she snapped it shut.
She mustn’t be hasty. She’d read in a book once that women never valued themselves highly enough—that they were afraid to negotiate salaries out of a fear of being turned down, or even more ridiculously, of not being liked. Well, she didn’t care if Sharif liked her, did she? And he was making it plain she had him over a barrel. If there was ever a time to value herself highly, it was now.
She thought of what it would cost to send her mother to the best rehab facility in Denver. The cost of moving to a brand-new apartment in a brand-new city, of paying rent for the next five years so her sister could go to community college and never again be tempted to go looking for some sugar daddy in a bar. Irene thought of the cost of making sure none of them would ever have to go back to that sad little house by the railroad tracks again. A new life not just for Irene, but for her mother and older sister.
So she took that first number and exploded it, like turning a single-story building into a skyscraper. Taking her heart in her hands, she kept her face expressionless and looked him straight in the eyes. “A hundred thousand dollars.”
“Agreed,” he said, before she’d even finished the last word.
Oh, no! She’d blown it! The fact that he’d agreed so quickly meant she hadn’t asked for nearly enough!
“Per month,” she added quickly.
He gave her an amused smile. “Naturally.”
“Fine,” she said, wishing she’d had the guts to ask for more.
“Fine. I will have my people pack your things.”
“Thanks, but I prefer to pack my own stuff. I already did it in any case.”
“Of course you did. Independent and responsible as you are.” He smiled again, and his dark eyes seemed to caress her face, causing an answering spark of awareness to light like a match inside her. Match? That match had been lit from the moment he’d found her standing alone at the moonlit lake that first night. It had turned into a simmering fire that was waiting at any moment to explode.
She wouldn’t let it. She’d already passed the test, hadn’t she? She’d resisted her attraction to him and for the sake of the three hundred thousand dollars, more money than she’d ever seen in her lifetime or would ever expect to see again, she would resist it again.
Fortunately, she knew he wouldn’t pursue her romantically again. Obviously, he’d been just trying to amuse himself with a bit of slumming during his friend’s wedding weekend, but they were returning to real life now. To his home country.
Holy cow. Sharif was Emir of Makhtar. He’d made her forget. Once they were in Makhtar, though, she’d likely never see him in the palace, not until the day he paid her. Likely not even then. Paying the help? He had people to handle that sort of thing.
“So when do we leave?” she asked awkwardly.
He smiled. “As soon as we say our goodbyes and get the suitcases in the car.”
Two hours later, they were boarding his enormous private jet.
“So what did Mrs. Falconeri say when you told her you were coming to work for me?” Sharif asked as they crossed the tarmac.
Irene blushed. “I, um, never told her.”
He gave a low laugh that was way too knowing. She changed the subject. “What’s it like? Your home?”
“An oasis on the Persian Gulf. Sparkling new city, palm trees, a bright blue sky, warm, friendly people.”
She looked at him skeptically. “I already agreed to the job. You don’t have to sell the place like a tourist-board representative. I want to know what it’s really like.”
Sharif stopped, looking at her. “It’s the best country in the world. I would do anything for Makhtar. Sacrifice anything.”
His love for his country shone in his face. She’d never seen such passion, idealism, vulnerability in his dark eyes. She had to look away.
Fortunately, it was easy to find something astonishing to look at. The inside of his private 747 looked nothing like any of the flights she’d been on. Not even that first-class flight. The front cabin of his plane was wide and gleamed with light and comfortable white sofas and seats, with a bar on one side and a large flat-screen television against a wall. It looked like the contemporary interior of an expensive New York restaurant.
Overwhelmed, she sank into the closest seat. “I guess I should call you Your Highness now.”
“And from this moment, you are Miss Taylor,” he agreed.
Biting her lip, she looked out the window. As the jet’s engine warmed up, to take them away from Italy and up into the clouds, Irene felt her heart grow suddenly lighter. Thanks to this stroke of fate, she hadn’t had to give up her principles. And she’d never need to worry about money again. This would change everything for her family. Everything. With a deep breath, she looked at Sharif.
“Thank you for hiring me,” she said softly.
As the bodyguards trailed past him to the rear cabin, he frowned in surprise. “Thank you for solving my problem.”
A flight attendant, glamorously attired in a skirt suit and a jaunty blue hat and scarf, served some sparkling water on a silver tray. Taking a sip of the cool water, Irene looked at her new employer.
Sharif looked handsome and powerful in his stark white robes, sitting on the white leather sofa on the other side of the spacious cabin. Taking his own sparkling water off the tray, he smiled his thanks to the flight attendant. Irene sighed with happiness, leaning back against her own plush leather seat.
“I wish all the people who were mean to me in school could see this.” A low laugh escaped her lips. “No one would ever have guessed I’d someday be companion to a princess of Makhtar. Especially with my grades in geography. I couldn’t have placed Makhtar on a map.” Irene wasn’t a hundred percent certain she could do it now, but she kept that to herself. “Um, are you still sure about this?”
He set down his glass. His handsome face was inscrutable as he slowly looked her over. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Irene hesitated, feeling self-conscious. “I told you I have a bad habit of talking back to employers. Knowing the kind of woman I am, Your Highness, are you sure you really want me as your employee?”
“I’m sure, Miss Taylor. There can be no doubt.” His black eyes met hers as he said huskily, “I want you.”
IRENE HAD NEVER flown on even a small private plane before, let alone the huge 747 that belonged to the royal house of Makhtar. But by the time the plane landed that evening, she was growing shamefully accustomed to the luxury that accompanied Sharif wherever he went. Even the stretch Rolls-Royce, and the attendant entourage of black SUVs for the guards, was starting to seem almost routine.
There was just one thing she couldn’t get used to. One thing that was a shock to her senses,
