Once in the taxi, Audrey gave the driver the address of the Sheikh’s penthouse apartment. They crawled across town in the midday traffic before he idled outside the apartment building, waiting for Audrey to whisk up to the penthouse, grab the bag of clothes, and then return.

“I can guarantee you’ll be paid well for this,” Audrey said with a winning smile, knowing that the Sheikh’s funds were unlimited, his bank account overflowing with constant additions.

After greeting the doorman, she hustled into the elevator, pressing the button for the Sheikh’s penthouse suite. Although she’d never seen his apartment from the inside, she’d seen a spread of it in a magazine, which had discussed the “home lives” of the richest men in the world. The spread had also included photographs of the Sheikh’s palace in his home country. Audrey remembered glittering, gold-plated bathtubs and dramatic fountains—an exotic world she could hardly comprehend.

When the elevator opened, she used her newly obtained set of keys to enter his penthouse. Through the door, she stepped into a world of unending luxury. The multi-leveled penthouse featured glass walls, a dramatic fireplace made of stones, hardwood floors accented with plush Persian rugs, and a large, old-fashioned clock on the wall. Smiling to herself, she walked through the apartment, placing her finger atop the shiny countertop and sliding it all the way to the end.

How did someone live in such luxury? Despite working with several rich clients over the past five years, she’d never truly gotten a good sense for their lifestyle. While she liked to kick back in pajamas, order Indian food, and watch films when she had a spare moment, she couldn’t imagine they had similar ideas of fun. And she couldn’t imagine wearing anything but the most high-end, professional clothing in such a gleaming living room.

Inside the bedroom, which featured a king-sized bed and dramatic, dark red curtains, she found a large bag of the model’s clothing—all size 0, of course. Yanking the bag from the room, she swept from the apartment and entered the elevator, still feeling confident in her ability to get through the next two weeks. This would be fine.

But once the taxi arrived at the ocean-side mansion, which the Parisian model, whose name was Claire, was staying in, a bit of her confidence receded. During the previous weeks, as the breakup between the Sheikh and Claire had been revealed, she’d had to do major PR duty, trying to cover up the dates the Sheikh went on with several other models. They had made him look insensitive to Claire’s feelings, and nobody liked it when someone moved on too quickly, even when the person “hurt” in the unfolding events was a rich, gorgeous, 0-sized model.

Audrey exited the taxi and yanked the bag of clothes from the backseat, telling the taxi driver she wouldn’t be long. The mansion was large and almost menacing, with the sharp angles often viewed on beach condos; there was nothing cozy about them. On the front steps, she listened for a moment to the soothing sound of the waves crashing. Her eyes closed. She wished she could leave the bag of clothes on the front porch, but this was her first duty to the Sheikh as his personal assistant. She couldn’t afford to mess this up, too.

The doorbell echoed throughout the mansion, causing a tiny-sounding, yipping dog to begin its anxious barking from downstairs. After several moments, a maid, wearing a white uniform and clinging to the wiggling dog, appeared at the crack in the doorway.

“Yes?” she asked, her voice accented.

Audrey’s heart rushed into her throat. She could just leave the clothes with the maid! This was perfect. “Hi, there,” she said, flashing a smile. “I have a delivery for you to give to the lady of the house.” She thrust the bag forward and watched as the maid bent, lifting a golden, see-through dress from the interior. She looked incredulous and then wailed out a single name: “CLAIRE!”

“Great. So, I hope you have a wonderful day!” Audrey said, spinning on her heel back toward the taxi. Her breath came in bursts, hoping she could get away from the scene as swiftly as possible. But moments before she reached the steps, she heard a strong Parisian accent from the door that was speaking directly to her.

“Excusez-moi!” the woman cried. “Halt there. Stop.”

Audrey frowned and turned, curiosity getting the best of her. Swallowing sharply, she eyed the tall, thin, almost angelic-looking woman as she floated across the front yard after her.

As she grew closer, Audrey saw there was nothing angelic about her expression.

“Excusez-moi,” the woman snapped. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m-I’m dropping off your things,” Audrey said softly, not accustomed to being accosted like this. “They are your things, aren’t they?”

“Who am I to know?” Claire said haughtily. “These dresses, I would rather have them burned than ever have them back. Do you know what he did to me? Can you possibly understand?”

Audrey pressed her lips together, conscious that her fight-or-flight response was telling her to flee. Her eyes widened. “I’ve been instructed to give them back. You can do whatever you want with them now.”

