Imaad stared at the distorted reflections of Annabelle and himself in the shiny elevator walls. He’d given her attitude at every turn, but he had to fight to keep up the brutish persona. If she were anyone else, he’d have her halfway to his bedroom by now.

But this beauty was hands-off. No matter how hard those blue eyes begged him to treat her entirely differently.

The door slid open, and she strutted out of the elevator car, her luggage in tow. He balled his fists, willing himself again not to offer to take the suitcase. She had to be the one to call off the marriage—not him. It became a mantra in his head.

She stuck a key card into the door for room 301 and the green light flashed twice. She pushed the door open.

“We should discuss some matters for tomorrow,” he said, holding the door open with his palm. He stepped inside without waiting for her to invite him.

“Then come on in, I guess.” Her voice was flat. She rolled her luggage over the sparkling tiled entryway, into a small living room that lay just outside the main bedroom. A potted palm tree rose spiky and green by the glass sliding door overlooking the balcony.

“I hope your accommodations are to your liking,” he said, noting the immaculate carpeting of the suite, the elegant furniture lining the walls.

“Yeah, I guess they’ll do.” She rested her hands on her hips, pursing her lips. “Now what do I need to know for tomorrow?”

Imaad cleared his throat, idly fingering a notepad on the side table. “First and foremost, you should watch how you dress tomorrow. You won’t gain any respect looking like this.”

Her jaw nearly clattered to the floor. Regret lashed through him, but he kept his gaze steely.

“You are a moron,” she spat, turning away from him. “This is no way to speak to a future business partner. I may be the foreigner here, but that doesn’t mean you can just insult me like this!”

Imaad shrugged. “It’s part of the culture. And more importantly, part of the family.”

Her eyes narrowed, the blueness hardening into something lethal. She untied the scarf he’d given her and threw it at him. It fluttered lamely in the air between. “And your family can’t treat a foreigner with a modicum of respect during the seventy-two hours I’m here?”

Seventy-two hours? Maybe she was trying to wriggle out of the arrangement too. “This is about you respecting our culture,” he said, struggling to keep his eyes from traversing her body, as they were desperate to do. Nothing about her was disrespectful. It was the only tool in his arsenal.

She scoffed. “I’m positive that I did not offend anyone on the way from the airport or up to this hotel room, so I think I’ll be fine to meet with a room of businessmen. Businessmen who are perfectly accustomed to a Western woman existing. Furthermore, if you don’t knock off this behavior towards me, then we can consider the deal done. The merger will be off.”

Her words held daggers, and Imaad was rooted to his spot, unable to blink or respond. Fuck. Maybe she had that power. Maybe it would just take one call to her father to cancel both the wedding and the business deal.

But his company couldn’t lose the merger. His employees, all the ones slated for the next wave of layoffs, needed their jobs. Needed him to make the deal and keep it.

Imaad swallowed a knot in his throat and deflated, shaking his head. His voice came out normal, not edged with the brutish tone he’d adopted since she showed up. “Listen, forget it.”

Her brow creased. “What?”

“Forget what I said.” He waved his hand in the air, dismissing his previous attitude, and headed for a lushly padded arm chair against the wall. He slumped into it with a sigh. “You aren’t being disrespectful.”

Her eyes widened. “Just like that?”

He sighed testily, smoothing his hands over his knees. “I was being a jerk. On purpose.” He licked his lips, weighing his next words. “I want this deal to go forward. I really do. And I suppose if I have to marry someone…well…at least you’re not a weak-willed, simpering Westerner.”

Her eyes widened to saucers. Silence bloated between them.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

The incredulity in her voice confused him. He rubbed his palms over his knees. “I’m trying to see the best of the situation. If we have to do this, then—”

“Do what?”

Imaad paused, searching her face for some clue. Wisps of blonde hair stood out around her face, making her look like a frazzled angel. Her sapphire eyes were hard as a shovel.

“Get married.”

She blinked a few times before she spat out, “Says who?”

“Our fathers.” He pushed to standing and paced the foyer, hands clasped behind his back. This was his first—and hopefully last—arranged marriage, but even he knew this wasn’t how the events normally played out. He’d been expecting a civil, rational conversation about the upcoming nuptials. Not blatant horror.

Her eyes fluttered shut and she cocked her head back, chin pointed toward the ceiling. She was quiet for so long that he feared she’d passed out standing up. And then she let out a piercing scream, one that made his ears ring.