Valentine Vegas Gigolo Sheikh (10 page)

He inhaled deeply, centering his thoughts, fighting the anger rising in him. Anger, because French, he had to admit, was right. He had asked for input on his plan instead of simply implementing it.

His behavior all stemmed from his frustration with Stacia. She was difficult and contradictory. He could never guess what would emerge from her mouth next.

He loved her, and he lost her by telling her the truth about herself. Perhaps that had been another miscalculation on his part. But Stacia needed to confront her own behavior so she could move past it. He would never be the kind of man she could control.

French shot him a skewed smile. "I think you know everything I could tell you already, sir.

"Unlike everyone else in my life, I cannot predict what she will do," he admitted. Though he was beginning to believe that Stacia wasn't the only one who could surprise him. Before this afternoon, he wouldn't have believed French would speak to him this way.

"That's what you like most about her, isn't it?" French asked. Without waiting for an answer, he went on. "You don't really want to manipulate her into liking you. I think you want her to figure it out for herself, without you pulling strings and making her dance. If that's what you want, you have to step back and realize that it's her call. Just put it into her hands."

"But she may not do what I want her to."

"True," French agreed. "But if she does come to you, you'll know that she did it because she loves you, too. It's a risk. Probably the biggest risk of your life."

"I see," he said. Yet he had his doubts. He had always found a way to make others see the rightness of his opinions and plans. Why couldn't he do the same with Stacia?

"I'll head out." French rose from his chair, taking his BlackBerry from the leather holster on his belt. So that he could check it as soon as he was out the door, Zaqwan supposed. "If you need to talk more about this, let me know."

"Certainly," he said. But they both knew he wouldn't.

After French had gone, he stared out the window at the traffic patterns on the street, sipping the rum and Coke he had made himself. He should stop drinking them, he told himself. They reminded him of those nights in Vegas. Reminded him of her.

But the memory of her made him smile to himself. As he did, the orderly dots beneath his feet became something more. They became individuals, not merely a pattern. They became Stacias and Frenches and even Alessandros. Each with their own desires and surprises in their lives.

French was right. The internal admission caused him physical pain. Not because he had to face being wrong, but because it meant he could lose Stacia and not do anything about it. He had to accept that the most interesting person he had ever met might never be in his life again.

But he would drink rum and Coke every day, he decided.

There was one last thing he had to do. The final thing that tied them together needed to be severed.

He opened the smallest drawer in his desk. It held only one item.

An envelope containing five hundred dollars.

Chapter ten

"Have you made your choice, ma'am?"

Stacia cringed at the big box tech store employee's 'ma'am.' It was just politeness, she knew from the guy's Texan accent, but it made her feel old. He'd been very knowledgeable about the flat-screen TVs, enthusing about the difference between LCD and LED and asking about the angles of light in her living room.

Her choice. The big decision of what to do with the money that had arrived at her house in the mail two weeks ago. Five hundred dollars in an envelope that had the logo of a Las Vegas hotel on it.

It had been inside another envelope. One made of creamy thick paper with the royal seal of Ittar and the return address of one of the tallest skyscrapers in New York. An office, she guessed. He was probably sitting smugly behind a desk there right now, trying to negotiate contracts for his fragrances. Well, it had been a frigid winter and she hoped he had frozen his buns off.

Okay, no she didn't. His buns were an international treasure that belonged in a museum for all to enjoy.

"Ma'am?" the employee asked.

She plopped back into reality, returning from her pleasant daydream of Zaqwan's backside. "Yes," she said. "I've made my decision. Which one did you say you recommended again?"

The Texan pointed it out.

"Perfect. Just what I want."

As he went off to get some bar code scanned or something, Stacia rubbed her hands together. They hadn't been warm for a long time. Since Vegas, actually.

The Texan came back with her paper and told her all she had to do was take it to the cash where they'd ring it up for her. She took one glance at her choice. Yes, the TV was exactly what she wanted to get with the money. Something frivolous and selfish. Something she didn't need in any way.

