Dinner with Farid
1595 Words
I pulled up in front of the skyscraper building. I grabbed my bag off the passenger seat and exited my car, shutting the car door behind me and handing the keys to the valet, who stood with a professional smile on his face.
He handed me my claim ticket before walking towards my car. I turned away from him, walking through the automatic sliding glass doors of the building and towards the elevator.
I punched in the 33rd floor once I stepped into the elevator. I dug through my bag, pulling out my lipstick and taking a moment to reapply it and touch up my makeup so as to look less frazzled and more presentable. I was after all there for a business meeting.
After double checking in the compact mirror and being satisfied with how I looked, I returned the lipstick and mirror back into my handbag before straightening up.
The elevator doors slid open a second later, and I walked right into the opulent floor that housed the famous Casa Romana.
I walked right up to the hostess, who had a smile stretched taut across her red-painted lips.
“Welcome to Casa Romana, ma'am; do you have a reservation?” She asked politely, her brows arching in expectation.
“Yes, under Wilson's Inc.” Her eyes widened into saucers the moment she recognised who I was.
“M-ms Wilson,” she sputtered.“I'm so sorry; please come with me. I will show you to your table right away.” She quickly rounded the corner, plastering a wide smile on her face as she led into the restaurant.
From the corner of my eyes, another employee slides in to take her place.
The sound of my heels clicking against the black marble floors was drowned out by the gentle tune of the piano and the light chatter of guests.
We passed by several occupied tables towards a table by the floor to ceiling glass windows overlooking the city. Mr. Hossein was already waiting, and at the sound of us approaching, he looked up from his phone before placing it on the table and rising to his full height that towered over my 5"8 frame.
The hostess stood to the side as I passed by her, stopping in front of our table beside Mr. Hossein, who had a smile on his face as his gaze swiftly swept from my head down to my toes.
“Here,” he murmured in a deep baritone thick with an Arabian accent, pulling out the seat opposite his, and I placed my handbag on the table before taking a seat.
“I must have kept you waiting.”
“Nonsense,” he cut in, “I arrived not long before you did." He said with a small smile before walking back to his seat, his eyes never leaving mine as he lowered himself onto his seat. His white thawb was stark contrast against the dark theme of the restaurant.
“I'm so glad you didn't reschedule the meeting this time, Ms. Wilson,” he uttered, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips as his dark brown eyes continued to watch me.
“Please accept my apologies Mr. Hossein, something came up that I couldn't quite ignore,” I explained, and he nodded, reaching for his glass of wine with tan fingers.
“It is fine, Habibti,” he responded with a wave of his fingers as he swirled the content of his glass in the other hand before taking a small sip.
I nodded, reaching for my handbag and pulling out a bunch of files when he c****d his brow. “We should eat first, Habibti; work later,” he said in his broken English, thick with his accent.
Usually Parker would be the one arranging these files, but meetings with Mr. Hossein have never been conventional, as he prefers a one-on-one meeting.
Not that I couldn't handle things on my own without Parker, especially for a short while; it was his flirting and the names that irked me to no end. But for some reason, I didn't feel the annoyance that would bubble up inside of me when he calls me that.
Maybe it was because I was angry about the pictures, but either way, he was a good distraction to momentarily take my mind off the pictures.
“Fine,” I conceded, pushing the documents back into my bag and leaning back against the headrest of my seat while he blinked at me in surprise; he wasn't expecting me to agree to that easily.
A waiter arrived at our table at that moment, leaning over to pour the wine into my glass before taking a step back, the polite smile never leaving his lips.
“Can I take your orders?” he asked, and my gaze flitted down to the menu placed elegantly on the table in front of me.
“Give us a moment to decide, will you?” Mr. Hossein said, and the waiter nodded once before walking away.
Picking up the closed menu, I opened it, looking through the numerous options on display.
“You seem to be in a good mood today, Habibti; care to share why?” He asked with a tilt of his head as he stroked his stubble-covered jaw.
I shrugged, picking up my glass and taking a slow sip, shutting my eyes as I savoured the taste of the red wine.
“I doubt you've ever witnessed me in a foul mood, Mr. Hossein,” I drawled, my eyes reopening to see him still watching me.
“Fair enough, but please call me Farid Habibti; I feel ten years older whenever you address me so formally.” I arched my brow at that. Usually I'd never concede to such a request, seeing as I wanted to keep things as professional as possible between us.
“As you wish,” I murmured, turning back to the menu.
“Have you decided?” he asked, and I nodded. He discreetly flagged down the waiter who came to take our orders shortly after.
“We have so much to discuss, Mr. Hos-" I paused mid-sentence when I realised my mistake.
“I mean Farid,” I corrected, and that seemed to brighten his dark eyes, but I continued anyway, especially the new hotel in Singapore.” He nodded at that, still sipping on his wine.
“Of course, Habibti, but the night is still young and we haven't even had dinner,” he shrugged.
I saw through his excuse; the dinner meeting was an excuse for him to spend time with me on the pretext of business. He knew his investment in the new hotel in Singapore was important to me because it was a new branch in a new country with an unfamiliar territory.
Singapore was Farid's turf, which was why I needed him, and he knew it too.
The waiter wheeling our dishes to our table made me look away from him and pick up my wine glass, sipping on it as the waiter placed our food on the table and refilling our wine glasses before leaving.
“Do you do this with every one of your business associates?” I asked before picking up my cutlery, and he chuckled, slicing into his steak and stabbing it with his fork before meeting my eyes again.
“No one is like you, Ms. Wilson. So no,” he responded, placing the piece of steak in his mouth and chewing slowly as he continued to watch me.
“You flatter me,” I scoffed almost inaudibly, twirling my pasta on my fork before putting it in my mouth. I barely held back from moaning at the explosion of flavours on my taste buds.
“You think I'm wasting your time, no?” He said, his gaze still settled on me.
“I have thought about that,” I admitted, and he chuckled, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin before setting it down on the table beside his half-eaten steak.
“I didn't know how else to ask you to dinner except this, but rest assured, Habibti, by the end of this dinner we'll finalise the deal.” I smiled at that, picking up my glass to sip on my wine before setting it back down.
“May I know your other reason for asking me out to dinner?” I threw the question at him, forking more of the delicious pasta into my mouth and chewing slowly.
He chuckled at my directness, leaning back against his seat with a crooked smile.This is why I'm attracted to you, Ms. Wilson; you don't beat around the bush.” He placed both elbows on the edge of the table, leaning over, “I also do not.”
“I want you to be my wife,” he said without missing a bit that I almost choked on my pasta. Quickly I reached for the glass of water and gulped down quite a bit before slowly setting it back down on the table.
I opened my mouth to respond when a loud, exaggerated gasp sliced through the air. Farid and I turned at the same time towards the source of the sand, and I felt my heart drop to the pit of my stomach at the sight of the blonde woman standing before me with a wide smile stretched thinly across her lips.
“Hello Julia,”
Anger quickly replaced the other feeling I dared not try to decipher.
- Writer
