The Sheikh's Stubborn Assistant (The Sharif Sheikhs 3)

Khalid glared at her with his hands balled up in fists. “Katie,” he said coldly. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“Pajamas,” she said, a little too breathlessly. “The girls and I are having a pajama party.”

“And that’s what you sleep in?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Your sister bought these for me. I sleep naked.”

Was it her imagination, or did his breath just get a little more shallow? All he said, however, was, “You didn’t throw the suggestion box away.”

“If you’d like to reprimand me, I suggest that you wait until work tomorrow. You may fancy yourself my boss both in and out of work, but I am not your employee right now. I’m a guest in your home, and if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get some pizza before your sisters eat it all.”

Brushing past him, she headed down the hall, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment. There was no doubt in her mind that he was staring at her ass.

Tasty.

The fundraiser was in full swing. Khalid walked around and greeted all the guests. Most of them were men with beautiful women on their arms. The place reeked of old money and even older traditions.

“Khalid.” An older woman stepped into his path with a stern look on her face. In her heyday, she had been beautiful, but she hadn’t aged gracefully, and the plastic surgery had only made things worse. Too many tucks and lifts had left a permanently disapproving look on her face.

Of course, that also reflected her disposition.

Ziva was the matriarch of a wealthy family with a vast collection of artwork. She was a frequent donor to the museum, and she believed that her generosity gave her grounds to act as boss and curator as well.

“Ziva.” Khalid nodded his head in a show of respect. “Lovely that you could join us this evening.”

“I was informed that you fired the girl I personally vetted as the assistant. Care to explain yourself?” She fingered the huge diamonds that hung around her neck as if to remind him of the kind of weight that she carried.

Khalid wasn’t in the mood to be pushed around. “My employees are none of your business, Ziva.”

“I saw the girl that you hired in her place. An American.” Ziva looked beyond him to the podium where Katie stood. “Beautiful woman. I can see the appeal, but she is a stranger. She is not one of us.”

Khalid struggled to hold on to his temper. What Ziva was conveniently leaving out was that Thalia was Ziva’s niece. She had no experience in galleries or art, and she also had no interest in the topic. Ziva had hoped that the arrangement would lead to a wedding and combine their two powerful families.

Taking a deep breath, he plowed on. “Your girl was late nearly every day that she worked for me. She had no interest in her duties, and she didn’t take direction well.”

He started to walk around the older woman, but she stopped him again. “I heard a rumor that you were interested in dedicating a wing to street art.”

“Indie artists are not street art, Ziva. I opened this gallery to support the Dubai art culture.”

Ziva rolled her eyes. “That’s what fundraisers are for, Khalid. I would highly suggest that you not be rash about any changes. Your donors are pleased with your museum as it is. I can’t imagine you’ll get too many collectors who will be eager to share their prized possessions among pages of coloring books and Play-Doh sculptures.”

Khalid had a scalding response ready to deliver, but someone else lightly touched his arm and interrupted them.

“Ziva,” Amira said with a fake smile. “Lovely to see you.”

If possible, Ziva’s frown deepened. “Amira. I see that your father has yet to find you a suitable husband.”

Amira wasn’t at all offended. “He’s certainly been trying, but apparently there are no men who can handle me. It appears that those of my generation of sheikhs no longer have a backbone. How’s that son of yours?”

It was well known that Ziva’s son had publicly announced his intentions to wed Amira, and had been single-minded in his pursuit—until the girl’s father gave Amira the freedom to choose her own husband. She had turned Ziva’s son down immediately, and Ziva had never forgiven her for it. “Happily married to a woman from a reputable family.”

“Really? Because I saw him just last week, and he had a . . .”

Khalid cleared his throat before Amira could tell Ziva that her son had been parading his new girlfriend around town. “Ziva, please excuse us. I see someone I need to speak to.” Grabbing Amira’s arm, he steered her away.

“I hate that woman,” Amira growled. “I do not understand why you accept her donations.”

“Her connections and donations keep the gallery open. I don’t like her, either, but I don’t need you insulting her.”