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“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 all our guests. Are you a guest here, Ms….?” Lissa raised politely inquiring eyebrows.
“Yes, of course,” the brunette said, a little too quickly. She offered a hand. “Marta Hunter.”
Lissa touched the woman’s fingers and let go. She didn’t want extended contact with Marta Hunter. A strong grasp could trigger any of Lissa’s array of magical abilities. She didn’t want to inadvertently cast a curse or start a fire.
More than being the ordinary concierge Lilith Peterson, Lissa Bessart Piers was a member of the royal family of the enchanted realm of Silestia. Because she’d cursed her spoiled, disobedient niece seven years before, Lissa felt a responsibility to remain in Meredith’s life, making sure Merry remained safe while she worked to lift the curse.
But Lissa’s disguise as a concierge carried obligations, such as caring for the needs of La Torchere’s guests. She said, “Good morning, Ms. Hunter. We haven’t met before, have we?”
“I arrived early this morning on the first ferry of the day.”
“Welcome to La Torchere. How can I help you?”
“I’m looking for the sheik, Prince Kamar ibn-Asad,” Hunter said.
“Oh, I recall making a breakfast reservation for Mr. Asad’s party,” Lissa said. “If you move along, you should catch them in The Greenhouse.”
Upon seeing it for the first time, Selina thought that The Greenhouse deserved the appellation edifice. A massive glass structure with fanciful Victorian-style domes and turrets, it not only housed a casually elegant café but a glorious collection of tropical greenery.
It was crowded with plants, which in her apartment remained measly little sprouts. She had a nice pothos vine at home, but here a pothos wound heart-shaped leaves the size of dinner plates high around the bole of a graceful palm, fully twenty feet into the moist, scented air. Ferns that struggled to survive in D.C. grew to prehistoric heights here.
Masses of orchids, sporting exotic colors, shapes and fragrances, were set in banks around mossy stones. A natural-looking spring flowed through The Greenhouse from a waterfall at one end to a pool at the other, surrounding a slate-floored “island” where a group of linen-draped tables were clustered.
Holding her grandfather’s arm, Selina, cautious in new sandals, negotiated a rickety bridge to the island. When she’d purchased the red dress, she’d bought other clothing to last her for the week, including the denim shorts and T-shirt she now wore with the slippery-soled sandals.
Safely on the rough gray slate, she looked for and found Kam Asad seated at a large table. Like her grandfather, he evidently liked to read, for several newspapers were spread over the white cloth. His cell phone sat next to a silver pot. As she watched, he refilled his cup before turning a page of the paper.
A polo shirt stretched across Kam’s truly admirable torso, showing muscled forearms. The emerald-green shirt set off his amber skin and thin gold watch. The only other item of jewelry he wore was his diamond stud, a rakish touch.
She couldn’t check out his legs because they were under the table. But when she and her grandfather approached Kam’s table, he stood until Jerry had seated her. His legs matched his arms in terms of their fitness, and she had to admit that Kam was a total stud muffin. If he weren’t such a jerk, she might even be attracted to him.
“Good morning, Selina, Jerry,” he said. He handed her a menu before pouring her a cup of tea.
His old-fashioned chivalry disarmed her, and she said, “Good morning, Kam,” as courteously as she could, even though she didn’t drink tea. She assumed that he had developed his tea habit while at Cambridge.
Opening the menu, she scanned the breakfast selections. “Too bad I don’t like breakfast. There’s a lot to choose from here. Even potatoes.” She winked at Kam.
“You will never forget that incident with the vodka, will you?” He leaned back in his chair with an uneasy smile.
Jerry kicked her under the table, and she said, “Um, consider yourself unforgettable. It’s not a bad thing.”
He visibly relaxed. “Why do you not like breakfast?”
She shrugged. “It’s just such a strange meal. Except for fruit, almost everything is carbohydrates or fried. It’s as though you’re not allowed to eat anything healthy in the morning.”
