Aramco Affair
"Petroleum engineer Rana commands respect in a male-dominated field. When consultant Derek is assigned to her project, professional tension becomes personal fire. 'Al naft mish al waheed illi yishta'il' (النفط مش الوحيد اللي يشتعل) - Oil isn't the only thing that burns."
"My project doesn't need outside consultation."
Derek Mitchell smiled, unperturbed. "Your project is three weeks behind schedule and twenty percent over budget. It needs something."
Rana Al-Dosari's eyes narrowed. Fifteen years at Aramco, and she still dealt with men who assumed she needed saving.
"Get out of my office."
"After I prove my value."
He stayed. Against every objection, he made himself useful—identifying inefficiencies she'd missed, suggesting optimizations that actually worked. She hated that he was good.
"Where did you train?" she demanded one evening.
"MIT engineering, Shell for fifteen years, now independent." He met her eyes. "Where did you develop that chip on your shoulder?"
"Years of men like you assuming I'm incompetent."
"I never assumed that." His voice softened. "I saw your record. I requested this assignment."
"Why?"
"Because you're the best, and I wanted to learn." Derek leaned back. "The budget issues aren't your fault—inherited problems from the previous lead. The schedule delays are vendor issues, not engineering."
"You figured that out?"
"I figured out you were covering for problems that preceded you. Because you thought accepting help meant admitting weakness."
She should have been offended. Instead, she felt seen.
"I've had to be twice as good for half the credit," she admitted.
"I know." His eyes held genuine understanding. "My ex-wife was a surgeon. I watched her fight that battle daily."
"Ex?"
"She chose her career. I supported the choice." He smiled ruefully. "Eventually."
Late nights blurred boundaries. They worked side by side, finishing each other's sentences, anticipating each other's needs.
"Al naft mish al waheed illi yishta'il," she said one midnight.
"Translation?"
"Oil isn't the only thing that burns."
His breath caught. "Rana—"
"Don't talk. Just—"
The first kiss ignited like volatile compounds. Rana pulled him against her, years of denied desire exploding.
"We shouldn't," he gasped.
"Probably not." She kissed him harder. "I don't care."
They made love in her office, blinds drawn against the industrial complex outside. Derek worshipped her body with engineering precision.
"You're incredible," he breathed against her skin. "In every way."
"Professional assessment?"
"Personal revelation."
He explored her with methodical thoroughness—every curve measured, every response documented. When his mouth found her center, Rana gripped her desk.
"Aktar," she demanded. "Derek, aktar!"
"I understand that word now." He worked her expertly. "More, right?"
"Yes—God, yes—"
She came against his mouth with a cry that would have alarmed security if the building weren't empty. Derek rose, grinning.
"Your turn to give orders in bed too?"
"Always." She pulled him close. "Now get inside me."
He filled her with a groan that echoed off industrial plans. They moved together like synchronized drilling operations—precise and powerful.
"Inti naar," she gasped. You're fire.
"Learning Arabic for you."
"Learn faster."
They drove each other higher, desk creaking beneath their passion. Years of professionalism burned away, leaving only need.
"I'm close," he warned.
"Sawa." She wrapped her legs around him. "Together."
They crested as one, pleasure crashing like controlled explosions. Derek held her through the aftermath, both breathing heavily.
"This complicates the project," she observed.
"This IS the project." He kissed her forehead. "Optimizing everything."
The project finished ahead of schedule, under budget. Their relationship continued past the contract.
"People will talk," she warned.
"Let them." Derek pulled her close. "I'll relocate. Consult locally. Be wherever you are."
"That's a major life change."
"You're worth major."
Their wedding was small—colleagues from the project, family from both continents. The cake was shaped like an oil derrick.
"To professional partnerships," someone toasted.
"To personal ones," they corrected.
And to the discovery that sometimes the most valuable resource isn't underground—it's standing right beside you, waiting to be recognized.