Not on His Watch. Cassie Miles
he said.
She whispered, “I had to act quickly. To head off the ambush.”
He liked that she was confiding in him. Maybe she was only being nice to him because of her job, but he still appreciated her talent. He appreciated her…a lot.
She made a flicking motion with her hand. “Go mingle.”
“Yes, ma’am.” If she’d asked him to jump out of the penthouse window, he might have given her suggestion serious consideration.
NATALIE STOOD at the edge of a conversation, not really listening as she sipped her Perrier with a lime twist and considered the possibility of eating something. The crab cakes, miniquiches and assorted hors d’oeuvres looked appetizing, and she needed caloric sustenance. But when she reached for a thin cracked-wheat cracker brushed with Asiago cheese, she pulled back her fingers. The inside of her stomach felt like a pinball machine—an unfortunate reaction to the stress of Zahir’s surprise visit.
She couldn’t fault her staff for the way they’d responded—they’d created a simple reception for the prince without alerting the press and thereby pressuring Quantum to take a position on future dealings with Nurul or questions about Imad. Their work had been satisfactory and things had gone smoothly. All lines of protocol remained intact. Why, then, was she feeling so edgy? Was it her forced association with Quint?
Glancing around the room, she spotted him easily. In his cowboy boots, he towered above everyone else. Though he interacted with perfect manners, he seemed to stand apart. A stillness surrounded him. Yet, she sensed, he was not at peace. His body language bespoke a certain tension. Even when he grinned, his jawline was taut. Occasionally, his gaze drifted, and he squinted as if searching a distant horizon.
Natalie found herself wondering about this habit. Though he made his money in oil, he was also a rancher. She imagined him on horseback, tall in the saddle as he surveyed his lands and tended the little lost calves gone astray. He was a natural protector—solid and reliable, staring into the distance, anticipating the arrival of wolves and predators. But now, he was in the city. What was he looking for?
When her father touched her elbow, Natalie startled, spilling a lithe cascade of Perrier on his sleeve. “Sorry, Henry. I didn’t see you coming.”
Brushing off his sleeve, he said, “Tomorrow morning, first thing, I’m going to have cameras installed in your office.”
Her reverie of Quint and his ranch vanished as she snapped back to reality. Natalie didn’t like the idea of being under constant surveillance. Most especially, she didn’t want protection dictated by her father. It felt like he was asking for a baby monitor.
“Why in my office?”
“The package you received today—the one you handed over to your friend, Whitney—didn’t come through the mail room. It was hand delivered.”
“The hall cameras must have—”
“Our security men reviewed the tapes. A couple of times, the door to Maria Luisa’s office opened and closed, but they couldn’t identify anyone going in or coming out.”
“Not even after they paused and enhanced the image?” Natalie asked.
“Nothing definite. And, of course, there were people who had legitimate reasons to enter your office. The guy from the mail room. One of your assistants. Gordon Doeller.” He exhaled a slightly ragged sigh. “I’m worried about you.”
Which was exactly why she didn’t want special security measures. All her life, Natalie had struggled with accusations of nepotism. Of course, she’d ascended through the ranks at Quantum more quickly than someone not named Van Buren. She was the youngest vice president and the only female one at corporate headquarters. Still, her job performance justified her position. She worked hard and was more than competent.
She asked, “If someone else—Gordon Doeller, for example—had received these threats, would you insist on a camera in his office?”
Her father’s hesitation provided an answer.
“I thought not,” Natalie said. “Please understand, Henry. I don’t want an office camera. It’s an unnecessary expense, and I need privacy.”
Henry scowled. “What for?”
“Sensitive aspects of public relations. I might leak information to one reporter and not another. My staff meetings need to be confidential. I don’t want a record of everything I do.”
She thought of her confrontation with Quint this morning. Their game of grab-the-package would have made embarrassing viewing for a bored security guard. “Please, Henry. Respect my wishes.”
“We’ll see.”
She and her father moved forward to say their goodbyes to Prince Zahir and his entourage, who were preparing to take their leave. As if she’d needed further confirmation that her position at Quantum was unique, the prince singled her out for his attention.
He clasped her hand, then lifted her fingertips to his lips. His dark eyes devoured her with an embarrassing, lip-smacking lasciviousness.
Though she had to admit that he was impeccably handsome, she wasn’t swept away. The exotic fragrance of his cologne, reminiscent of sandalwood and sage, was too strong for her taste. His features were too perfect. His voice oozed like rancid oil. Also, as Zahir admitted himself, he was engaged. She snatched her hand from his grasp. What a creep!
“Until we meet again, Natalie.”
Crisply, she lied, “I look forward to it.”
As the prince and his companions departed with their uniformed chauffeur, the Quantum employees left behind heaved a collective sigh of relief. This impromptu reception had not been on their agendas.
“Thank you, everyone,” Natalie said. “We’ll have more information on the prince’s visit tomorrow. Be prepared for some extra meetings.”
Jerome Harris, head of Accounting, popped up beside her. He was a rabbity little man who would’ve been irritating if his fussy attention to detail had not saved Quantum hundreds of thousands of dollars.
“Pencil me in for tomorrow, Natalie. I have details you’ll need for the Washington trip.”
“New information?” His prior briefings had seemed utterly complete.
Jerome nodded three times in rapid succession. “I’ve been talking with Quint Crawford. He pointed out a contract clause I might have overlooked in my accounting review.”
Not only was it hard to believe that fidgety little Jerome had allowed any detail to escape his scrutiny, but she was surprised to hear that Quint had been so cleverly precise. “Really?”
“Tomorrow,” he repeated. “Gotta go. I’m late.”
As Jerome bustled toward the exit, Natalie was reminded of the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland, running off with his pocket watch and mumbling about being late for a very important date. No such image occurred when she saw Quint sauntering toward her.
“Miss Natalie,” he said, ignoring her instruction to call her only Natalie, “I hate to trouble you, but I have one more request for today.”
Now what? “Yes?”
“I’d like to stretch my legs a bit,” he drawled. “May I walk you home?”
Suspiciously, she asked, “How do you know I live close enough to walk?”
“Your daddy might have mentioned your address.”
She glanced across the room toward Henry, a man she hadn’t called “daddy” since she was a very little girl. It seemed he was pushing her toward Quint who was—apparently—an eligible bachelor. Never mind that he was definitely not her type. Never mind that he was still grieving the loss of his wife. Her “daddy” wanted them to spend time together. “Dear daddy” was doing a lot of pushing