Challenging The Doctor Sheikh. Amalie Berlin

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СКАЧАТЬ She used his title again, since he’d made no overture that she could go without it. “Your brother was quite adamant the king wouldn’t accept such a facility any of the times he’s presented any plans. He batted back all our proposals already too, before we any got further than conceptuals.”

      The only reason she had the job was the years of study—or some might say obsession—with studying ancient Middle Eastern architecture. She’d only been in the country three days. Prior to that, she’d simply been emailing Zahir proposals, which the King had constantly knocked back. She had loads of ideas, doodles, and even a few sheets of paper with what could almost pass for sketches, but no idea if any of it would work.

      “Three days, sitting in a fancy flat in your kingdom, isn’t enough to get what I need to design anything properly. All I’ve seen, aside from a fantastic skyline, has been the bazaar today and the airport the other day.”

      “My father isn’t here,” Dakan reminded her, then moved to her drafting table, where he began riffling through the dotted newsprint paper sketches she’d used to think on. “He won’t be involved in the design.”

      “But isn’t he coming back?”

      “I certainly hope so,” he murmured, stopping at the conceptual fountain she was most proud of, and giving it a good look.

      “Water makes for a soothing environment. It’s good for waiting areas,” she explained, trying not to sell the idea too hard. She liked it too much to risk so bold an opening maneuver.

      “It’s also good at slowing down progress. The objective is to open as soon as possible. Embellishments will come later.”

      “The footprint, the basic layout, needs to be present for later, though. And there are structural issues—like plumbing and power—that need to be accounted for in the building stage, or you’ll just end up having to rip up what we’ve already built.”

      “Fine, then put what is required for the fountain in the foundation so it can be added in later. Then put a floor over it and make it useful.”

      At least he seemed to like it.

      “Please don’t take offense at this, but I really need to see what is expected now. I don’t even know if the waiting rooms can be together, or if they need to be segregated by class or gender or some other classifier. You can thank the internet that last week I learned how to tie a scarf and also that henna is amazing but far too hard for me to do on myself no matter how much I like to draw or doodle. I may know Middle Eastern architecture and art back to ancient times, yes, and I’ve been learning Arabic for about eighteen months, but pretty much every other aspect of your culture is still very foreign to me. I don’t want to mess it up, and waste time and money as I struggle to get it right.”

      “Aren’t your parents immigrants? Or your mother at least?”

      Her mother? Maybe hiding the picture wouldn’t save her from this discussion.

      “My mother is British. Ginger, even,” Nira murmured, wariness seeping into her belly. How had they gotten round to this subject? “I know I look like I should know these things, but I grew up in a tiny village in the north of England, where everyone looked like she did, and no one looked like I...like we do.”

      “Your father?”

      Her father. Or the mystery that was her father. The wariness turned to lead. “I don’t know.”

      Nira knew exactly three things about her father: what he looked like in the one and only picture she’d ever seen of him, currently face down beside her laptop; that he was from the Middle East somewhere; and that her mother refused to ever answer any questions about him. She had never allowed Nira to explore those aspects of her heritage.

      She’d surmised their relationship had ended badly. But she wouldn’t be ashamed about it. So what if she didn’t know her father? Plenty of people didn’t.

      Lifting her chin, she made herself look him in the eye. Being illegitimate was probably heavily frowned on here, and he could disapprove all he liked. Whatever nonsense had gone on with her parents had nothing to do with her capabilities.

      “My point is I need information or the building will be as culturally clueless as I am. You want people to use the facility when it’s open, and so do I. The best way to ensure that is to make them feel at home there.”

      The Prince nodded too slowly for her to read the meaning behind it, those dark eyes giving no hint of his opinion on her parentage. “We’re not so different here. People are still people, Nira. It doesn’t matter what they look like, or where they grew up.”

      So maybe he didn’t care? Not that she should care either way, but right now navigating this place required she do a lot of guessing and reading between the lines. But his reaction was far enough from her expectations that she couldn’t decide if it could give her any clues for future interactions with other people here.

      “They need to feel like they’ve not been tucked away somewhere and forgotten in a little waiting room, and they need to not feel like they’re lost in the crowd of a big waiting room.” He grabbed the pad of paper again, thought for a moment and then scribbled down some numbers beside a list of prioritized departments. “Use these numbers to rough out your footprint. I’ll get someone working on the equipment, hunt up a firm to handle the interior, and get some examples of facilities I like and want you to aim for. I’ll be back in two days.”

      Two days. Nira nodded mutely. What else could she do?

      He picked up his jacket and swung it on as he strode for the door.

      She looked at all he’d written down—numbers, departments with arrows linking them up, which she could only interpret as clues as to where to locate them. One department was missing.

      She called after him, “What about healers? Will they have their own department?”

      “No healers. Doctors!” he answered, not even breaking stride.

      * * *

      Two days later a very tired Nira stood at the massive plotter and sorted out the drawings that had already fallen into the bin.

      Any second now Dakan would blow in and she’d find out whether or not he thought she could handle the job, whether her ideas were up to snuff.

      She shuffled another print to the drafting table and smoothed it out, trying to uncurl the sheet as the last drawing rolled off the plotter.

      “You’re still wearing it?” Dakan said from behind her, chuckling as he made his way in.

      “Wearing what?”

      “The scarf.” He nodded to her head. “I figured you’d have abandoned it by now.”

      Nira reached up and touched the colorful silk carefully. The housekeeper, Tahira, had helped her with her technique in the days since she’d seen him last. “I thought it would be respectful to your ways for me to wear a scarf. And...well, I just want to.”

      “They’re not exactly my ways. My ways are a little more complicated, and honestly I miss England. Working with a British woman is a perk for me. Aside from that, we’re indoors now in your home, out of public view.”

      “But you’re СКАЧАТЬ