“I know.”

“Kal, you have to seriously think about what you’re doing.”

No he didn’t. He knew what he was doing. And how to do it.

Kal conjured a diamond the size of a robin’s egg, slid it along the width of his gold cuff, ready for it to fall off.

Only… it didn’t.

Kal tried it on the other cuff. This was how he’d gotten free two thousand years ago, the action that had started all the trouble.

“It doesn’t work like that anymore, Khaled,” said the High Master.

“What?”

The High Master nodded at Kal’s wrist. “Diamonds don’t open the cuffs.”

That was unacceptable. “Then what does?” Kal yanked at the cuff, a seamless piece of gold wrapped around his wrist and contoured to his forearm, trying to slide it off, or rip it apart. He wanted these gone. And this time, for good.

“I can’t tell you that, Khaled.”

“Take them off.” Kal held out his hands, palms up.

The High Master studied him. Stroked his chin, his blue, blue eyes so concentrated it appeared as if the pupils were whirling.

“Are you certain this is what you want?”

Kal nodded. “Yes. Pl—” His voice broke, and he got the word out on a hoarse whisper. “Please.”

The High Master studied him some more. Then he heaved a sigh and leaned forward, taking Kal’s carnelian necklace from around his neck and holding it out to him. “You understand this doesn’t absolve you from The Service? You can’t just remove the cuffs and consider yourself out and expect it to be so. There’s protocol, and you’re still bound by The Code.”

Kal took the gemstone and drew it along one of the cuffs.

It fell off.

Kal smiled and removed the other. “Not for much longer.”

And with that, Kal
poofed
himself to the mortal realm.

Three Days Ago

Sort of…

If there was one thing Samantha Blaine knew how to do, it was throw a party.

Or funeral, as the case may be.

“Leave it to you, Samantha, to turn a somber occasion into something fun.” Dale, her father’s golf buddy, took two pita wedges topped with dollops of lemon-garlic hummus from the waiter and offered her one. “Your father would be thrilled.”

“Thanks, Dale.” It was true. The party was exactly what Dad would have wanted—because he’d stated exactly what he wanted in his will. So now there were hundreds of people in costume milling around Casablanca-inspired tents with Middle Eastern–themed food and entertainment as specified. David, the owner of The Main Event, the company she’d hired for the props, had outdone himself.

Samantha brushed orange flecks from the sleeve of the long, blue
djellaba
she wore—the iron lanterns must be rusting. Dad had liked blue, which was why she wore it and had carried the theme throughout the tents. Various shades of blue silk panels covered the ceiling, and carried through in the sofas and thick, handmade rugs. A rainbow of
poufs
—authentic Moroccan ottomans—and pillows broke up the color scheme somewhat, as did those scrollwork lanterns hanging from tent posts and gracing the carved wooden tables, most of which were covered in plates and glasses, a sure sign of a successful party.

“Great as usual, Samantha,” said Todd, an IT guy from Dad’s company—
her
company now if she could wrap her brain around that. “Jensen’s certainly having a good time.”

Samantha followed Todd’s nod toward the tent’s entrance where the
clang
of castanets clashed with the rhythm of dozens of metallic discs swishing around a belly dancer’s hips as she danced inside.

No, the woman wasn’t dancing; she was evading. She was evading Mr. Jensen, Dad’s attorney.

Robert, as he’d told Samantha to call him once the will had been read and the sucking up had begun, was lurching lopsidedly after the poor woman. Definitely too much
arak
. Most people weren’t used to the aniseed aperitif. Samantha wished she hadn’t given in to that particular request of Dad’s.

She looked around for Albert. Her soon-to-be fiancé was good at these kinds of situations. He was good at a lot of situations, which is why he’d been such a godsend these last six months, handling the company while she’d dealt with Dad’s stroke.

But Albert was nowhere to be found, so she was going to have to deal with Robert herself.

Popping the appetizer into her mouth, she excused herself from Todd and Dale and made her way over to Robert. Her hand closed over his fingers before they could make contact with the belly dancer’s backside.

“Robert, I’m so glad you’re having a good time.” Samantha steered him away, years of grabby guys in clubs having given her unwanted expertise in that particular skill.

“Leave it to Monty to throw a bash for his own funeral, costumes and all.” Robert waved his drink around. “Though I never did understand why he liked Casablanca. Too damn far to travel to.”

“Good memories.” Samantha took the drink from him and led him toward a table of food. “Let me make you a platter.”

Robert adjusted the fez on his head. “None of that eggplant stuff, Samantha. Never could stand rabbit food. Give me a good cut of steak anytime.”

