Investments prides itself on its impeccable reputation. As I'm sure you can understand, when someone trusts you with their money, any hint of impropriety can have devastating effects, not just on your actual business, but also on your reputation. And in this business, your reputation is everything." He took a slow, deep breath. His gaze never left hers. "I have assured my investors that this problem would be solved immediately, and although I have ample insurance to cover such an occurrence, it is my name on the firm, and I have vowed to personally make good on every single penny invested and due. We're in the process of personally distributing checks now to every investor to cover any losses, differences or discrepancies."
"You have that kind of money?" The question popped out before she could stop it. She glanced around. This was no mom-and-pop store, but a big-league operation that no doubt had millions of dollars invested in it.
The mere idea of having that kind of indeterminable wealth almost stopped her heart.
For someone who had struggled, pinched pennies, worked two jobs just to put herself through school, and had gone deeply in debt just to start her own fledging computer consulting business and had worked like a dog for seven years to make a go of it, the thought of endless funds seemed like nirvana.
And this man discussed it without so much as a blip in his voice.
"But of course," he said simply, as if they were talking about pocket change. "Why, are you planning on raising your rates?"
She couldn't help but grin. "Well, I hadn't thought of it before, but now, I just might consider it."
"Ms. Martin, I am Sheik Ali El-Etra." The way he said it made her wonder if she was supposed to bow or something.
"So I've heard, since everyone around here keeps telling me, although I can't possibly imagine why." Apparently she was supposed to be impressed.
She wasn't.
"It means nothing to you?" For a moment he didn't know if he should be annoyed or amused. Most women he encountered had all but done a Dunn and Bradstreet check on him before he ever met them.
"I don't have a clue what your title means or why it should be important to anyone but you."
He couldn't help the little stab to his ego. "My title, Ms. Martin, merely means that I am of royal blood."
"Royal blood?" One brow rose suspiciously. "Right." This time the sigh from behind her was louder, and laced with just a bit of…panic, she thought. "Royal blood?" she repeated with a frown, considering. "You mean like a king or queen or something."
"Or something," he admitted with a slow nod.
"And of course no one thought it was important to mention this little tidbit to me?" she asked, feeling just a tad embarrassed by her own behavior. He was a client, and just because he'd been rude, didn't mean she had to be.
He just annoyed her so with his arrogant, high-handed orders and demands. As if the world revolved around him.
"Would it have changed your behavior if you had known?" Or your viperous tongue, he wondered.
"Probably not," she admitted honestly. "Unless you have the power to have someone beheaded."
He threw back his head and laughed, the sound rich as it rumbled around the room. "I'm afraid, Ms. Martin, that we no longer behead people." He flashed her a brilliant smile. Faith felt as if the temperature in the office rose twenty degrees. "Too messy."
"Well, I'm grateful for small favors."
Cocking his head, he studied her. "And would it have mattered anyway?"
"The beheading?"
He shook his head, amused. "No, my bloodlines."
"Not unless you plan on running in the Kentucky Derby." She shrugged. "Otherwise, your bloodlines don't matter one whit to me."
He laughed again. It had been a very long time since anyone had dared to speak to him so freely. Not since his beloved grandmother. But this woman certainly did not remind him of his grandmother.
On the contrary, she was young and vibrant, with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue. And he found
"You have that kind of money?" The question popped out before she could stop it. She glanced around. This was no mom-and-pop store, but a big-league operation that no doubt had millions of dollars invested in it.
The mere idea of having that kind of indeterminable wealth almost stopped her heart.
For someone who had struggled, pinched pennies, worked two jobs just to put herself through school, and had gone deeply in debt just to start her own fledging computer consulting business and had worked like a dog for seven years to make a go of it, the thought of endless funds seemed like nirvana.
And this man discussed it without so much as a blip in his voice.
"But of course," he said simply, as if they were talking about pocket change. "Why, are you planning on raising your rates?"
She couldn't help but grin. "Well, I hadn't thought of it before, but now, I just might consider it."
"Ms. Martin, I am Sheik Ali El-Etra." The way he said it made her wonder if she was supposed to bow or something.
"So I've heard, since everyone around here keeps telling me, although I can't possibly imagine why." Apparently she was supposed to be impressed.
She wasn't.
"It means nothing to you?" For a moment he didn't know if he should be annoyed or amused. Most women he encountered had all but done a Dunn and Bradstreet check on him before he ever met them.
"I don't have a clue what your title means or why it should be important to anyone but you."
He couldn't help the little stab to his ego. "My title, Ms. Martin, merely means that I am of royal blood."
"Royal blood?" One brow rose suspiciously. "Right." This time the sigh from behind her was louder, and laced with just a bit of…panic, she thought. "Royal blood?" she repeated with a frown, considering. "You mean like a king or queen or something."
"Or something," he admitted with a slow nod.
"And of course no one thought it was important to mention this little tidbit to me?" she asked, feeling just a tad embarrassed by her own behavior. He was a client, and just because he'd been rude, didn't mean she had to be.
He just annoyed her so with his arrogant, high-handed orders and demands. As if the world revolved around him.
"Would it have changed your behavior if you had known?" Or your viperous tongue, he wondered.
"Probably not," she admitted honestly. "Unless you have the power to have someone beheaded."
He threw back his head and laughed, the sound rich as it rumbled around the room. "I'm afraid, Ms. Martin, that we no longer behead people." He flashed her a brilliant smile. Faith felt as if the temperature in the office rose twenty degrees. "Too messy."
"Well, I'm grateful for small favors."
Cocking his head, he studied her. "And would it have mattered anyway?"
"The beheading?"
He shook his head, amused. "No, my bloodlines."
"Not unless you plan on running in the Kentucky Derby." She shrugged. "Otherwise, your bloodlines don't matter one whit to me."
He laughed again. It had been a very long time since anyone had dared to speak to him so freely. Not since his beloved grandmother. But this woman certainly did not remind him of his grandmother.
On the contrary, she was young and vibrant, with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue. And he found
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