She treated the Texan to a broad grin as she thanked him.

He nodded. Very seriously, he told her, "I'm sure you'll be very happy together. I'll bring it to the cash for you. Take your time."

That was all it took to sour her mood. She grinned wider, hiding her real emotions, and turned to go.

They'd be very happy together.
Was that some kind of crack at her expense? How did he know she wasn't with somebody? She might be buying it as a present.

She strolled the aisles, wandering her way toward the cash. The iPads caught her eye. Maybe that's what she wanted instead.

No. No, she told herself. If you change your mind again, I will hurt you.

The truth was she'd been trying to spend the money since the day the envelope arrived in her mail. It hadn't worked.

First, she'd thought about a vacation. With her new job, she could afford to blow the five hundred on whatever she wanted.
Just like he told you
, her inner voice said, and not for the first time.

She'd decided she wanted something special, luxurious, maybe even a bit decadent. An exotic trip? Perfect.

But mixed in with the Caribbean resorts had been cheap airfare to Ittar. Before she knew it, she'd been poking around Wikipedia, investigating the place. Of course there'd been a picture of the Crown Prince. She'd had to stare at it for a while to identify why she barely recognized him, and decided it was his hair, which didn't spike up at the front the way he'd worn it at the wedding. He looked sexy and regal, though stuffier in an official portrait than she'd last seen him, wearing nothing but an expression of exasperated dignity.

Yet, she'd only been one click away from buying the trip before she'd stopped herself. At least she
had
stopped herself.

Next, she'd taken the envelope to a spa. She was passing it to the clerk in trade for a full day of pampering when one of the clients had walked by dressed in a fuzzy white robe. She'd freaked out and fled. Only after a calming glass of wine at home had she realized why. An entire day wearing a robe like the one she'd worn when he had taken her to bed that first night? It wouldn't be luxury. She would spend the whole day thinking about the one thing she wanted to get off her mind.

Prita was on her honeymoon to India, so dinner out didn't work. She wouldn't be back for another three weeks.

Stacia had gone to a jewelry store. Nothing really appealed to her except this one ring. A gorgeous golden topaz stone for her littlest finger. But then she remembered Zaqwan had worn a pinkie ring, and walked out of the store.

The TV. The TV was what she wanted. It would look fantastic on her wall, and she could donate her old clunker to a women's shelter. She could just imagine curling up on the couch and watching
How I Met Your Mother
reruns, wrapped in a blanket with a cup of hot chocolate.

Before she changed her mind and went for the iPad, she headed for the checkout. She pulled the envelope, still pristine and unopened, from the plum leather Kate Spade hobo bag she'd bought off eBay when she got her new job, and stood ready to hand it over.

"Did you find everything you wanted today?" asked the pretty young cashier with flesh tunnels in her ears, silvery-pink eyeliner, and smooth sapphire blue hair that would have made Katy Perry proud. "Oh, cool, you're getting that one? You've got to be so happy."

"Why?" The word blurted out of her faster than thought.

Katy Perry blinked at her, confused. "This is the best TV they've ever made. And you're getting thirty-five percent off. Best deal in the store."

"It's still just a TV," she said. "Why would it make me happy? Is it going to make me laugh? Is it going to cheer me up when I want to cry?"

"Totally." Katy Perry smiled a bubblegum smile. "Just pick the show you like. You should definitely get a gaming system, too. Go on an adventure anytime you want. Plus, when you get annoyed, you can turn it off and walk away."

Stacia's stomach burned. What did this girl thing she was doing? "Walk away? That's your answer? Just walk away? Just because it irritates you? Treat it like doesn't have feelings because it challenges you and makes you feel vulnerable? That's your standard for keeping something? That it does what you want? That you can control and manipulate it?"

The clerk just blinked at her, her silver-pink eyeliner glinting under the florescent store lights.