Which she could do since she’d ordered a the table of American fare for those who weren’t into being adventurous.

“Oh.” Robert fumbled with the side slit in his
djellaba
and pulled a crumpled letter from his pants pocket. “Here. Monty gave me this a long time to go to give to you. He wanted you to have it today. At his, er, party.” He exchanged it for the plate she offered him. “Good man, your dad. We’re going to miss him. Things just won’t be the same.”

Samantha pasted a smile on her face, thanked Robert, and managed not to stumble away.

Not be the same? Did he think she didn’t know that? Or was he already writing her off as head of the company?

Not that she could blame him, really. She felt a little guilty about that. Okay, a lot guilty. Dad had left her the company and she was letting Albert run it.

She tapped the letter against her palm. She wasn’t sure she wanted to read this. Especially tonight. And definitely not without Albert around to pick up the pieces. Speaking of… Where was he?

Tucking the letter into her skirt pocket, Samantha dodged the circle of people around the sword swallower and headed into the kitchen.

“You might want to try upstairs,” said Wanda when Samantha asked her if she’d seen Albert. “Maybe he’s taking a nap. You know how hard he’s been working.”

Albert had been at the office almost every night for the past six months, sometimes into the early hours of the morning. Dad had never put that much time in. Maybe it was the learning curve.

She’d been so thankful he’d stepped in and taken charge. She’d been so busy worrying about Dad and keeping up with the charities she was involved with that, frankly, her learning curve would have been steeper than Albert’s. At least he knew the mechanics involved with building high-end cars; Samantha only knew how to drive them.

She headed down the guest corridor to the room Albert used when he stayed here. He’d refused it, of course, when she’d first offered it to him. He didn’t need the biggest room, he’d said. It’d been one of the things she’d liked best about him. He’d even tried to refuse the wardrobe she’d bought him, and the country club and spa memberships she’d given him on his birthday.

He’d only reluctantly agreed when she’d pointed out that she couldn’t authorize a pay raise for him without board approval, but since he was acting the part, he ought to look it, so he ought to take what she offered. The fact that he’d refused each thing she’d tried to give him or do for him had only endeared him to her. Here was the first guy who wasn’t after her money. He wanted her for her.

Maybe someday she’d feel the same way toward him.

Shaking off that thought, Samantha stopped at the door to the suite beside the main staircase and tapped the envelope against her lips. She cared for Albert. He might not be her knight in shining armor, but not every part of the fairy tale could come true. It was enough that he wasn’t after anything more from her than making a life together. She might not have what her parents had had, but then, how many people did? She was an adult and well past the age of believing in fairy tales. Albert would be her family now.

Samantha tapped her lip one more time with the envelope and was just about to walk into the room when she heard Albert’s voice in a tone she’d never heard before. One that would send shivers down her back if she was the recipient of his conversation. And then she heard her name and shivers did run down her back.

She turned the well-oiled handle—Dad had always made sure everything worked smoothly, both at the company and at home—and tiptoed into the sitting room.

“Trust me, Henley,” Albert… sneered. “Daddy’s little girl is useless. On all fronts. Run the company? Her old man must have had another stroke back when he had that will drawn up. She’s incapable. Inept. Hell, she doesn’t even have a clue what I’m up to. She doesn’t have a clue about anything, so as soon as this memorial thing is over, I’ll get my ring on her finger and my hands on the contents of that safe. Then you’ll get your money.”

Samantha couldn’t breathe.

Useless? Incapable? Inept?
That’s
what he thought of her? Where was the undying love? The support? The ’til-death-do-us-part part that he’d been badgering her about?

She jerked the
djellaba
’s hood from her head. Maybe… maybe she’d just misheard him.

Oh, come on, Samantha,
misheard
?
Do
you
really
need
him
to
spell
it
out
any
clearer? The guy’s out for your money. Wake up and smell the hookah.

Samantha shook her head. Hookah?

She shook her head again. Why was she worrying about some random word when Albert was in there… saying… what he was saying…

“Trust me, Henley. I know how the old man did it and I can do it, too. Better. Bigger. You’ll get your money, and I’ll throw in a one-of-a-kind set of wheels free of charge.” Albert laughed a cold, conniving laugh that Samantha would never, in four thousand years, attribute to him. “No, I’m not shitting you. Just sit tight. I’m planning to pop the question when this ridiculous party is over. I’ll convince the tub-o-lard to elope. Two days. Three at the most. Then you’ll get your money and can get the hell off my back.”

Oh. God. Albert was after her money.