“Cereals are healthy. Are there not some of your corny crunchies on the menu?” He waved at a passing server.
“I doubt it. At this point we’re just designing the ad campaign. The cereal won’t be on the market for some months.”
“When I traveled to Japan, I ate soup with tea in the morning. It seemed quite healthful.”
“Soup and tea? I’ll have to try that sometime. But for now, I guess I’ll just have a croissant and coffee.” She slid the menu in the direction of the server.
“And you, sir?” the server asked Jerry.
Jerry ordered a full breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast, while Kam, like Selina, ordered a croissant. “And fresh fruit compotes for the lady and me.” He smiled at her as the server left.
She smiled back at Kam. “Thanks. What did you do in Japan?”
“What I am doing here. Opened diplomatic relations, rented an embassy, found markets for our diamonds.” Though he’d lowered his voice, Prince Kam had evidently accepted that Selina was Jerry’s confidante.
“We have a few minutes before our orders arrive, so…” Jerry opened his briefcase and took out a stack of printouts.
“Yes, let us get to business.” Kam looked toward the paperwork. “Are these from your multiple listing service?”
“Yes.” Jerry slid the printouts across the table to Kam. “I weeded out the obviously unsuitable properties, but—”
Jerry broke off when Kam’s gaze left their table to focus on the bridge to the café. He said something in Arabic that sounded vaguely irritable before flipping over the printouts so no information showed. He said, “Let me handle this, all right?”
A brunette with narrow, pale features and a chin-length bob neared, whipping out a small black box from a side pocket of her gray pantsuit. Thrusting it at Kam’s face, she clicked a button. The box began to whir, and Selina guessed it was a tape recorder.
“I’m talking with Prince Kamar ibn-Asad, emissary from Zohra-zbel, labeled by People magazine as the ‘sexy sheik.’ Prince Kamar, are you here in Florida to close a deal involving diamond futures on the world market?” the brunette asked.
“I beg your pardon.” Kam gently moved the box away from his face, pressing the button to stop the recorder. “I am not in the habit of discussing business with women I do not know.”
The brunette stuck out her hand. “Marta Hunter, from the National Devourer magazine.”
“Ms. Hunter, I am not authorized to make a statement for your magazine. Please forgive me.” Kam’s voice was polite, but he barely touched the woman’s hand.
“Our readers have a right to know if your country’s machinations will alter the world diamond market.”
Kam raised his brows. “I am not involved in any machinations, I assure you. I am only eating breakfast with my friends.” His gesture encompassed Selina and Jerry.
“And you are…” Marta Hunter’s avid gaze fixed on Selina.
Remembering the need for security, Selina said with a smile, “I’m just someone who’s eating breakfast.”
Kam grinned and gave her a thumbs-up.
“I smell a story here,” Hunter said.
“I smell tea here.” Although she preferred coffee, Selina picked up her cup and sipped, waiting for the reporter to leave.
The server, laden with filled plates, came to their table. “Shall I set another place?” She eyed Hunter while setting out the breakfasts, including Selina’s coffee.
“No,” Kam said. “This lady was just leaving. Ms. Hunter, are you a guest at this resort? I was told that only guests and employees were allowed on this island. Otherwise, I would not come here.”
The server scrutinized the reporter. “If you aren’t a registered guest, ma’am, I’ll have to call security. They’ll escort you to the ferry.”
Hunter reared back defensively. “I’m a guest here, just like these folks.” From another pocket, she hauled out a card key embellished with the candelabra-shaped resort logo.
Kam grimaced. “Can’t you get rid of her?” he asked the server, who paled.
“You’re in a difficult position,” Selina said to the server, mentally chastising Kam for again mistreating staff. “Sorry.”
“Just our luck,” Jerry said. “Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag, Kam. We might as well come clean.”
Selina stared at her grandfather. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kam’s brown eyes widen. The server fled.