"Well?" Stacia demanded.

"Uh—" Katy Perry's painted lips formed a perfect zero.

Stacia folded her arms over her chest. "Maybe it actually sees you more clearly than anyone else ever had. Maybe it's right and you're wrong and you're flushing your own happiness down the toilet because you feel threatened. Maybe you
need
to feel threatened so you don't end up taking the easy road all your life."

Some part of Stacia watched her actions from outside herself, seeing her own insanity in high definition. She'd never gone off on a store clerk before.

"Is a TV going to tell me I'm beautiful or make me feel better than anyone else ever has?" she went on. "It won't cheer me up when I'm at the lowest point in my life."

"Well, it might." the clerk said. "But I'm guessing that's not really what we're talking about here."

Stacia ignored her. "A TV won't hold me or poison my boss. It won't dance with a shy little flower girl and make her year. It won't pretend to be a Vegas escort just to get in my pants."

"You don't really want the TV, do you, ma'am?" Katy Perry cancelled the sale. "Maybe what you want is something you can't buy."

It was Stacia's turn to blink.
Something you can't buy
.

The envelope weighed a million tons in her hand. It would be easy to give it up. Incredibly hard to carry it. But if she did carry it, its weight would make her stronger than she'd ever been.

"You're wrong. I can buy it. I know how much it costs, and I know where to get it." She slipped the envelope back into her purse. "Thanks for your help today."

Chapter eleven

Like everything else about her, Stacia Keating’s entrance into his office was a surprise.

None of his staff had informed him of her arrival. His security team would have stopped any other person. His efficient executive assistant would not have allowed anyone else into his office without an appointment booked two weeks in advance. Unless advised otherwise by Kayson French.

But one moment he was answering an email and the next, Stacia loomed over his computer, arms crossed under her breasts. Lips he’d kissed were pressed together in a harsh line.

“Welcome to my office, Miss Keating,” he said. “Please, I will only be a moment.”

It took everything in him to keep his hands on the keyboard, to appear calm. He had to fight his first instinct to take her in his arms and kiss her until she stopped resisting him.

Instead, he attempted not to look at her, which took great effort, and continued typing. It was gibberish, of course, random characters that did not even resemble words.

She disliked being ignored as much as he expected.

To press the issue, she opened her large purple purse, which no doubt contained everything she would need for any situation she might encounter, and removed a cream-colored rectangle he would never forget for the rest of his life.

She threw it down on his still-moving fingers.

The envelope. Unopened.

He stopped typing—pretending to type.

So this was to be the end, then. She had come to return the money. In sending it to her, he had only intended to communicate that he was open to discussion. And perhaps, to apologize.

She had taken it as a final insult.

At least she had come. He did not let himself hope that he could somehow win her affection back. No, he had miscalculated in analyzing her behavior that second night in Vegas. The criticism had been too much for her to take.

With any other woman, he would have waited until they were tied together more closely, allowed her the upper hand for a few months, and then broached the subject more diplomatically. Yet, he had no desire to manipulate Stacia that way. He didn't want to play roles with her the way he did with others.

First, he had been cast in the part of the dutiful, grateful guest in another's family's house, dependent on benefactors to support him, always aware that support could be withdrawn at any time. He'd learned to please others, to make himself useful, out of fear of what would happen if he did not. Then he had learned to be the consummate royal son and servant to the nation, somehow still fearing his position would be ripped away from him should he say or do the wrong thing.

But pretending to be Zaq the male escort had allowed her to see a side of himself he never showed to others.

And now the envelope, the final tie between them, rested on his stilled fingers. He slowly raised his gaze to meet her flashing, angry eyes.

“Ah,” he said.

“Ah? That’s all you have to say? I came all the way here, and I get ‘Ah’?” Her eyes narrowed to slits. Every inch of her portrayed belligerence, from the set of her lips to the tension of her fingertips now resting on his desk.