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The sound of the gallery door opening, the clear ring of the bell, interruptedit cah-heeled steps on the hardwood floor, acco and squeals

S ith purposeful steps and a big sut But that anger only got hotter at the view in front of me

The Sheikh, I could only presu, attractive man with broad shoulders and a body that betrayed his hard work in the gym His hair was even blacker than Joel’s, soht sky Chiseled and handsoe linen suit and Italian leather shoes Froes of tattoos teased across his bronze skin

On each of his arht have been sisters, they looked so alike—in tight but expensive cocktail dresses that accentuated their a precariously fro onto the Sheikh with each drunken step they took into the gallery, laughing and pushing at each other over some joke I must have missed

The sight froze atheredif not customer service-oriented

“Good evening, Sheikh Rafiq Al-Zayn I’eline Pryce We spoke on the phone earlier”

I held out my hand to shake his, and the wo The Sheikh, who see on my face, didn’t notice it at all

“Where is your drink service?” he asked in a loud voice When a gross belch followed, both of the wohter

Stunned and only growing angrier, I esture toward the table at the back “I’m sure the food is cold by now, unfortunately” I said sharply

Joel came from around the back wall, hands held politely behind his back, but the Sheikh pointed and angrily said, “I thought I specifically asked for this to be a private exhibition”

I whirled around and exchanged a look with Joel

“This is my assistant, Joel Perez He’s not here to view the art, sir”