Marian woke up on Sunday and pouted. It wasn’t terribly mature of her, but she needed it. She ordered an extra-large mimosa and pancakes from room service—Part of my self-care routine, right?—and drew a bath in the hot tub so she could pout some more.

Omar’s weird mood at the tail end of their fabulous day together left a bitter taste in her mouth, one that tasted and smelled exactly of rejection. Why does he do this? She wanted to shake her fists at the sky and scream it from the mountains. On the one hand, he felt like a natural companion—someone who could even be a partner someday. Like a real-life romantic equal. But then shit like this flared up, reminding her of the sorry truth.

Omar lived in Parsabad, he would never be her partner, and his wife was the ghost elephant in the room who just wouldn’t go away.

With those factors operating against her, what was she even hoping for? Omar had to be a work colleague and nothing more. And that needed to start today.

Marian took the pancakes and mimosa into the bathroom, leaving her phone on silent in the bedroom. Part of her decision to pout and process involved not texting Omar at all and masturbating at least once, but not to his memory. Or maybe only slightly to his memory. Because the man was a sex god, and she’d probably never find his equal again in life.

Ugh. Why does he have to be so hot and good? She slipped into the warm water, pouting more, and then carefully reached for her pancakes. She leaned against the tub wall, balancing the plate along the edge, and shoveled small squares into her mouth while she angrily studied the tiles of the bathroom floor.

It just didn’t make sense. She’d brought up his wife in an attempt to make that final, glaringly obvious link. He was moving on, which was evident by the way in which they hung out together. Or wasn’t it?

She sighed, stuffing another syrupy stack of squares into her mouth. These were almost better than back home, which seemed illegal somehow. How could Parsabad do American pancakes better than a New York diner?

They do men better, too. Except maybe they didn’t. She’d found the one professional and personal equal, and he just happened to still be in love with someone else. Not that she could blame him. But damn, the mixed signals were infuriating. She’d thought that their sex, at least, had been a strong enough indicator of…something.

She took a sip of the mimosa and then took a gulp. She’d be ordering plenty of these today, and probably lying in bed a lot too. Why did this feel like breaking up? She’d known Omar for less than a week, and yet it felt like they were ending a months-long courtship.

Sex had probably made things muddy and awkward. It always did—as a thirty-two-year-old, she should know this by now. Age didn’t matter when dealing with men. It was always confusing and just this side of a shit show, no matter how mature, no matter what part of the world.

“Ugh.” Marian finished the last of her pancakes and set the plate on the tiled floor. Then she sank back, letting the warm rush of water overtake her, basking in the churn of the currents.

* * *

A few hours later, she was awoken from a nap by the buzzing of her phone. She’d collapsed onto her bed after her skin went wrinkly in the tub, and she must have passed out soon after. She scrambled to find the phone on the bedspread. Only a few shafts of light peeked through the heavy curtains she’d left drawn from the night before.

When she found the phone, she sighed, turning it over tensely. She’d wanted to disconnect today, but already she was being a slave to her device.

Layla. Three missed calls.

Marian furrowed a brow, swiping her phone open. Three missed calls and one urgent text saying “CALL ME ASAP.” Marian called Layla and leaned back onto the bed, yawning.

“Jesus, where have you been?” Layla sounded rushed. Cars honked in the background.

“I just woke up from a nap.” Her gaze traveled to the nightstand. Six thirty p.m. “It’s been a rough Sunday.”

“Well, listen. I have some news.” Layla’s breath sounded short, like maybe she was speed walking across Manhattan. “I’ve been keeping tabs on National Oil since we last talked, and there has been a suspicious recent arrest on their premises.”

Marian furrowed a brow. “Okay.”

“Does the name Kelly Gunther ring a bell?”

“Oh God.” Marian’s stomach sunk. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah. That asshole was taken off their property Friday afternoon. Some of the reports I found mention what seems to be corporate secret leaking.”

“How do you find this stuff out?”

“I’m an investigator with security clearance,” Layla said, sounding justifiably haughty. “This is my job.”

“Well fuck.” Marian pressed a hand to her forehead. Kelly heading for National Oil after being fired from Almasi-Thomas didn’t bode well. There were no good reasons he would show up there, either. Maybe this interference was why National Oil hadn’t called with a decision on Friday. Maybe he’d made an even bigger ass of himself and made National hesitant to move forward. “Anything else I should know about?”

“I looked up Kelly’s recent travels, and it looks like he’s probably still right under your nose, wreaking havoc. He was released by the police yesterday.”

Marian’s chest tightened, and alarm bells went off. This had to be handled—immediately. If only to find out what Kelly was intending to do while in Parsabad. He should have left the country after being fired. But this move was probably him giving the middle finger to Almasi-Thomas.

“If he ruins this for us…” Marian didn’t even want to finish the sentence. “Selling out” wouldn’t even begin to cover it. Best case scenario, Kelly’s actions would make National Oil question Almasi-Thomas’s operations. He could leak all the sensitive details of their business to National Oil, completely derailing the progress they’d made. Worst case, National would pull out altogether and blackball Almasi-Thomas in the region.

“Well, now you know, and I’m positive you’ll do exactly what you need to do.” Layla made a kissy noise through the phone. “But I gotta run. Talk to you later!”

The line went dead, and Marian stared at her bedspread in disbelief. The pit in her stomach had morphed into a black hole. And the only thing that might make it better was immediate action of some sort.

Marian nibbled on her lip as she toyed with the idea of calling Omar. It had been her one rule for the day—no contact—but this? This was different. This was business. This was urgent. And it would look bad if she waited until business as usual the next day to bring it up.

She swiped to their message thread and shot off a new text. “Hey, you around? Call me ASAP.”

The message showed as “Delivered” and then “Read” within seconds. Good old Omar with his phone always in hand. She gnawed at the inside of her lip, waiting for the phone to ring.

But it didn’t. She considered sending another text, but saying what? “Urgent urgent business not about your penis, please answer”?

Marian switched to the thread with Annabelle, opting for a lighthearted check-in. “Hey girl. How was your Sunday?”

Annabelle responded a moment later with a photo. It was her and Imaad smiling brightly in the foreground, with a slew of Imaad’s family members around a table in the middle and background, each in various states of conversation or reaction. A surprise selfie around the Parsian table. Marian smiled, zooming in to see if she could spot Omar.

There he was—toward the back. His face sullen and clouded. She huffed.

“Was that the weekly lunch you’re always telling me about? Omar looks like he’s having a blast.”

Annabelle’s response was quick. “Yeah, he was a grouch today. Left a few hours ago.”

Marian reread her words a few times, an idea burbling to life. If all else failed, maybe she could swing by Omar’s house to let him know about the turn of events. That way, they could start planning immediately.

“Did he go home?” Marian frowned after she sent the text, feeling a little like a stalker.

“Pretty sure. He left with Zahir.”

Marian tapped the edge of her phone as she thought. Just go for it.

“Weird question, but could you pass me his address? Something urgent came up with the deal today, and I need to talk to him ASAP.”

Annabelle sent over his address a moment later, which showed him to live just a few blocks from the hotel. Perfect. If he didn’t call or text soon, she could swing by and just see if he was around. The information from Layla warranted a drop-in, at least…and seeing him again wouldn’t hurt.

Even though you swore to keep it professional twenty minutes ago. She rolled off the bed, searching for a set of clean, casual clothes. The truth tugged at her as she dressed.

She wanted Omar in a way she could barely even articulate. And if a Sunday business call was all she could get with him…well, she’d take it.