She's With Zaki

  Amelia Rodriguez had just stepped out of a Hermès luxury store. She was wearing her favorite new Rei Kawakubo suit, which she'd just had tailored to perfection. She stood aside with a bottle of champagne chilled to a perfect 37 °F as store attendants dropped onto the back seat of her vehicle, bags upon bags of limited edition items. She then eased herself into her BMW M convertible--an impulse buy of three days ago--and opted to leave the top down as she brought the powerful engine to life. Sliding on her sunglasses, she maneuvered her way down a meandering lane first, then out through the highway. After two successful interviews with LA fashion magazine and VOGUE on an insight into her life, she felt wonderful about today. And it was a beautiful day indeed. She selected G-Eazy and Kehlani's Good Life from her playlist and turned up the volume. Head bopping and hands tapping up and down on the steering wheel, as she sang along with

“The date isn't changing, Zaki.” Ali Omidyar's voice had a note of finality to it as he took a sip from his cup of coffee. Both men, dressed in black suits and ties were currently in a closed-door meeting at Omidyar Oil & Gas. One of the many companies that made up the Omidyar group of companies, both in America and Iran. Zaki had his head in his hands as he stared down at his desk. If he was being honest, he knew there was no way he could get of this arrangement. He'd been foolish enough to promise his dying grandfather that he would marry Amelia, and now that promise hung on his head like a death sentence. And how couldn't he? The man had given him everything he'd ever needed growing up, and never asked anything in return, till now. This was the only request he ever made till his passing. Fulfilling his wishes was more of a matter of honor to Zaki. A matter of respect.  “Knowing you, I expect nothing less.” He took a sip of his whiskey. “It

¶ Zaki needed a drink—or ten. He’d been holed up in the executive waiting room of Liam & Cadwell--a celebrity-owned industrial loft where the best engagement pictures in Hollywood were taken--waiting, for his supposed fiancée who was running a whole hour late. He'd pushed back meetings, postponed some, and canceled others, just so he could make it on time. It irked him that the spoiled-rotten brat that was being foisted on him as a bride, couldn't return the courtesy by being on time.   “Mr. Omidyar, once again, if you require anything, do let me know sir.” The impish twist of the waitress’s lips and the direct way she eyed him said she was offering more than a drink to ease his waiting. He declined her offers with a dismissive shake of his proud head. Since he arrived, she'd been trying to get him to look past her face and down to her boobs which were almost rolling out of the white short-sleeved shirt she was wearing.  He took a glance

“You are the only straight female in the whole world not affected by this hotness,” Sarah grumbled. “Have you seen how sickeningly hot he looks on the covers of magazines? There should be a law prohibiting him from going anywhere wearing clothes. Not only is he hot, but he’s rich as hell. There’s an article online about the latest vacation home he bought. It’s this sprawling estate in Kensington, London. It cost him thirty-eight million dollars.” “Good for him.” Amelia deadpanned. “Why are we having this discussion again?” “Because you're getting married to the man in the forty minutes, and you need to know what properties you're entitled to. Knowing you, this marriage would eventually end in the bottomless valley of divorce. You're only entitled to assets acquired during the marriage. Most people believe that he bought the place for you, though, but you'll need documents to lay claim to it. Others believe it's probably where you'll be spending your honeymoon, but I'