The Sheikh's Convenient Bride

“Perhaps you’d like to tell me what threats I made.”

“Don’t waste my time, Miss O’Connell. The head of your office told me everything.”

“Really.” The foot-tapping increased in tempo. “And just what did he tell you?”

Caz’s glower deepened. Simpson had told him more than enough to brand this woman as a schemer ready to lie and cheat and do whatever it took to get what she wanted, and what she wanted was the Suliyam account. She’d stop at nothing to get it, including threatening to file a lawsuit on the grounds that she was being discriminated against because of her sex.

“He explained what you said, your highness, that you cannot permit a woman to work alongside you.”

Caz had never said any such thing. Not exactly. He’d simply explained that the status of women was an evolving issue in his country.

Simpson had assured him he understood. Obviously he hadn’t. And now, Megan O’Connell was talking about hiring a lawyer.

Caz didn’t give a damn about that. His attorneys would have the complaint dismissed without trouble. Suliyam’s traditions were its own. No one could tell him or his people what to do or how to do it, not Megan O’Connell or all the lawyers and judges in the world.

Besides, the issue of her sex was secondary.

The woman was demanding a position for which she wasn’t qualified. The man who’d actually created the proposal—someone named Fisher—was right for the job. His work had been excellent. It was the reason Caz had signed a contract with Tremont, Burnside and Macomb.

Megan O’Connell didn’t have a legal leg to stand on. She knew it, too. Hadn’t she admitted it to Simpson? You’d never win a lawsuit, Simpson said he’d told her, and she’d countered by saying she didn’t care about winning.

Impugning Suliyam’s name in the press and, worse still, in business and financial circles, would be enough for her.

Caz couldn’t let that happen. Wouldn’t let it happen. He’d spent the last five years readying his people for emergence from the past, but some among them would grasp any opportunity to end the progress he’d made. There were too many factions aligned against him. One whiff of scandal, one headline…

“Are you deaf, Sheikh Qasim? Or have you decided you made a mistake, conversing with a mere female?”

She was all but breathing fire now. Her face was flushed, her eyes were wide and dark; her hair was coming undone and tumbling around her face in wild curls. The suit and shoes were still ugly as sin but from the neck up, she looked like a woman who’d just risen from bed.

His bed.

The thought was unsettling. She was beautifu

l, yes, but her heart wasn’t a woman’s heart. She was intent on blackmail, and he was the target.

“It was your Mr. Simpson who made the mistake, Miss O’Connell, by letting things go too far.”

Megan blinked. “What things?”

“It serves no purpose to pretend innocence.” Caz folded his arms. “I told you, I know about your threats. Your Mr. Simpson—”

“He is not my anything!”

“He is your boss.”

“He’s a fool. So what?”

“He did what he could to keep the peace.”

“Excuse me?”

“He was foolish to try. As soon as you began demanding undue credit for the little work you did, helping to draft that proposal—”

“Helping?” Megan gave a brittle laugh. “I wrote that proposal.”

“No, you did not.”

“Damn it!” Megan could almost feel the adrenaline racing through her veins. A couple of hours ago, she’d have voted Jerry Simpson Idiot of the Year. What a mistake that would have been. The barbarian barring the door was winner of the title, hands down. “You know what? I’ve had it.” Resolutely she started toward the door again. “You get out of my way.”