She left her bathroom to meet Jerry in the living room of the suite. “I don’t know quite what I’m doing here,” she told her grandfather.
“You’re here to keep me company.” Jerry lounged on the sofa in a similar robe worn over a pair of checked pajama pants. He’d already left his mark on the suite. Recent copies of the Wall Street Journal and the Washington Post littered the coffee table in front of him, and sheaves of computer printouts detailing various D.C. properties were scattered on the couch’s cushions.
“Your client doesn’t want me here. What’s so top secret, anyway?”
Jerry hesitated. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but he’s a sheik.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. With that accent? And don’t sheiks live in desert tents with camels?”
“Not this one,” Jerry said. “Kamar and his brothers were all educated in England—Cambridge, no less. His country has one of the world’s most productive diamond mines. They recently opened diplomatic relations with the United States and purchased an embassy building in D.C. Now Kamar’s looking for the ambassador’s residence.”
“I’m impressed,” Selina said. “This is quite a lucrative set of deals for you.”
“And it does have to be top secret.” Jerome shuffled papers together into a messy stack. “If the location of the residence becomes public knowledge, the safety of the ambassador could be compromised.”
“Oh, so that’s why the snotty sheik was so upset with me.” Selina sat on a side chair.
“You were pretty hard on him.”
She huffed.
“You were mean, Sellie. I’ve never known you to be mean.”
“You should have seen him with the bartender.”
“What was the bit about the potatoes?”
“He was razzing the bartender about the vodka,” she said. “Only wheat vodka, nothing made from potatoes. He was quite specific. Who does he think he is, James Bond?”
“A man has the right to choose his poison. I thought Kam was trying to be nice to you.”
“He was trying to redeem himself. Unsuccessfully, I might add. He’s affected and arrogant. The man can’t love himself enough.”
Jerome was silent for a second, then said, “Sometimes people who can’t love themselves enough suffer from a lack of love from others. Like you.”
She swallowed against her dry mouth. “I’m loved. You love me, right?”
“I adore you, but we both know that’s not enough. When was the last time you were involved with a man?”
“Hey, I date all the time. You know that. You call on Saturday night to check on me. I don’t call back until Sunday morning because—”
“Because on Saturday night you’re out breaking hearts.”
Selina grinned.
“Yes, you date,” Jerry continued. “But do you ever become involved?”
She compressed her lips. “So I’m picky.”
“Sellie, baby, you’re beyond picky. Don’t you think it’s time you got over Donald?”
She dropped her face into her hands and mumbled, “Grandpa Jerry, I was in therapy for seven years. My head’s been shrunk so much I’m surprised you can still see it. I’ve meditated. I’ve rolfed. I’ve yoga’ed. I’ve sought enlightenment and personal growth everywhere I could. I honestly don’t think I’ll ever get over Donald. Or what Mom did.” She hadn’t seen her mother or her stepfather for years.
Leaving the couch, Jerry knelt by her side. “If you don’t get over it, they win.”
She nodded, rubbing her temples where a headache had started banging at her brain. “I know, but I—”
“Try.” Her grandfather took her hand. “Try. I won’t be around forever—”
“Why, where are you going?” Selina raised her head, her insides turning wintry. “Pawtucket, maybe, or Poughkeepsie?”
He wiggled her chin. “Laugh all you want, sweetheart, but I’m an old guy, and getting older every minute. You need to be with a man your own age, not some old fart with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel.”
Selina scoffed. “You’ll outlive all of us.”
“No, I won’t. Promise me, Sellie, that you’ll make an effort.”
Sobered by her grandfather’s seriousness, Selina said, “Okay, I promise. Sometime. I’m still young, okay?”
He fixed her with a stern look, though his eyes twinkled. “Be nice to the sheik.”
“The snotty sheik?”
He laughed. “People magazine calls him the sexy sheik.”
“He does have a certain George Clooney appeal, if you like the type.”
“Do you?”
She squirmed. Grandpop was hitting a little too close to home. She didn’t want to talk to him about the kind of men she liked. Too weird. “Maybe.”
“Well, why don’t you let that maybe turn into a yes? At least give that little maybe a chance.”
She chuckled. “Maybe I will.”
He hesitated, then asked, “Sellie, are you truly happy?”
“Sure I am. I have a great job, a great home and you.” She hugged him around the shoulders. “Why should I want more?”
“There’s more to life, and you know it. But for now, be nice to Prince Kamar.” He winked. “Especially since I want to take quite a large wad of cash out of his wallet.”
She sighed. “For you, anything…even Prince Kamar.”
Chapter Three
The sharp-eyed brunette approached the concierge desk and said to the woman seated there, “Uh, can I ask for some help?”
Lilith Peterson, aka Lissa Bessart Piers, scrutinized her. That depends upon the kind of help you want, she thought. She didn’t like the brunette’s briefcase, her gray pinstriped pantsuit or her overly lacquered hair. Most people who came to La Torchere were on holiday and looked it, but this woman was all business.
Instead of challenging her, Lissa schooled her features into a hospitable smile, in keeping with her role. “Of course,” she said. “How can I help you?” She smoothed the lapel of her jacket.
“I’m trying to find a guest,” the brunette said.
“We maintain the security of