She shouldn’t be surprised; he certainly wasn’t the first. But he should be different. This was the guy who’d been talking marriage and babies and retirement plans.

Oh.

She
was Albert’s retirement plan.

She couldn’t listen anymore.
Ridiculous party? Old man?
Her father had liked Albert. He’d said Albert had a bright future ahead of him at the company so he couldn’t be after her money. Not like her other boyfriends. But this… this cut the deepest.

Samantha headed toward the door, thanking her father for his insistence on having the best of everything so her footsteps were muffled in the carpet’s thick pile. Albert would never know she’d been there.

She’d gone six steps when she stopped.

How dare he talk about her like that.

How dare he talk about her like that to someone else.

How dare he even
think
about her like that.

And how dare he not know who she really was.

Samantha clutched her stomach, the pain already knotting her insides. How did she not see this? How did she not know?

When would she ever learn?

Sniffing back a sob, she was about to leave when, suddenly, she realized that she
had
learned. She knew how she wanted to be treated—how she deserved to be treated. And this wasn’t it.

Albert was not going to get away with treating her this way.

Samantha spun around and tore off the
djellaba
. She was going to face Albert as herself, not hiding behind some stone-like façade as she’d done every other time the truth had come out about a guy she’d been dating.

She didn’t have long to wait because Albert almost ran into her coming out of the bedroom.

“Samantha?” He paled a little beneath the tan he refreshed once a week at the spa—using the membership he’d so gallantly tried to refuse. “Darling, I thought you were at the party.”

“I’ll bet you did.” Samantha folded the
djellaba
and laid it on the back of the love seat. Oh, her earring. It must have come off when she’d yanked off the hood.

She picked it up and put it back on. “Who’s Henley?”

Albert’s poker face slid into place. “I’m sorry. Who?”

“Don’t patronize me, Albert. Who’s Henley and what deal do you have going with him?”

“Samantha. Darling. You’re distraught. It’s understandable, given how close you were with your father. You’re not thinking clearly. What, did the fortune-teller not show up?”

Samantha cursed. In Sumerian. And she had no idea how she knew the word or that it was Sumerian, but right now, she didn’t care. “Don’t change the subject, Albert. My thinking is perfectly clear. My hearing’s pretty damn good, too. Tub-o-lard? Elope? Does that ring any bells for you?”

She almost wished they
were
engaged so she could throw the ring in his face.

“Samantha, please.” He gripped her arm. “Let’s sit down and discuss this like rational adults—”

She yanked her arm free. “That would mean I’d have to be rational and you’d have to be an adult, and frankly, I’m not feeling very rational right now, Albert. I’d rather pitch a huge fit and let everyone know what a damned two-faced liar you are. But I have too much respect for my father’s memory to do that, so let’s keep this between you and me. We’re finished. Don’t call me, don’t try to see me, and consider every membership, credit card, and restaurant table canceled. We’re through.” She spun around and started to walk away.

“Samantha, darling. You don’t mean that—”

“Yes I do.” She turned around, strode back across the room, and poked him in the chest. “Oh, and you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me.”

“I most certainly can.”

“I don’t report to you.”

“Um… Owner?”

“Shit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“And another thing.” She poked him again. “You’re a selfish pig of a lover. And not a very good one, either.”

Albert was going to have to go to a month’s worth of tanning sessions to reclaim the color he lost at her statement—oh, but he couldn’t. She grinned. She was canceling his membership.

And she’d let him wonder how she knew about his sexual inadequacies. She’d be wondering that herself, actually.

She stormed out of the room, giving the door a satisfying slam behind her.

“Samantha?” Wanda’s voice echoed up the stairs. “There’s a problem outside. The caterer needs you.”

Great, she didn’t even have the chance to deal with
this
situation and now she had another one.

Albert yanked the door open. “Samantha—”

She held up her hand. “I have a party to attend to.” At least it gave her something to do other than break down in a puddle of tears in Dad’s office.

Patting her pocket where Dad’s letter would just have to wait, Samantha took a deep breath and headed down the stairs.

David was waiting for her in the foyer. “Honestly, Samantha, I don’t understand it. I don’t know where the breakdown in communication happened and no one’s admitting to setting it up. And I have
no
idea who the guy is who’s taken up shop inside.”

“Calm down, David. What are you talking about?”

“There’s a tent out there.”

“There are a lot of tents out there. That’s what I ordered, remember?”

David waved his hands. “I know I know I know. I’m talking about the other tent. The orange one. And the guy inside it is refusing to budge until he speaks to you.”