The Sheikh's Convenient Bride

Would she accept? Her career had just done a 180, and the man was asking if she’d accept!

“You’d still be working for Tremont, Burnside and Macomb at your regular salary arrangement, but I’d add a bonus.”

“Really,” she said, hoping she sounded casual.

Caz named a figure. Megan decided it was a good thing he was still holding her arm or she might have fainted with shock.

“Is that satisfactory, Miss O’Connell?”

It was wild, not satisfactory, but she wasn’t going to let him off that easy.

“You offered more when you thought you could buy me off.”

He nodded. “Very well. One hundred thousand dollars. Will that do?”

“It will,” she said, as if that much money fell into her lap every day.

“Good.” He hesitated. “There’s just one problem.”

“What problem?”

“The status of women in the traditional culture of my country.”

“You mean, their status in your eyes.”

“That isn’t what I said.”

“You are Suliyam, your highness. You made that clear this morning. All you have to do is wave your scepter and change their status.”

“It isn’t that simple, damn it! I—”

He what? He was a master at international diplomacy, but how could he explain the culture of his forefathers to a fiery American redhead? She’d never understand it, even if he had the time, and he didn’t. He was expected home tomorrow.

“If you expect me to help you, you’re going to have to accept the fact that I’m a woman.”

Accept it? Caz narrowed his eyes. He was painfully aware of it, even more so now that he was standing close to her, inhaling a faint lemony fragrance that reminded him of the orchards at Khaliar in midsummer.

“I can accept it,” he said carefully. “However, despite your view of me, Miss O’Connell, I can’t change centuries of tradition in my country overnight.”

“Then how can you offer me a job?”

She wasn’t going to like this, and he knew it. ‘‘There’s only one solution. I’ll openly acknowledge you as my consultant in-house, at Tremont, Burnside and Macomb. In financial circles in general, if you wish.’’ He cleared his throat. ‘‘But we’ll adhere to Simpson’s plan. Fisher will fly to Suliyam with me, you’ll stay here and—’’

“No.”

“I’ll double your bonus.”

“I said no.”

“Miss O’Connell—”

Megan folded her arms and began tapping her foot. Not a good sign, Caz thought uneasily. He remembered that from the morning.

“You really have a problem with that word,” she said coldly. “Must be a cultural thing. Here, in the States, ‘en oh’ means—”

“I know what it means,” Caz said, trying hard to sound reasonable, “but these are special circumstances.”

“You’re right. You want me to help you perpetuate a lie.”