Annabelle navigated the Minarak airport with a permanently furrowed brow. She read each sign three times, just to make sure she read the right language, distracted by the jolts and dips of the Farsi alphabet. Once she’d made it through customs, she tensed, worried she might miss the person sent to pick her up. What if they took the wrong Annabelle back with them?

The greeting area was stuffed with people and shouts, and strange consonants filled her head, making it hard to see straight. She waited nervously among milling families, rushing businessmen, and taxi drivers, keeping an eye out for anyone with a sign reading “Annabelle.”

Men filled the area, some with complicated scarves on their heads. She tried not to stare but was awed by the diversity, the sheer foreignness of these sights and this land. She hadn’t even left the airport yet. Excitement shivered through her, and she wondered what awaited her with this merger.

She scanned the crowd again. Plenty of people looked at her, but she assumed it was the way she stood out like a sore thumb here. Her blonde hair and blue eyes were eye-catching as it was, but in her Western clothes, she looked every bit a foreigner.

One man raised his hand to wave her way. She lifted a brow, waiting to see if it was meant for her. The man gestured excitedly, his big pot belly jiggling with the movement. Head to toe, he was covered in a flowing white robe. She swallowed hard. Probably in his mid-sixties, a round face with a big, black beard. Was he her driver?

She took a tentative step forward, but paused when a gaggle of little kids rushed past her, shouting something as they headed for the man. They swarmed him, jumping up and down. His big smile told her that he must be grandpa. Off the hook.

Annabelle relaxed, looking back at the meandering stream of travelers. She nibbled on her lip, watching the door where more and more people exited, leaving the hall nearly empty. She kept a firm grip on her trademark teal suitcase. It was best to stand out, to set one’s luggage apart from the rest. She fidgeted with a cuticle. Or maybe that just meant it was easier to steal.

She sighed, cocking a hip, anxiety making flutters in her belly as she waited.

“Annabelle?”

A deep voice interrupted her fretting. She spun on her heel, finding a tall man behind her. She gasped, unable to rip her gaze from his gorgeous face. He was picture-perfect, with the sort of stunning proportions that made her feel like she was looking at a magazine ad. Her mouth fell open and she forgot how to act, how to speak, how to do anything.

The man blinked, eyes narrowing. “You are Annabelle, right?”

She drew a deep breath, forcing her gaze away from his face. He was dressed like a model too. Crisp black suit, which complemented his olive skin tone amazingly well. Too amazingly well. She stared at his shoulder—the safest place she could look, she figured. “Yeah.”

“I’m Imaad.” He stuck out his hand. She blinked, looking at it for a moment, before bringing her own small, pale hand to greet his. They shook, and his warmth flooded her. She swallowed a sigh.

“Pleasure to meet you. You’re Director of Operations for Almasi Holdings, right?” She tucked back a lock of her hair, which suddenly felt greasy now, standing in the shadow of this beautiful man. She had day-old hair and airplane face. She would have freshened up in the bathroom before hitting baggage claim if she’d known a man like this was greeting her.

“Yes. It’s my father’s company.” His voice was humorless. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. So this was the Imaad her father had said she’d get along with. Even after so few words, she had an inkling that the only thing she’d come to appreciate about him was his looks. He held something tight around him—dourness, or maybe a touch of xenophobia. Whatever it was, it left a bad taste in her mouth.

They blinked at each other for a moment. This is getting awkward.

She sniffed, clutching her purse tighter. “Where will we be going from here?”

“To your accommodations.” He looked away, like he was bored already. Inside, she groaned. Why did the hot ones have to be the biggest assholes? This guy didn’t deserve that face. Not with that attitude.

“Great.” She clucked her tongue. A little more information would be nice, but that’ll have to do. Some welcoming committee. She shrugged her carry-on bag more firmly onto her shoulder and tilted her suitcase onto its wheels. “Ready to go.”

Imaad made no move to acknowledge her load or offer to assist, but simply nodded. “Follow me. You should stay behind me as we go. You’re not in America anymore. Men are expected to lead.”

Her mouth parted with indignation, but before she could think of a retort, he’d started on his way. She struggled to keep up with him, the big bulky bag rolling behind her. She caught up, and began a purposeful stride alongside him. She cast him a glare. Let him try to control her like that.

Imaad didn’t look amused. They walked through the sliding doors into a heat wave. Annabelle’s voice withered in her throat. “Fuck.”

He sent her a pointed look. “This way.” Imaad led them to a car in a long row of waiting sedans. He nodded toward a driver, who approached to take her luggage. While the driver shoved her suitcase in the trunk of the car, Imaad opened the back door, gesturing for her to enter.

She eyed him for a moment, contemplating a snarky response, and then slid into the backseat. Imaad joined her a moment later.

“Why are you sitting back here with me?”

“It’s customary to sit in the back seat of a chauffeured vehicle,” he said, avoiding her gaze.

“Don’t men have to be in front of women?” She spat it out as caustically as she could, then crossed her arms, looking out the window, while the driver pulled into traffic. Imaad rustled around in the middle console, then brought out a silky length of fabric. “Here. You should at least cover yourself.”

Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “Cover myself?”

“It’s so you don’t appear indecent any longer.”

His words fell like bricks in the air between them. Anger swarmed her, made her forearms prickle cold and hot at the same time. She snatched it out of his grip and wrapped it around her ponytail, tying it into an exaggerated knot.

“There.” She grinned up at him. “Is that what you mean?”

“No.” His voice came out flat.

“I definitely don’t want to appear indecent.” She yanked down the front of her shirt, making it bare much more cleavage than normal. The man was being a pig. Parsabad was known for its tolerant stance on regular, stylish women’s clothing, something she intentionally researched before arriving. “Here, does this help?” She batted her eyelashes at him.

The driver glanced at her in the rear-view mirror. Imaad held her gaze, his dark eyes brooding. If only he weren’t such a distasteful asshole, she might find that gaze titillating.

Imaad’s tense silence was all the victory she needed. She relaxed into her seat, letting her gaze drift out the window. No matter what his deal was, it wouldn’t last for long. She’d sign this contract and be on her way back to the USA.

Because no matter what her father thought about her and Imaad hitting it off, he was dead wrong. There was no way she was staying on the same continent as this prick once the papers were signed.