it with you when the gentleman drove you home.”
The gentleman! If only he was a gentleman. Maybe she’d left her purse and shoes in his car. She thanked the housekeeper, grabbed the money from the table and walked out the door, barefoot. She would have loved to have left the money there, but under the circumstances, she couldn’t afford to. She got quite a few stares in the elevator, and even more in the lobby as she sauntered through, head held high, trying to act as if spending the night with a rich, eligible bachelor and sneaking out the next morning in the same dress happened to her every day. Why couldn’t she remember coming in last night?
If only she could sneak out. But it was hard to sneak when you were barefoot, and wearing a pink bridesmaid’s dress. You were bound to get a few curious glances in your direction. She got more than a few.
What a relief to get into a taxi. The driver barely gave her a second glance as she gave him Rafik’s office address. Thank heavens for blasé cabdrivers. The only expression on his face was a frown when she handed him the hundred-dollar bill. He emptied his pockets and gave her change which she clutched in her hand after giving him a generous tip.
Then she stood in front of the office building on Montgomery Street in the heart of San Francisco’s financial district. The pavement was cold beneath her bare feet as she stood staring up at the high-rise. Bike messengers whizzed by, horns honked, but she scarcely noticed. She wondered which office was his, wondered if she’d have the nerve to actually go up and confront him.
She had to. She had no choice. She squared her shoulders, walked through the revolving doors and strode across the marble lobby as if she belonged there. She looked straight ahead, pretending she had blinders on, ignoring whatever curious looks were directed her way, and they must have been numerous.
The office of United Venture Capitalists was on the fourteenth floor and smelled of fresh paint and new carpets. A well-groomed receptionist behind a cherrywood desk first greeted her with a smile then her mouth fell open in surprise as she took in Anne’s unusual and unbusiness-like appearance.
“My name is Anne Sheridan. I’m here to see Sheik Rafik Harun,” Anne said, summoning all the dignity she had.
“Uh…yes. Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asked. As if a barefoot woman in a formal dress would have an appointment with a sheik.
“No, but I have to see him.”
“I’ll see if he’s in,” she said coolly. “Won’t you sit down?”
Anne was too nervous to sit down. Instead she stood looking at the pictures on the wall of the ventures the company had funded. She examined a portrait of the grandfather who’d founded the company, a distinguished-looking sheik in traditional Arab dress. When she heard male voices approaching, she whirled around. It was not Rafik. It was an older man who looked very much like the sheik in the picture on the wall with an American who was wearing jeans and a T-shirt.
“May I help you, my dear?” the older man asked with a slight bow.
She swallowed hard. “I’m here to see Rafik.”
His gaze flicked over her dress. He pressed his lips together in a tight line. He seemed to understand without asking, just what had happened. Though he couldn’t possibly know when she didn’t even know herself. Unless it was a common occurrence for women to appear in evening gowns unannounced, asking for his son. She wouldn’t be surprised.
“I see,” he said. “Where is my elder son?” he asked the receptionist.
Her gaze fluttered from her desk to her telephone to the elder sheik. “I…I believe he’s in his office.”
“Then show the young lady in,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir, right away.” She jumped up from her desk and while the two men watched she led Anne down the hall to the large office on the corner. She knocked on the door and when Rafik yelled for her to come in, the woman opened the door, ushered Anne in and then disappeared.
Rafik was seated behind an enormous desk talking on the phone with his back to the door and to Anne. She had an excellent view of the back of his handsome head and his broad shoulders in his well-tailored suit jacket. Her heart was hammering in her chest like a tom-tom. This was a terrible idea. She should just turn around and walk out while she still could. He’d never know. But his father would tell him. And she still didn’t have her purse.
“Yes, of course I’ll be there,” he said. “The whole family will be there and very pleased to be hosting the benefit this year…. It gives us a chance to meet the community…. No, not yet. I’m new in town, you know. Haven’t had a chance to meet many women….” That was the only reason he’d spent the night with her, Anne thought. He didn’t know any other women. He chuckled, and Anne shivered. If only she had a jacket, a coat, a sweater. Anything. But no sweater would prevent the chill that his words sent through her. If she left now, he’d never know she was ever there. But she couldn’t. Even if she’d wanted to. Her feet were made of lead. She couldn’t move a muscle.
“A woman in my hotel room?” Rafik asked, sounding shocked at the very idea. Anne wished she could sink into the Oriental carpet and disappear. “You must have me confused with someone else,” he said genially. “I know how important the social column is,” he continued, “but I’m afraid I can’t help you there. I can’t imagine who the woman was, but I know she wasn’t with me. I realize I’ve had an image as a swinging bachelor, but all that’s in the past. From now on I’ll have no more time for partying. Well,” he said, “it’s been a pleasure to talk to you. I can’t emphasize enough that the whole family is very serious about being a part of this beautiful city. Both the business community and the social scene and the local charities. We want to do our part.” He hung up and spun his chair around to face her.
Anne swallowed hard. She’d forgotten how handsome he was. So handsome in his dark suit and bronzed skin against his striped shirt that she almost fainted. Of course, that feeling could also come from hunger or shame. She wrapped her arms across her waist.
“Oh,” he said, standing and stuffing his hands in his pockets. If he was surprised to see her, he didn’t show it. Neither did he show pleasure or dismay at her appearance. Of course, sheiks were probably trained to handle situations like this. Smoothly, suavely, with savoir faire. “It’s good to see you again…Anne.”
He remembered her name. That was a good start.
“What happened last night?” she blurted.
“Happened? As in between you and me?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Well, you passed out,” he said matter-of-factly. “A little too much champagne. It can happen to anyone. It’s happened to me. Nothing to worry about.”
“Nothing to worry about? I was in your car. You were taking me home. Why didn’t you?”
“I tried, believe me, I tried. But I didn’t know where you lived, and you were in no condition to tell me.”
“So you took me to your hotel,” she said.
“Right,” he said. “I had no choice. Then you fell asleep in my bed. End of story.”
“That’s it? That’s all?” How desperately she wanted to believe that. “Wait a minute. How did I get my dress off and your shirt
