I Married A Sheikh. Sharon De Vita

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      “Situations happen whether we allow them or not. And as for urgent and immediate, I’m not the fire department,” she clarified, watching his face darken. The assistant was apparently back to sighing again as well. “Clearly you’ve got a problem with your accounting program,” she said, meeting his gaze. “But it wouldn’t take a genius to figure that out.”

      He stiffened and his eyes went cold at the perceived insult. “I can assure you, Ms. Martin, that my staff is more than qualified to handle almost any situation that arises—”

      “But apparently not this one. If they were, I wouldn’t be here.”

      Her words hung in the air for a long moment, and Faith wondered if perhaps she’d gone too far. But the man was just so…downright arrogant, she couldn’t help but goad him a bit.

      “Touché.” He nodded, as if he was gracing her with some great gift, and allowed a small smile to touch his lips. “But of course you are right. This was one problem my own people have not been able to solve.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “El-Etra Investments prides itself on its impeccable reputation. As I’m sure you can understand, when someone trusts you with their money, any hint of impropriety can have devastating effects, not just on your actual business, but also on your reputation. And in this business, your reputation is everything.” He took a slow, deep breath. His gaze never left hers. “I have assured my investors that this problem would be solved immediately, and although I have ample insurance to cover such an occurrence, it is my name on the firm, and I have vowed to personally make good on every single penny invested and due. We’re in the process of personally distributing checks now to every investor to cover any losses, differences or discrepancies.”

      “You have that kind of money?” The question popped out before she could stop it. She glanced around. This was no mom-and-pop store, but a big-league operation that no doubt had millions of dollars invested in it.

      The mere idea of having that kind of indeterminable wealth almost stopped her heart.

      For someone who had struggled, pinched pennies, worked two jobs just to put herself through school, and had gone deeply in debt just to start her own fledging computer consulting business and had worked like a dog for seven years to make a go of it, the thought of endless funds seemed like nirvana.

      And this man discussed it without so much as a blip in his voice.

      “But of course,” he said simply, as if they were talking about pocket change. “Why, are you planning on raising your rates?”

      She couldn’t help but grin. “Well, I hadn’t thought of it before, but now, I just might consider it.”

      “Ms. Martin, I am Sheik Ali El-Etra.” The way he said it made her wonder if she was supposed to bow or something.

      “So I’ve heard, since everyone around here keeps telling me, although I can’t possibly imagine why.” Apparently she was supposed to be impressed.

      She wasn’t.

      “It means nothing to you?” For a moment he didn’t know if he should be annoyed or amused. Most women he encountered had all but done a Dunn and Bradstreet check on him before he ever met them.

      “I don’t have a clue what your title means or why it should be important to anyone but you.”

      He couldn’t help the little stab to his ego. “My title, Ms. Martin, merely means that I am of royal blood.”

      “Royal blood?” One brow rose suspiciously. “Right.” This time the sigh from behind her was louder, and laced with just a bit of…panic, she thought. “Royal blood?” she repeated with a frown, considering. “You mean like a king or queen or something.”

      “Or something,” he admitted with a slow nod.

      “And of course no one thought it was important to mention this little tidbit to me?” she asked, feeling just a tad embarrassed by her own behavior. He was a client, and just because he’d been rude, didn’t mean she had to be.

      He just annoyed her so with his arrogant, high-handed orders and demands. As if the world revolved around him.

      “Would it have changed your behavior if you had known?” Or your viperous tongue, he wondered.

      “Probably not,” she admitted honestly. “Unless you have the power to have someone beheaded.”

      He threw back his head and laughed, the sound rich as it rumbled around the room. “I’m afraid, Ms. Martin, that we no longer behead people.” He flashed her a brilliant smile. Faith felt as if the temperature in the office rose twenty degrees. “Too messy.”

      “Well, I’m grateful for small favors.”

      Cocking his head, he studied her. “And would it have mattered anyway?”

      “The beheading?”

      He shook his head, amused. “No, my bloodlines.”

      “Not unless you plan on running in the Kentucky Derby.” She shrugged. “Otherwise, your bloodlines don’t matter one whit to me.”

      He laughed again. It had been a very long time since anyone had dared to speak to him so freely. Not since his beloved grandmother. But this woman certainly did not remind him of his grandmother.

      On the contrary, she was young and vibrant, with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue. And he found himself suddenly both irritated and amused by her.

      A woman who was not impressed by his title, his bloodlines or apparently his money. A novelty, for sure.

      “My title, it is, as you said, perhaps, of no real importance,” he admitted, “except to those who are impressed by such things.” He smiled and she realized anew just how incredibly attractive he was. “And you apparently are not one of those people.”

      She shrugged. “I couldn’t care less if you’re the King of Siam.”

      “Wrong country, wrong continent.” He pointed to a large, full-scale color map framed and anchored to one wall. “The land of my birth is Kuwait, Ms. Martin.”

      Faith glanced across the room to where he was pointing. The details of the map were so precise, so vivid, it actually looked hand-painted. Probably was, she decided. He probably had his minions paint the little trinket just to decorate his office. Why, she wondered, did the mere thought annoy her?

      Faith shifted her gaze back to his. Kuwait. So that explained the faint accent, the inlaid family crest on his desk, above the fireplace. It explained a lot of things about him.

      She’d been right; he was spoiled and rich and, on top of it, a royal. Terrific.

      “You are frowning again, Ms. Martin. Have I said something to annoy you?” Apparently, he’d been saying and doing a lot that annoyed her.

      “You can call me Faith,” she said absently. If the man had royal blood, she supposed he could use her first name. “So what is a man of royal blood from Kuwait doing in California?”

      “What all normal men do, I suppose. Conducting business.” He cast another scathing look СКАЧАТЬ