as possible,” she said with a tight smile. She meant it, too. She planned to get down to business and then usher him out. As soon as they were alone, she said, “So, what can I do for you, Mr. Tarim?”
“Dan, please. And may I call you Emily?”
“By all means.” Her name, which she’d always considered plain and old-fashioned, sounded almost exotic when he said it.
“I’m planning a small dinner party before I leave Manhattan. I would like to repay the generosity of those who have hosted me during my stay.”
“Is this your first time in the city?” she inquired politely, even as she sneaked a glance at her watch.
“No. I am here several times a year for business purposes mainly. In the past, I’ve used the services of someone else to cater my parties, but the meal you prepared tonight has caused me to change my mind.”
“Thank you. I’m flattered.”
And she was. His clothes screamed expensive, which meant he could afford to hire any catering company he wanted. She wondered which one he’d used, though she didn’t ask him. She’d discreetly inquire later. It was good to know who her competition was. Good for business and, depending on the caterer, good for her ego. For the past several years, she had slaved and sacrificed to build a client base and solidify her reputation for high quality. Knowing that those efforts had paid off also made it easier to accept their high cost to her personal life.
She thought of Reed then. They’d dated six years. Everyone, including Emily, had assumed they would wed eventually. Looking back now, though, she could see the cracks that had only gotten deeper and wider as she’d pursued her dreams. When catering had been a hobby or merely a part-time job, he’d seemed proud of her. When it turned into a real career, pulling in serious money and creating enough buzz to land Emily a mention in The New York Times, his enthusiasm had cooled considerably. When she began to dream about opening a restaurant, he’d done his best to talk her out of it, quoting statistics on the number of establishments that failed each year. Finally he’d found someone else: Emily’s sister.
“The guest list will be small, no more than six guests and myself,” Dan was saying, pulling Emily back to the present.
“When were you thinking?” she asked, mentally flipping through her appointment calendar.
“The Saturday after next. The notice is short, I know.” His expression held an apology. “As I said, I usually hire someone else to handle my dinner parties. But I’m hoping you will find room in your schedule for me. As my gracious hostess said, you are the best.”
His lips twitched charmingly, but this time, immersed in the details of business, she was able to ignore the pyre of heat.
Dan, also known as Sheikh Madani Abdul Tarim, wasn’t one to settle for anything but the best. Thanks to his position and wealth, he’d never had to. Still, he didn’t consider himself demanding so much as discerning. Tonight’s meal was first-rate. He had to admit, though, he hadn’t expected the chef who’d created it to be quite so young.
Or so attractive.
Even wearing mannish attire and with her hair scraped back in that hideous fashion there was no denying the tug of male interest he felt. Of course, he wouldn’t act on it. With the official announcement of his engagement fast approaching, he wasn’t in the market for a relationship, casual or otherwise. Still, Emily Merit almost made him wish his future hadn’t been decided when he was still a toddler.
He blamed it on her eyes. They were a rich combination of blues and greens, and reminded him of the Mediterranean Sea near his family’s summer home. Her gaze was direct and assessing, making it clear that she considered herself his equal.
He liked that. As it was, his title and position intimidated too many people—male and female. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t allowed the hostess to formally introduce him. And why he had decided to tell Emily Merit his name was merely Dan. He preferred anonymity every now and then, if only to keep himself grounded. As his father often told him, when he became ruler of Kashaqra, Madani would need to look out for the interests of all of the country’s people.
That didn’t mean he didn’t prefer to get his way. So, he prodded, “Well?”
“Unfortunately I’m booked to make the meal and cake for a child’s fifth birthday celebration that day.”
It didn’t seem like a huge obligation to him. “Will it take all day?”
“In most instances, it wouldn’t.” Her tone turned wry. “But this particular party is an hour outside the city in Connecticut and the parents are insisting on an epicurean feast.”
“You don’t agree with their menu choices,” he gathered.
She sobered and said diplomatically, “It’s not my place to agree or disagree with a client’s menu choices.”
“But?” Raising his eyebrows he invited her confidence.
After a moment she admitted, “I just don’t think the average kindergartner will enjoy what they have selected. After all, certain foods are considered an acquired taste for good reason.”
Madani found himself chuckling, charmed by her honesty. “What have they ordered? Caviar blintzes?”
“Close.” She smiled and he spied a dimple lurking low on her right cheek. It lent an air of impishness to her otherwise classical features. “At least I managed to talk the mother out of an appetizer of duck liver pâté in favor of ham rolls. Even so, I’m pretty sure there are going to be plenty of leftovers. She wouldn’t budge on the veal marsala or the side of roasted root vegetables.”
“I guess this means you won’t be available.”
She nibbled her lower lip. The gesture was uncomfortably and unaccountably sexy. “I may be able to accommodate you,” she said at last. “I have an assistant I could leave in charge of the birthday party. Of course, a lot depends on the time of your gathering and what you would like to serve.”
Madani wasn’t sure if his relief came from knowing Emily would be preparing the meal for his guests or from knowing he would have the opportunity to see her again. “I can be very amenable when the situation calls for it. When shall we meet to discuss the details?”
“I’m free tomorrow morning if you are.”
He had three meetings lined up back-to-back before noon, but he nodded anyway. As he’d said, he could be amenable when the situation called for it. This one did, though he refused to explore why he felt that way.
Emily went to retrieve a business card. Handing it to him, she said, “I’m an early riser. Feel free to call any time after nine o’clock.”
The card was still in Madani’s hand and a smile on his face when he met his driver downstairs.
“I trust you had a good evening,” Azeem Harrah said.
Azeem was not only Madani’s driver, but a trusted confidant and sometimes bodyguard who traveled with him whenever he went abroad. The two men had been friends since boyhood. Azeem’s father was a long-serving member of Kashaqra’s parliament. His uncle sat on the country’s high court. He was educated and at times outspoken, but above all he