“But, darling, no,” Claire said, giving her an ominous smile. “You can’t get away with that so easily. I need you to tell him something for me. I need you to tell him I hope he dies in a hole somewhere. And I hope someone as ugly as you is wrapped around him when he goes.”

Audrey’s cheeks burned. Compared to Claire, the model, perhaps she wasn’t gorgeous, but she’d certainly never been called ugly. “I’ll pass that along,” Audrey said. “Thank you.” Her voice was sarcastic, yet wobbly, making her look even weaker. She snapped her hand back, beginning to open the back door of the taxi.

“Oh, I see now,” Claire said. Her eyes flashed. “You’re falling in love with him, aren’t you? I can see it written all over your face.”

Audrey rolled her eyes, hating that this woman was getting to her. “No, of course not. He’s my boss,” she replied. “I’m here on duty, nothing more.”

“That’s what he’ll have you think,” Claire said. “And then he’ll latch himself around you, and he’ll ruin you.” She stabbed her long, fake nail towards Audrey’s face, making her wobble uneasily on her black heels.

Shaken, sensing that Claire had said all she could think of, Audrey bolted into the back of the taxi and called out “go!” to the driver. He did, switching gears with a quick motion and speeding away from the mansion, Audrey chilled and shaking in the back.

“It got pretty heated out there, huh?” the driver asked, glancing at her in the rearview window. “Does she really hate you that much?”

“I think she hates my boss,” Audrey said, rubbing her palms together. “But I’ve never made someone so angry before just for existing. That was terrifying.”

“What are you then, a personal assistant?” the taxi driver asked.

“For now, yes.”

“Ah. I’ve driven your kind around before,” the taxi driver said, his eyes brooding. “It’s never easy for you. Never. I’ve seen too many personal assistants sobbing in the back of this very taxi. You’re handling it pretty well.”

“It’s my first day,” Audrey said, sounding hesitant. Her chin slumped down to her chest as the realization folded over her. She would spend the next two weeks being yelled at, being dragged through mud and unfortunate situations, and being told she was ugly? Jesus. Would this destroy her?

“Can you take me back to where you picked me up?” Audrey asked softly, crossing her arms over her chest.

The taxi changed course, skidding left at a stoplight before bolting back to the Mission. But moments before their arrival, Audrey received a text message from the Sheikh, explaining that he needed her to pick up his lunch on the way back.

“There’s something else,” Audrey said with a sigh. “If you could make a left at the light.”

“There’s always something else,” the driver said, his words somber. “Just get used to it, darling.”

About a half hour later, Audrey entered the offices again, carrying a large bag of Indian food. Its smell wafted toward her nose, turning her stomach into a raging, hungry machine. The Sheikh’s door was cracked open, allowing the sounds of her boss and his coworker, a man named Connor, to escape. They were discussing real estate potentials in the Los Angeles area, with Connor explaining the market in greater detail. Audrey knocked halfheartedly at the door, allowing her tired eyes to show through the crack.

“Ah, Audrey,” Sheikh Jibril said. “Come in. We’re just finishing up here.”

Even after the treacherous past few hours, Audrey felt a wave of warmth immediately envelop her with Jibril’s eyes upon hers. “Hi,” she said, her voice high and nervous. “I brought your lunch—”

“Audrey, hello,” Connor said, his face distrustful. “I saw the magazine headlines this morning. Stellar work.” His words were clearly sarcastic, causing her smile to falter.

“We’ve worked something out now, haven’t we, Audrey?” the Sheikh said, accepting the bag of food. “Besides, the tabloids have been hunting for something to write about me since Audrey started. She’s done a stellar job trying to quell their voices since she began. This was just one—very, very major—mess up. Right, Audrey?”

“Right,” Audrey murmured, watching as he separated the silverware, handing a fork and knife to Connor. “I also delivered the clothes to your ex—”

“Oh, wonderful,” the Sheikh said, seeming uninterested. “I’ll call you after this meeting. I have a few more things I need you to do this afternoon. Actually, quite a few more things.” A laugh came from deep in his belly, his eyes dancing with humor.

Audrey smiled yet felt perturbed. Was her time really not worthwhile to him?

Connor waved his hand like a diva, telling her, without words, to get out of the office. She slipped back, feeling slapped, and shut the door behind her. Remembering the warning words of the taxi driver, she sensed she was walking a kind of plank, staring at the water below.

“Just two weeks,” she whispered, biting her lip. “I can do this. I can do anything.”

That was what she’d always told herself, first as a college student and then as a PR rep in the Bay Area. But as a personal assistant, the words fell flat.