Under the Sheik's Protection. C.J. Miller
other words, having something to serve more than coffee and tea—was crucial.
“My GPS says I’ll be there in ten minutes,” the caterer said.
In D.C. morning traffic, that meant thirty. Sarah reminded herself that losing it on the caterer wouldn’t make the food arrive faster. “Come directly to the back entrance. I’ll meet you there.”
Sarah disconnected her call. After sending someone to buy muffins and donuts at a nearby shop, Sarah turned her attention to the meeting room.
Owen, the chairman of the committee, had arrived and was sitting at the end of the conference table, his leather binder open in front of him. Happy to see a familiar face, Sarah hurried to greet him.
“Good morning, Owen,” she said, slipping her arm around his shoulder and kissing his cheek.
“How’s everything going?” he asked, looking around the room with a scrutinizing gaze.
She wouldn’t let anyone see her sweat. She hadn’t told him about the break-in at her apartment, and she wouldn’t burden him with it now. Her personal problems did not enter this space. “The caterer is running a little late, but I have coffee and tea ready. I sent someone to pick up donuts to tide us over. Do you know if there were any problems at the hotel? I called the front desk last night to confirm everything was set for the emir, but he hadn’t arrived yet. Is he planning to check in before this meeting or later?”
Owen touched her shoulder. “Relax. If there was a problem, we would have heard about it. I am sure the accommodations will be fine.”
Sarah’s tone must have given away her anxiety. She relaxed her shoulders. Coming off tense and edgy wouldn’t accomplish the job she’d been given.
“I heard from the rehab center early this morning,” Owen said, lowering his voice.
Her anxiety shot up again. “Did something happen?” she asked, regretting immediately that she had. She’d wanted to close the door on that part of her life. If Alec had left rehab, if he had run away or had gotten into an altercation with the staff or one of the patients she couldn’t afford another place. As it was, she was counting on the payment for this job to cover most of the expense.
“He’s refusing to take part in the group therapy. If he doesn’t cooperate he’ll be kicked out of the program,” Owen said.
This time, rehab had been court-mandated thanks to an assault charge from a barroom brawl. If Alec left rehab, he was headed to jail. The idea of it made her feel sick. Alec couldn’t see how serious the consequences for his actions had become. Either that, or he didn’t care. Their marriage, his job and his relationships with his siblings had been damaged or broken. It seemed nothing mattered to him except his next fix.
“I’m sorry, Owen. I can’t get involved.” She forced away the guilt that crept over her. It had taken her a long time to understand she couldn’t help Alec. In fact, sometimes, she wondered if she had enabled him to indulge in bad habits more by covering for him. She had believed Alec’s lies and after a while, everything he said was a lie. He was quick to claim he was trying, that he just needed another chance and that he was doing better, and she, wanting to believe it would get better, had been quick to accept what he’d said. Every time it had been a lie, and every time her heart had broken a little more.
She, Owen, Alec’s twin sister Evelyn and Alec’s therapists had agreed Alec had to face the consequences of his decisions without any of them swooping in to fix it. Especially her. She had been the weak link, being the safe place for him to land.
“I’m not asking you to.” Owen covered his face with his hand. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t mean to bring this up. We agreed to let Alec handle this. I just don’t have anyone else to talk to who understands him the way you do.”
Owen’s marriage was on the rocks. His wife, Chelsea, was the daughter of a prominent state senator, and some assumed his position was a result of nepotism. Sarah knew Owen had earned it. “I know,” she whispered. How many times had she called Owen and Evelyn over the years when they were trying to help Alec? When he hadn’t come home at night and she was terrified for him. When he was in a stupor for days and she couldn’t get through to him.
Several more people entered the room and Sarah introduced herself as the hostess and escorted them to the hot drinks.
“Do you have black coffee?” Virginia Anderson, the representative from the American oil company, asked. She had barely looked up from her phone as she typed with her thumbs.
Sarah was struck by how svelte and refined she appeared. From her perfectly done hair and makeup, to the thousand-dollar designer handbag on her arm to the expensive shoes, she was the image of success and power. Sarah wished she had spent a little more time on her appearance that morning. Her clothes had been destroyed and she’d borrowed something from Molly. Used to blending into the background at events, Sarah had known she would have more visibility during these small, frequent meetings. Wishing she had a closet of designer outfits to hold a candle to the attendees, she brushed aside her self-conscious reaction and turned her attention to her arriving guests.
The door opened and a familiar man stepped through it. It was Adham, one of Barr’s companions. Had Barr tracked her here? She cleared her throat where emotion was building and strode to the door. This wasn’t the time or place for a reunion with her one-night stand. How had he found her?
Then Barr stepped inside and her heart and movement stalled.
“Good morning, Sarah,” he said. His voice was firm and commanding, loud enough for the room to hear him. The words were warm and gentle like a caress and images from the night they’d spent in each other’s arms flashed to mind. His gaze raked over her, and she felt his desire in her core. Her body responded instantly. He’d given her that same look the night they’d met and she could interpret exactly what it meant. He wanted her naked beneath him. If history could predict the future, she wouldn’t say no.
Everyone in the room turned and Sarah panicked. She couldn’t cause a scene. She’d be fired. She strode to him and kept her voice low in response. “Barr. What are you doing here?”
His hair was neat, his suit fit him well, as if it was custom-made, which it probably was. Maybe he had a meeting in the area and had glimpsed her when the door had opened. He would say hello and wouldn’t stay for more than a moment.
“Sarah? You’ve already met the emir?” Owen asked, coming to her side.
Like the final puzzle piece snapping into place, understanding slammed into her and Sarah saw the whole picture. The men who accompanied him, the expensive hotel suite, the accent and the name. Barr was Saafir bin Jassim Al Sharani, the emir of Qamsar. She had read that his mother’s maiden name was Barr.
Had he realized who she was the other night? No surprise registered on his face now, so he must have. “Welcome,” she said, injecting confidence into her voice. Should she pretend as if they were meeting for the first time and that she hadn’t been writhing beneath him, screaming his name Saturday night?
Was that hurt in his eyes? Or pride? How did he expect her to react? “It’s a pleasure to see you,” he said.
Nervous energy churned in her stomach. The word “pleasure” felt punctuated with innuendo, or was it just her imagination? She wouldn’t say anything, not with the members of the trade agreement committee staring at the emir and at her.
Barr introduced her to his colleague Frederick, a man who served as one of Barr’s advisors.
Somehow, Sarah managed to give her practiced greeting and offer both men drinks she hoped they’d enjoy. Why hadn’t Barr told her who he was? He’d had the opportunity.
“Please excuse me, I’m meeting the caterer in a few minutes,” Sarah said, fleeing to the back entrance. She would do the job she had been hired for and not think about her one-night stand reappearing in her life.
Needing to get some fresh air, Sarah stepped outside to the alley where the