The Chatsfield Collection Books 1-8. Annie West

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      “I see. I’ll make a note of it. I presume addressing him as Your Highness is acceptable.”

      “It is, though from what I have read, since Zeena Sahra is an emirate, he prefers the title of emir.”

      Mrs. Miller’s mouth pursed. “Why didn’t we know this?”

      “It’s a small thing, really.”

      “No,” Mrs. Miller said sharply. “There’s nothing small about this visit from the sheikh. Every detail must be seen to with absolute attention. If not, mistakes happen. Only last week someone wanted to send silk napkins to the Chatsfield Preitalle with the inscription ‘Princess Maddie.’ Can you believe it? For a royal wedding? This is why each detail must be perfect.”

      “I will do my best.”

      “Yes. In addition to your usual duties, for the duration of the sheikh’s visit, you will also personally oversee the housekeeping staff for his suite and the adjoining rooms for his security people.”

      Nothing like being thrown in at the deep end, but Liyah didn’t mind. She thrived on a challenge.

      Nevertheless, it was a good thing Liyah had gotten her degree in hospitality management. It didn’t hurt either that she’d cleaned rooms at the Chatsfield San Francisco every summer break through high school and college, not that her mother had encouraged Liyah to make her career there.

      Quite the opposite, Hena had been adamant that her daughter not work for the Chatsfield. And now that she knew what she did, maybe Liyah understood that better.

      After a somewhat harried orientation, during which staff members she met asked as many questions of Liyah about Zeena Sahra as she asked them about the Chatsfield London, she returned to her newly rented bedsit.

      About the size of a college dorm room with an efficiency kitchen and miniscule bath tacked on, it was a far cry from the two-bedroom apartment with a balcony she’d shared with her mother in San Francisco. An apartment she’d been only too happy to move out of when she got the floor supervisory position with the Chatsfield London.

      The job offer was a brilliant coincidence that Liyah’s mother would have called destiny. But then Hena Amari had had a romantic streak her daughter did not share.

      Although her outlook on life was decidedly more pragmatic, once Liyah had seen the contents of her mother’s safety-deposit box and read Hena’s final letter, she’d known she had to come to England.

      The new job had allowed her to do so without dipping too deeply into what was left from the proceeds of her mother’s life insurance policy. The money had been welcome if entirely unexpected. The policy had been one of the many profound shocks Liyah had found in that safety-deposit box.

      Shocks that had ultimately ended with her working for the Chatsfield London.

      The hotel had been looking specifically for someone with knowledge of Zeena Sahran culture and hospitality norms. Ironically, they had contacted the San Francisco property’s senior housekeeper, Stephanie Carter, in hopes of transferring Hena Amari.

      With Hena’s sudden death, Stephanie, knowing about Liyah, had suggested her instead. Even though Liyah had not worked for the Chatsfield San Francisco since the summer before her last year of university, her education and experience had made her uniquely eligible for a newly created position.

      The irony that a job with the hotel would make it possible for her daughter to fulfill Hena’s final wish was not lost on Liyah.

      Liyah did not resent her mother’s silence on any front, but only superb emotional control had allowed her to take one stunning revelation after another without cracking.

      On the outside.

      The most stunning revelation of all had been that the extremely wealthy English hotelier Gene Chatsfield was Liyah’s biological father.

      After years of seeing the exploits of his legitimate children in the tabloid press, Liyah found it nearly impossible to believe his blood ran through her veins. What did she, a woman who had worked hard for everything she had, have in common with this notorious, spoiled family?

      She had an almost morbid curiosity to discover what kind of man raised his children to be so profligate while sending the most meager of stipends to Hena on Liyah’s behalf.

      The answer might lie in the very fact of Liyah’s existence, the result of Gene’s indulgence in numerous affairs with his hotel maids. Affairs that did not make it into the press.

      Hena hadn’t known about the hotelier’s wife, much less his propensity for seducing the chambermaids, until after he left San Francisco and a pregnant Hena behind. It had all been in the final letter Hena had left Liyah.

      She’d never told another soul the identity of Liyah’s father. Hena’s shame in the fact he’d been a married man colored the rest of her life and yet she’d written in her letter that Liyah needed to forgive him.

      Hena had claimed that Gene Chatsfield was not a villain, not a demon, not even a very bad man. But he had been a man going through a very bad time. Her final request had been for Liyah to come to London and make herself known to her father.

      Liyah would respect her mother’s last wishes, but she was happy to have the opportunity to observe the man incognito—as an employee, not the daughter he’d never acknowledged.

      * * *

      Her uniform crisp, her long black hair caught in an impeccable bun, Liyah stood tucked away in a nook near the grand staircase. She’d been in London two weeks and working at the Chatsfield ten hectic days, but had yet to catch a glimpse of her father.

      Word had come down that the Honorable Sheikh Sayed bin Falah al Zeena was arriving today, though. Liyah had no doubts her father would be on hand to greet the sheikh personally.

      One thing that had become patently obvious in the past ten days: the sheikh’s stay was incredibly important to the hotel, and even more significant to the Chatsfield’s proprietor.

      Apparently, in another ironic twist of fate, Gene Chatsfield currently resided in the Chatsfield New York, leaving his new and highly acclaimed CEO, Christos Giatrakos, alone to handle operations from London. However, Gene Chatsfield’s arrival in London to personally oversee the emir’s visit said it all.

      Knowing how key this high-profile guest’s stay was to her father, Liyah was determined to do her job well. When she made herself known to Gene, there would be nothing to disappoint him in her work ethic.

      Her floor was in impeccable order, each of the rooms to be occupied garnished with a crystal bowl of fruit and a vase of fragrant jasmine. She’d arranged for a screen to be placed at the elevator bank on her floor, as well, effectively blocking the harem quarters from curious looks.

      She’d made sure the sheikh’s suite was similarly taken care of. There was nothing to offend and a great deal to appreciate in her setup of his rooms and the floor below.

      Thoughts of her work faded as an older man walked with supreme confidence across the lobby. His air that of a man who owned all he surveyed, he acknowledged the numerous greetings by his employees with a regal tip of his head. Her father.

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