CHAPTER TWO
CAZ hadn’t intended to sling the O’Connell woman over his shoulder like a sack of grain.
He hadn’t intended to deal with her at all. Oh, he wanted to, all right. Hell, yes, he wanted to. Simpson had told him how he’d given the woman a simple assignment, how she’d tried to make it seem as if he’d promised her something he hadn’t…
And how she’d threatened to discredit him and Suliyam if she didn’t get a job she wanted.
How dare she attempt to blackmail him?
He’d felt the rage churning inside him. His ancestors would have known how to deal with the woman.
Damn it, so did he.
Caz was the one who snorted now as he strode down the hall, past startled faces, the O’Connell woman beating her fists against his shoulders and yelling words a decent woman should not even think.
There was no need to go back to an earlier generation. Ninety percent of the men in Suliyam would know how to deal with her, and that was just the problem. After his hurried conversation with her boss, he’d known that if he let himself show his anger, he might as well put up a sign in Times Square that told the world he and his nation were still living in the dark ages.
So he’d decided to ignore her. There was no reason for him to get involved. After all, Simpson said he’d made it clear to her that he was not going to give her the job.
“I took care of things, your highness,” he’d said. “She’s just one of those prickly feminists. You know the type.”
Caz did, indeed. The western world was filled with them. They weren’t soft-spoken or soft and welcoming, a safe harbor for a man who spent his days on the financial and political battlefields where empires were won and lost.
They were hard-edged and aggressive, unattractive and unfeminine.
He didn’t enjoy their company. He certainly didn’t understand them. Why would a woman want to behave like a man? But he’d learned not to underestimate their business skills, as long as they followed the rules.
If a woman wanted to play in a man’s world, Caz expected her to play a man’s game.
Threatening a lawsuit when none was warranted, pretending that things had been promised you when they hadn’t, were things a woman would do.
Not a man.
Megan O’Connell slammed a fist between his shoulder blades. Caz grunted, stalked into Simpson’s office and dumped her on a tweed-covered sofa. Then he stood back, folded his arms and glared at her.
She glared straight back. Didn’t she have any sense of shame? Of guilt? Nobody glowered at him. Nobody! Didn’t she realize who he was?
Of course she did. She just didn’t care. He had to admire her courage.
He had to admire her looks, too. She didn’t appear unfeminine, even in that shapeless blue suit. And she certainly wasn’t unattractive, despite the blouse buttoned to the neck and the auburn hair tied back so tightly from her face that it made her sculpted cheekbones stand out like elegant arches. Her shoes were better suited to the legs of a soccer player than to ones that were so long, so artfully curved, so…
The woman sprang to her feet. ‘‘Who in hell do you think you are!”
“Sit down, Miss O’Connell.”
“I will not sit down. I will not tolerate this kind of treatment.” Eyes bright with anger, she started toward the door. “And I will not stay in this room with you for another—”
Caz kept his eyes on her as he reached back and slammed the door.
“I said, sit down.”
“You have no authority here, mister! All I have to do is yell for help and—”
“And?” He smiled unpleasantly. “What will happen, Miss O’Connell? Do you really expect your boss to come running to your assistance after the threats you made?”
“What threats?” She folded her arms, lifted her chin and set one of those ugly shoes tapping with impatience. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Caz narrowed his eyes. Oh, yes. She was tough. She was also beautiful, but that didn’t change a thing. She was prepared to ruin his plans for his country and his people for her own selfish purposes, and he would not tolerate it.