I angrily flop down on the couch. The prayer mat falls off; Amir awkwardly props it up.
“That’s all well and nice,” I remark. “But have you seen their p*****s?” Ibrahim seems embarrassed, which is unusual. He barely shakes his head. “So have a look then, it won’t be so bad.” He nods but he doesn’t move. “f*****g hell, Ibrahim, bring those girls up here, have them shower, examine their holes and line them up in front of me naked. Have I made myself clear?”
I haven’t even finished my sentence when Amir turns to leave. My doctor follows him and I know they won’t bother me before eight.
I awkwardly dig out the business statements and, unfortunately, I find the interpreter’s contract too. I’m angry enough to tear it up but I don’t want to lose my chances.
I don’t understand why it would bot
